t h e r u l e r e f f e c t
4914 miles
Big scales on a ruler will never be the reason a ruler breaks.
I was making peace with the fact that that we were stuck and numbers could do nothing more than lengthen the strings that attach us. The strings did not only attach us, but we were tangled in it. The white strings, some dipped in dye and time, enclose us in its embrace, stretchable and stronger than spider silk. Last time I checked, I was only twirling the strings around my finger for play. "I'll just tear it off later," I had said. The next thing I know my whole being was walled by the strings, attached to Hoot, the person who said womanhood of a girl was measured by how willing she is to give chance to an opinion that is not hers. The person who went out in a ratty purple shirt to send me ice cream in the middle of a winter afternoon.
Hoot smiled, in my head. I hugged my knees close to my collarbones beside the blinded windows. I smiled, knowing he was somewhere 4914 miles away, trotting in his happy daily routine. I smiled, knowing that there was one person in the world who was thousands of miles away and misses me, who is probably at a car window or a room window, thinking about me in another country, hoping that I had a blastful day full of roses and confetti. Probably hoping that I miss them back too.
I smiled wider, knowing that someone in the world was staring at his phone to wait for a stray notification from me. Someone who makes exception for no one but me. It was not possessiveness, it was just that sugary feeling—like having a clump of caramel in your mouth—of being more than a person to someone.
It was the niceness of trust. Of knowing if Hoot found another object of spurring motivation that is not me, I would not believe it. Whatever Hoot did back home, it will always be good to me. I would always have a positive light to look at it. That was what 4914 miles could do to you.
My fingers automatically strike up to catch a teardrop from drizzling down from my chin. The faint, nostalgic tune the restaurant played became louder as the crowd of tourists in the middle table left.
"It's the music," I nodded my head at the excuse.
2457 miles
The crowd roared as I bowed. Flashes of light everywhere as I straightened my head again, tightening my Taekwondo belt in shyness. A small girl from a small town, standing on the podium proudly. That was how they saw me. How I saw myself was—a girl who was grinning so hard because she was going to meet Hoot soon, the person who proudly albeit randomly screamed to strangers at the streets that I was his girl after he heard the news.
I grinned so wide it hurt my cheeks. Then I felt wetness in my eyes.
"It's the happiness."
2104 miles
"Why won't you pick up?" I screeched at the phone. The metal of the phone dug my sweaty palms as I kicked the wall. My toe stubbed but I went inside with less anger. I was worried, mad, scared, furious, all synonyms thrown in the potion. The last time Hoot was online was five hours ago and it was broad daylight already. I just wanted to keep in touch.
I muttered under my breath as I loaded a glass with cold water. Still muttering, I pulled a roll of tissue and grabbed a pen from the can of random things beside the sink. I started jotting down.
Hypothesis 1: The smaller the distance, the smaller the trust.
I downed the water and started scribbling.
I thought that now we were nearer, at least the numbers between us were smaller than 4914, I thought things would get easier. I expected to cling with Hoot on the phone after I got back from the Koryo International Taekwondo Tournament. I still had so much to depict about my experience at the tournament; things that were not in the newspapers. I wanted to tell him about that whipped cream on my blended iced mocha, that stray cat that comforted me when I was nervous, that kind interviewer who took a personal photo of me for her twin daughters. I wanted to ask him haphazard questions that usually scare people away but never him. What was his favourite finger again?
Hypothesis 2: The longer the time, the easier miscommunication accumulates.
Miscommunication is like soap. It's slippery, it will slip through your fingers easily. Which is good. But time inhibits that greasy property of miscommunication. As time increases, the miscommunication began to accumulate.
You should have asked more questions about my birthday problem instead of comparing it with your own problem.
You should have texted me you want to take a nap before disappearing with no trace for hours.
You should have find the right timing to talk about that.
I brought the heel of my hands to wipe my suddenly wet cheeks. Turning around, I found my sister with a bowl of onions staring at me. She paused her knife when she caught me staring.
"It's the onions," I told myself.
161 miles
It was only 161 miles.
I let the fact engrave in my mind as I shouldered my duffel bag and went into my room. The dustless wooden floor greeted me. I was staring at the phone.
"I saw you in the crowd. Are you here?"
"Don't be silly."
"I swear I saw you."
I laughed, partly giddy from Hoot's statement, "We're only 161 miles away, you know."
"I know," he whispered, "That's what I told myself in the bus."
"Ouch," I cried out, realizing that I had just stripped my finger on top of the paper I was holding. Hoot asked for me from the call, "No, it's nothing. I cut my finger. I'm printing the plane boarding pass, by the way. I can't wait to see you again."
I was crying again.
"It's the paper cut."
8 miles
"Where are you?"
"I'm at the airport," I said.
"Hurry up, I bought you food."
"You don't have to."
"Do I look like I care about that?"
I smiled-cried and said, "It's the sadness of not finding an Uber."
0 miles
He got taller, and his shoulders broader. When he smiled, the whole day brightened up a notch. He looked at me from the distance, beckoning me over.
"There's my girl."
Hypothesis 3: As time apart increases, level of attractiveness increases.
I took the seat in front of him and the background faded as if poured by acid. I laughed for no reason. I guess he saw my nervousness. The numbers played a whirlwind in my head. 4914 miles gone with the unbelievable level of trust. 2457 miles drove away with the crazy anticipation. 161 miles faded with the hard-to-believe small but powerful distance. 8 miles finally covered to turn to 0 miles.
Hoot smiled and nothing else mattered.
Hypothesis 4: At 0 miles, no miscommunication, no right or wrong, besides love, matters.
Hoot could have asked me more about my birthday problem but we have a lot more time for that. Hoot could have told me he needed a nap before disappearing but I cold wait for him any hour. Hoot could have found the right timing to say something but we all know I hold no exceptions when hearing his thoughts. The miscommunication grew smaller and pettier at 0 miles.
And although numbers could do nothing but flex the strings that attach us, the rulers of distance between us were infinite. The scale were not in centimetres but in units of hardships distance could leave. The irony of it is, the scales on the ruler stay as scales. They could never have the power to break the ruler it is inscribed on no matter how big the number is. Infinite.
"I'll be back to another tournament in five days," I whispered.
"Okay," Hoot said, like it did not matter.
The tears started to well up in my eyes. And I know, in that instance, that it was not the music or onions, or happiness from winning, or the sharp gust of wind slapping my face right now that is making me tear up.
It was Hoot, the feeling of home.
Hypothesis 5: Home makes you feel comfort and free, but sometimes it makes you cry. And it is not a bad thing.