The Eyes Are the Best Part

by Monika Kim

I didn’t want to hear any more. I didn’t want to know any more. All I wanted was to sleep, to forget.

For the first time, I notice that his eyes are blue: a pale, icy blue that reminds me of the Niagara Falls, where my father took us on vacation six years ago. I don’t know why I didn’t notice them before.

It’s blood. They’re covered in blood.

Her tears dripped onto my hands, onto the carpet; I watched them fall and had the sudden realization that our roles had reversed. Somehow, I had become the mother and she the daughter.

This is our first holiday without our father, and the apartment is silent. It’s strange.

Fate can bring you together, but it can just as easily tear you apart.

I’ve always been jealous of the kids who have never had to deal with this crushing pressure. They have no idea how good they have it, how lucky they are.

What is it like to live freely, to live a life untethered, without having to be responsible for everyone around you?

I’m certain that blue eyes would taste amazing, much better than brown ones. Especially George’s eyes. I have no scientific evidence to prove this, but to me there’s nothing appetizing about brown.

I should go. I don’t trust myself around him.

I nibbled at a fry, savoring it, the salt crystals melting on my tongue, watching as they sat down and began ordering food.

As later experiences would confirm, to deal with a man like that, a man like George, you have to pull the rug out from under him. Not all at once, of course; a small tug here, another one there. You don’t back down when he tries to wield his power. Instead, you trip him up by slipping him little lies. Correct him whenever you can. Confuse him. Make him feel foolish. Men like him hate being wrong, hate being embarrassed, hate not being in control. Men like him don’t know what to do when that happens, and they resort to childish displays of anger, temper tantrums, sulking. In spite of this, he won’t be able to do a single thing about it because in the end he’s the one who is weak.

The only power he has is the power you are willing to give him, and you’ve given him nothing. Not a scrap.

By the time you’re done with him, he’ll be begging for mercy. Who is he if he can’t control you? Is he even a man anymore? It will seem like a relief when you give him a hand, even if that hand is holding a blade. And when you take everything from him, you can say what these men say about us: He was asking f...

How do I explain to her that the home I miss isn’t a place? It’s a time when my life made sense. When things made sense.

“It’s pathetic. I can’t understand you. You drag Ji-hyun and me through this mess, and then we’re left behind trying to clean it up. You don’t even care about how your actions affect us. All you think about is yourself.”

“I know that the plant is pretty, but poison is everywhere, even in the places where you least expect it.”

If she wasn’t crying so much, I would have told her that I already have a father. And that he, like George, is just a man.

I have never been anybody’s first choice. Not my mother’s, who loves Ji-hyun more than me; not my father’s, who chose another woman over me. Over all of us.

I’m reminded of my childhood, when she used to get me ready for school. It seems like it should be funny that our roles are reversed, but it makes me go numb.

A fool and his eyes are easily parted.

Umma allowed the men in her life to control her, to tell her what to do, to make all the big decisions for her. Without them, she’s lost, adrift at sea.