MCMH | Chapter 1.3

I wore a cardigan and scarf Sandy stole from her brother’s closet and sat on the street, strumming the guitar.

The borrowed acoustic guitar, Billy, was old but still produced a great sound, perfect for busking.

I played my most confident original song in front of Sandy’s phone.

Yesterday’s me asks today’s surviving me
Hey, is it raining there?
Today’s world begs tomorrow’s dead me
Let’s never meet again, us.
Under the crumbling castle, I stand with myself

At first, I felt the gazes and was nervous, but once I started singing, I wasn’t scared at all.

Sandy chose a spot where you could see the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance. There were many tourists passing by. Some of them filmed me.

Hearing words like “cute” here and there made me feel good. Where I live, even if I busk, only junkies with glazed eyes glance at me, but not here.

I even received applause when the song ended. Sandy cheered for me as I stood there, bewildered.

For a moment, it felt like the dazzling early summer sun was shining on me.

Sandy showed me uploading my video to her SNS account.

“Probably others who watched also uploaded it. You were really great today.”

My face flushed at the compliment.

Sandy then showed me accounts of famous people on SNS, explaining various things.

She said if I became an influencer, I could get sponsorships, and if my singing was good, a record company might contact me.

“But it’s a shame I don’t have many followers. If it was uploaded to a more popular account, more people would see it.”

“…Isn’t 300 a lot?”

“Of course not. But Cherry, with a face like yours, everyone will eventually notice. Those who filmed you earlier probably have followers too.”

I smiled bitterly at Sandy’s kind words. I’m not handsome; I just have a face that seems easy for guys to take advantage of.

“Thanks, Sandy.”

“Don’t mention it. Don’t pretend you don’t know me when you get famous. Again, you were really cool today.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

We bumped fists and laughed foolishly.

That night, I swam in the illusion that I had become a star. The illusion, disguised as happiness, pushed me into the night. I gladly played along with the deception.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The Box’s storage room is rarely entered by anyone except the owner and me. Sometimes there are rats, and it smells bad.

And this place is my home. Naturally, I don’t like anyone coming in.

Yet, the band members come and go as they please.

“Where the hell have you been wandering, you bastard?”

The drummer thinks he’s the leader. Even though I’ve been at The Box longer than him.

Ignoring him, I tried to change clothes, but the bassist grabbed my hair.

“Let go!”

“I heard the mafia’s after you? Are you crazy?”

“What if we get in trouble because of you?”

The bassist and drummer took turns speaking and hitting me. If only they were this in sync on stage.

“Let go, damn it!”

I used all my strength to shake them off. When they tried to come at me again, I bit a finger.

“Ahhh! Damn, crazy bastard!”

“Just realizing I’m crazy now?”

I wiped the blood from my mouth and laughed. The drummer, whose finger I bit, left the storage room looking disgusted. Finally, I was alone.

Changing clothes, I winced at the pain in my scalp.

“It hurts….”

Looking down, I saw a handful of my hair on the floor.

Those bastards don’t know how important hair is to musicians. Angels broke up because the vocalist went bald.

I checked my head with a hand mirror but didn’t see any bald spots. However, the taste of dirty blood lingered in my mouth.

Swallowing the taste of blood made it real. I wasn’t in SNS or the plaza with the Brooklyn Bridge view.

This storage room, with rats and dust, was my home.

I wasn’t sleepy, but I forced myself to close my eyes and curl up in the corner. I pulled a blanket over myself. Even though it was early summer and not cold, my body trembled.

I knew what this was. Withdrawal symptoms.

Damn gangsters.

Damn mafia.

Damn money.

Damn New York.

I forced myself to sleep amidst the lament. To perform, I needed to sleep a little, even if my scalp hurt. Even if my teeth chattered, even if I wanted to run out and beat the drummer, I had to endure.

When I opened my eyes, I realized what the gangsters injected me with wasn’t ordinary.

Genius composer Cain was looking down at me.

“…Huh?”

Thinking I was having a crazy dream, I blinked, and Cain looked down at me with his beautiful odd eyes. His cold gaze, full of disdain, made it a very realistic dream.

Cain looked at me and then spoke to someone next to him. Being a dream, I couldn’t hear the voice.

I stared blankly at Cain. Even in this situation, I thought he was incredibly handsome.

