As I drive home, a song begins to play in the car. It’s reminiscent of Serendipity but doesn’t sound quite right.
“What’s this song? Something’s off.”
Jungkook looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Mom! This is your favorite song!”
“What?! No, it’s not! My favorite song is Euphor—,” but then I stop talking because Euphoria doesn’t exist here. Now I want to cry. How can Euphoria not exist?
Suddenly, I turn towards Jungkook. “Do you sing?”
He looks at me strangely again. “What? Of course, I sing! You’ve come to my school shows! You’re the one who encouraged me to sing in the first place!”
“Would you sing for me?”
“Huh? Mom, why?”
“Just sing me something.” I could teach him Euphoria, but the lyrics are in Korean. “Sing a BTS song for me.”
“Mahmmmmm, you know I don’t like BTS.”
“What?” I stare at him, incredulous. How can Jungkook not like BTS? What a bizarre world this is! “Not even RM?”
“Who?”
“Namjoon. The leader.”
“Mom, you know I don’t really like rap music.”
“What?” I ask again.
“What?” he echoes.
I still want him to sing for me, and what I really want to hear is his breathy voice singing Euphoria. So I decide to sing the English parts to him. “‘Take my hands now. You are the cause of my Euphoriahhhhhhh-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah. Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah. Euphoria. Euphoria. Oh-oh-oh. Take my hands now. Take my hands now. You are the cause of my euphoria. Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah. Yeah-yeah. Yeah-yeah. Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah. Euphoria. Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah. Close the door now. When I’m with you I’m in utopia.’”
“What’s that song? I like it,” he responds.
Thank God! At least that hasn’t changed!
I smile, but I’m still dealing with some sadness over the loss of this song. Then suddenly, he opens his mouth and begins to sing it to me, just the parts that I’ve sung to him. I want to close my eyes in bliss. Jungkook’s voice is beautiful here too. It’s sweet and clear and full. And still breathy. Clearly, he’s been singing for a while.
When he finishes singing, I ask, “Jungkook, how long have you been singing?”
“Mom, what kind of a question is that? I’ve been singing my whole life. Remember? In third grade, you made me take to the stage for the school production. I was so nervous, but you insisted that God had given me a gift, and I had to get over my fear enough to perform in front of people. So I did. It’s still not easy, but I do love singing.”
Suddenly, I have a vision of him dressed like a gray bunny rabbit in the third-grade production of Bambi. He’s standing on the stage, eyes closed, singing his little heart out. To me. Because he knows Mommy is watching and listening. Even then his voice was clear and sweet, if a little softer. He was so adorable. And I was so proud of him. He earned a standing ovation. I was the first one on my feet.
This memory blends with the Jungkook who dressed like a big, fat, gray bunny for the silly dance practice video. The boy who bumped corpulent chests with Jimin who was dressed like some sort of green vegetable that I’ve never been able to identify. Their ridiculous antics play across the canvas of my mind now, and I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry.
I miss this old Jungkook, but he never knew me, and I love this boy sitting next to me now. The one who calls me ‘Mom.’ I wouldn’t want to give up these moments either. Maybe I have the best of both worlds. I still remember the old Jungkook. His music still plays in my head. His goofy videos are replaying in my mind. And it’s still his smile that is beaming back at me from the face of the boy seated next to me.
“You have the most beautiful voice, son.” I glance at him with tears in my eyes. “I’m so glad you’re sharing it with the world and with me. Can you sing those lines again?”
“Is there more to the song?”
“Yes, but it’s in Korean.”
“I don’t care. Teach it to me.”
So in this strange parallel universe, I drive my van while I teach Jungkook the lyrics and music to his own beautiful song. The one he first taught me.
—
After we arrive at home, Jungkook goes to collect his laundry. When he meets me in the laundry room a minute later, he asks me, “Mom,” – Will I ever get used to Jungkook calling me ‘Mom’? – “have you seen my olive-green sweatshirt? I can’t find it.”
I just stare at him. The part of me that entered this universe just today has no idea what he’s talking about. I try to consciously shift to the part of my brain that contains the memories from this universe. It’s not working.
“Mom? Are you ok?”
“Um… Yeah, Kookie, I’m fine.” Suddenly, a picture of a drab green hoodie enters my mind. “I haven’t seen that sweatshirt for a couple weeks, at least. I wondered why you stopped wearing it.” I did?
“It just,” he holds up his hand and snaps his fingers, “poof! It just disappeared. I can’t find it anywhere!”
“Huh. Strange.”
“No. Not strange. I think Nana must have stolen it.”
I look at him. “Why would Nana steal it?” But I’m privately reflecting on the fact that she would look great in it; it would highlight her jade green eyes.
He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe to get back at me for something? I haven’t seen her wearing it, though. She’s probably hidden it somewhere I’ll never find it.”
“If I find it, I’ll let you know. I wish you two got along better. You were best friends when you were tiny.”
I smile faintly as I recall four-year-old Kookie and Nana sitting on the stairs playing a make-believe game together. Even then Nana took charge.
Her tiny voice crosses the years to echo back at me, “No, Kookie, I’m driving!”
“Why?” My son cries out in frustration.
“Because I’m the mommy and you’re the baby.”
“I’m not a baby! I’m older than you! I should be the daddy!”
“No, Kookie. You’re the baby. Here’s your bunny.”
She had handed him a fat, pink, stuffed rabbit that he had named Cooky. Of course, this memory distracts me for a moment as I think of the BT21 character that Jungkook designed and also named Cooky. Parallel universes, indeed!
He’d grabbed that little bunny from Nana and hugged it to his chest. Then he had ignored Nana and talked to his bunny, “I’m your daddy. You’re my baby, Cooky. You’re such a good baby.”
I had stood at the top of the stairs quietly laughing at how cute they were. I guess they argued even back then. But at least then, they played together. My heart’s desire is to see all my kids love each other and get along well. One big, happy family. I sigh and turn back towards sixteen-year-old Kookie, leaving the younger one in the past that I’m beginning to recall more and more of. It’s time to focus on the task at hand.
“Now, pay attention. I’m going to show you how to work this washing machine, so you never have a uniform emergency again!” I look at him sternly, but inside I’m still melting over how cute a kid he is! “And from now on, mister, you need to wash all your school clothes on Friday night. Understood?”
His dark eyes grow wide – and I have a sudden vision of his eyes highlighted in black kohl in War of Hormone where he tried so hard to appear like a bad boy but only managed to be so charmingly adorable – and he nods.
He blows out a deep breath and says, “I know I screwed up. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
I smile at him. I know he’s sincere, but I also know teenage boys. I realize he may forget again. But maybe not. After all, he is missing school right now.
“Are you upset that you’re missing school?”
He looks at me rather sheepishly. What’s that about?
He nods.
“Why?”
“Because this is the only class I have with Melody.”
I wrack today’s brain. No sign of Melody. “Who’s Melody?”
