02

August 2008

                There was a new boy today. He was surprisingly quiet. Like me, he made no effort to make friends or mingle with the others. He’s not bad compared to the others. Maybe…just maybe…we could be friends.

June 2014

                For the past six years, it was always me and him who never spoke. For six years, I would stare at him and he would stare straight back at me. Although our therapy camp was throughout the course of a year, he would always disappear for nine months before returning back in summer.

                I wondered a lot about him and sometimes, I wondered if he too, wondered about me.

                Sunggyu – the man in charge of the therapy camp – stood up. “Now, we’re going to do a partner exercise! I know some of you may have been here for a rather long time,” Sunggyu looks at me for a fleeting second before smiling at the others. “However, there have been many new additions to our camp, so it’ll be a chance to get to know everyone a little better.” Sunggyu clasps his two hands together. “I’ll be assigning you to your partner. Now…”

                He gestures at the mysterious boy. “Myungsoo, you’re paired with Min Jung.” Hearing my name, I perk up. “Yes?” The mysterious boy slightly smiles – a second later, it was as if he had never even moved.

                Sunggyu sighs. “You’re paired with Myungsoo. Now talk.” He glances at the two of us before making his way down the line to pair up more patients. The said boy looks at me before he gets the conversation rolling.

                “You don’t talk much do you?” He warily glances at me. At that moment, I had never felt so violated before. The mysterious boy’s eyes were penetrating my soul – it was bothering me.

                “The same could be said for you,” I respond easily. The mysterious boy shrugs. “So what’s your problem?” The question came out more condescending than I had imagined. But it was too late to take it back now. Besides, the mysterious boy didn’t even appear bothered by it.

                “Dysthymia,” he replies before picking at an old scab on his elbow. I try to maintain my facial expression. This kid is picking at his scab. He has no manners at all. Why am I even talking to him? Oh right. I’m in therapy camp. I’m supposed to talk to patients like myself. “You?”

                “Bulimia nervosa.”

                He stops picking at his scab. He looks up, not at all surprised. “So you’re a bulimic, huh? There’s no need for the fancy medical terms, you know.”

                “Same could be said for you. Are you perhaps studying to become a doctor of some sort?”

                “More or less,” he says lazily. “The doctors call my problem chronic depression. Depressing, isn’t it?” I knew he was trying to pick a fight with me. He was imitating me with my poor choice of vocabulary earlier.

                “Try barfing twice a day,” I brusquely reply.

                He looks at me. “I hear about cases like yours all the time. What’s so good about it anyway? You jam your finger down your throat in order to trigger your gag reflex.”

                “There’s nothing good about it,” I say shortly. This boy was way too full of himself, especially for someone who was chronically depressed. Shouldn’t he be less snarky and more quiet? “You don’t always jam your finger down your throat to trigger the gag reflex. It becomes a habit. After you eat, it just comes back out.”

                The boy observes me before suddenly saying, “Show me your teeth.”

                I glance at him oddly. “What did you just say?”

                “I said,” he says patiently – though I catch him rolling his eyes at me, “show me your teeth.”

                “What the—“ I look at him – he’s being serious. There’s so much determination on his face that I can’t help but oblige. I spread my lips open, though this is a first – no one has ever asked me to show me my teeth. I felt rather self-conscious. I mean, who wouldn’t?

                “As expected,” he replies after giving my teeth a thorough observation. “You can close them,” he returns to his seat.

                “What do you mean?” I say, instantly closing my mouth after hearing his instructions.

                “Your teeth suck, to put it shortly.”

                “What the hell –“

                “You see, the acid in your barf wears away your enamel.” He gestures at his own teeth, but even then, I am still clueless. I dumbly sit there before finally asking, “What the hell is the enamel?” He clicks his tongue, impatient.

                “Tsk, tsk. I see that your school hasn’t taught you the tooth anatomy yet.”

                “I’m not in dental school, nor am I wishing to be a dentist anytime in the future,” I defend.

                “Your tooth is composed of four layers, your enamel being the most outer layer. Your enamel is the hardest substance in your body, did you know that? But acid from barfing will erode your enamel, thus making your teeth even weaker. It’s safe to say that you have teeth of an 80 year old.”

                As nerdy as he may sound, I am suddenly offended. “Are you sure you’re chronically depressed? You seem like a dental textbook to me.” That was the lamest comeback in the history of lamest comebacks, but I wasn’t one who could easily think on their feet so don’t blame me.

                He laughs for the first time. “I like you. What’s your name?”

                “…Min Jung.”

                “Last name?” He says before quickly adding. “So I could stalk you on Facebook, you know.”

                I generally would have been crept out by such an absurd remark, but for some odd reason, I wasn’t. I stifle a smile before replying, “Kwon Min Jung. What about you, Mr. Dental Textbook?” His nickname was quickly catching on.

                “Myungsoo,” he says. “In case you’re wondering, Ms. Granny Teeth, it’s Kim Myungsoo.”

                For the first time in a long time, I genuinely smiled.