Dreamed that Taesoo and I were walking down my street, somewhere near twilight, deep in discussion, and we were set upon by a handsome, young blond man with a massive crazy smile. He wrapped a speaker cord around my throat and pulled it taut, screaming that unless Taesoo could get the people from some organization off of his back, he'd kill me. I gestured wildly, swallowing, and Taesoo denied having any current connection to whatever organization it was, and in bemusement the man let the cord loosen a bit. I said that Taesoo had been out of the thing for years now, that we lived quietly, that didn't the blond man have a handsome smile? Wasn't he strong-looking, and such fine hands? I smiled, no sign of shaking, just determined to get through one more minute, keep his eyes on me for ten more seconds. Madly, he watched my lips moving, and I kept my hands from my throat, kept them folded in my lap, kept his attention on me long enough for Taesoo to reach over and in one motion, almost delicately, take the man by the chin and the back of the head, lift a couple of inches and twist neatly, the crack barely audible over my own crooning.
In a panic, I helped him carry the body into the house--which was the house I lived in when I was four, the view of the driveway through the living-room window was the same, but also the house I lived in at nine years old, cobbled together--and then decided, too late for wisdom, that we should call the police. We'd moved the body, it would look like murder for sure, but what else could we do? How could we ever hide it effectively?
The police came, some of them armed with swords and dressed in grey tabi, and immediately split us up, hands held out placatingly as I came toward them, asking that I move slowly so that they could be sure I had no weapons...
I woke up shouting and scooting away from Taesoo on my heels and my butt, until my back slammed into the corner and his hands were on my shoulders and my face. And then I burst into tears. Sleep-brained me knew I'd ruined his life by being weak and slow, that if I'd been able to avoid the man getting his cord around my throat then Taesoo could have disabled him instead of killing him. The thought of all the trouble to come--visits to the station, police interviews, eventual court dates and prison time (Taesoo is Asian! Our attacker was golden-haired and tanned, a handsome California boy. Those kinds of court dates do not usually end in favour of the defender)...my chest swelled with despair. Still only half-awake I made Taesoo promise not to kill anybody for me, never to ever kill anybody for me. Better far to let me die than suffer a destroyed life, I said. Don't kill anybody.
"How about brutally maim?" he asked, voice level, no humor; he meant it.
"That's fine, that's fine, just don't kill."
"I can do that."
And he pressed my head to his chest, and murmured some rhythmic lullaby in Korean until I dozed.
