The Day That Changed Everything

A brief glimpse out a scratched plastic window was my first look at America.

All I could see were a few airplane wings and lots of concrete. The others jostled by me, looking as lost as I felt, and I turned and trudged up the jetway behind them.

Somehow, I expected more. Where were the happy smiling crowds? Maybe the talk I'd heard in school about America in decline was true.

We were herded into a waiting area with bright lights and colorful soft seats. Happy music played in the background and strange paper cartons of water and juices were perfectly lined on a side cart.

But I was too afraid to take one. It might have been a trick.

Then the guards came for us.

They took the couples and family groups first. Next, the solo travelers, one by one. Soon, I was alone. No one came for the longest time and I had to pee. All I could do was wait and squirm in my seat, my feet dangling above the floor.

At last, a lone guard approached and motioned. I hoisted my red bag onto my shoulder and followed. We walked down the wide waiting area and turned a corner. He opened a door and motioned me in. Two unsmiling blue-uniformed men stood guard inside the small room. One pointed to a cold, steel chair and I sat and waited.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the peace and a young woman barged in. She spoke a few words to the guards, sloughed a large black bag off her shoulder, and slid into the empty chair across from me. Her silken suit, yellow and white, looked hand-made and very expensive, and her golden-brown hair was perfectly styled in frozen waves that framed her face. She studied her tablet for a moment and then read the card that had been clipped to my blouse. After a moment to digest it all, she looked at me with bright, blue eyes and a sweet smile that lit up her face.

She spoke kindly, but not in Korean, and in those days, of course, I didn't speak any English at all. Seeing my confusion, she reached down and dug through her large black bag. Triumphant, she removed a small, sleek case.

Inside was a simple pair of glasses, nestled in a bed of glittering cloth. She unfolded them, snapped the case shut and then did the most remarkable thing. She spoke to them. I couldn't understand any of the words except one: "Korean."

She offered them to me with both hands and made a motion to put them on. They were too big for my face, but hooked onto my ears well enough and hugged my temples tightly. The lenses seemed clearer than clear.

While I adjusted to the sensation, she rummaged through her bag again until she found a second, older-looking case, and extracted another pair.

"Translate into English," she told her glasses, as she put them on.

Another, softer voice spoke her words into my ear.

"I... I understood that!" I said, startled.

"Of course you did," she said. "They're Inuviks. Wait until we turn on Vmersion." She titled her head and looked me over. "That pair looks good on you," she said, smiling. "Welcome to America, Kim Mi-ju. My name is Dr. Emily and I'm here to help."

"Please," I said. "May I pee?"

The translation sunk in and alarm spread across her face.

"Oh... of course," she said, standing. "It's been a long flight for you, hasn't it? Come, I'll show you the way."

She led me past the guards and out the back door, down a long, narrow corridor to the washroom. The lights came up blue and cool as I entered, and I relieved myself in a clean private stall with great satisfaction. There was perfumed soap that squirted by itself as I waved at it and water that gushed out of a golden spigot. I played with them a little, I'm embarrassed to say, then I washed as best as I could with my one good hand and dried off with a minty blue towel that tingled my face.