Then, the next moment, he bent down. As his face came closer, the scent of his cologne hit my nose.

“…Hey.”

Cain spoke. I didn’t realize he was calling me, so I just blinked.

The next moment, a cold sensation touched my cheek. I realized a beat late that it was Cain’s finger.

“Do you need money?”

I nodded. Who doesn’t need money?

Then my body was lifted into the air. Cain had grabbed me by the collar and pulled me up.

“Ugh…!”

The realistic sensation snapped me awake. But I didn’t wake from the dream. Cain was glaring at me up close.

‘The blue left eye is C chord, the brown right eye is the band’s tapping.’

“Hey, snap out of it.”

Cain’s voice vividly pierced my ears, and I realized this wasn’t a dream.

“Uh, uh… Cain?”

The genius composer was right in front of me. It didn’t feel real.

“It seems to be the same person.”

The person next to Cain spoke cautiously, and Cain smirked.

“Of course, it’s right, damn it. My dick’s hard.”

What does that mean? The fact that Cain was in front of me was shocking enough, but his words were even more baffling.

Above all, was this really Cain in front of me?

Cain, holding my collar with one hand, dropped his other hand and started rubbing something rhythmically.

Glancing down, Cain pulled my collar tighter.

“I’d like to offer you a job.”

Cain said. His different-colored eyes focused on me.

“Do you… know me?”

“Of course, darling. Our staff showed me your video.”

Cain saw the busking video Sandy uploaded? Could such a dreamlike thing happen to me?

In a short moment, countless thoughts flooded in. What if this person isn’t really Cain but a con artist who looks like him? If it’s the real Cain, does he have an interest in my music? Otherwise, why would he come to me… But why would a genius like Cain….

“Could we talk without you holding my collar…?”

“No. Hoo….”

“Why, why not?”

Cain smiled right in front of me. His smile was as magnificent as his music, making my heart race.

“Should I ask why our darling needs money first?”

I’d seen him call others ‘darling’ in interviews, but being the ‘darling’ myself left me flustered.

“Uh, well, Jasmine… my grandma, Jasmine is sick. I need money for hospital bills.”

“Oh dear.”

“I also need to fix Billy. Ah, Billy is my acoustic guitar….”

“Uh-huh.”

Throughout the conversation, Cain’s hand kept moving below, which bothered me. Talking with him holding my collar right in front of me was strange.

Geniuses are usually a bit eccentric, so I should understand. That famous Baby Yellow said he got musical ideas every time he pooped.

“And what else do you need money for?”

“Uh….”

I should probably avoid mentioning the debt to the mafia.

“Don’t roll your eyes, just tell me.”

“I made a mistake… and need to compensate… someone….”

He suddenly frowned and let out a short breath.

“Hoo.”

After fumbling with something below for a while, he finally let go of my collar. Suddenly losing support, I fell to the floor.

I realized anew that I was meeting him in the storage room. This dirty place, marked by my life, was embarrassing.

Cain tilted his head slightly and smiled with just his mouth. Somehow, looking down at me, he seemed intimidating. Maybe it was because he was so tall.

Bending down, Cain slipped something into my shirt. His precious hand entering my dirty shirt was overwhelming.

Looking down, I saw Cain’s business card tucked in.

“I’ll give you money, so contact me.”

And like a dream, he left.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

As soon as I got to work, I had to endure Sandy’s excited screams. The video views were higher than expected. Watching her talk nonstop in a high pitch made me want to hear her shout.

“I never thought my account would see these numbers. It’s a miracle! Cherry, soon a company will contact you. Should I cut your hair? Yeah, let’s cut your bangs and film again. Please, let’s chop those bangs off.”

I couldn’t tell the excited Sandy that Cain had actually come to see me. She wouldn’t believe it anyway.

I used being tired as an excuse and went back to the storage room right after my shift.

It still felt like a dream that Cain had stood in this dingy storage room. I could only believe it after taking out his business card and feeling the texture of the paper. Cain had contacted me.

I didn’t have a phone. I didn’t have anyone to call, and if I needed to use the phone or email, I’d use a kiosk or a café’s internet.

So, it was even more puzzling how Cain found me. In this vast New York, just by seeing the Brooklyn Bridge… was my song that good?

“Maybe I’m a genius…?”

I kept fantasizing until I couldn’t help but laugh.

But these fantasies always ended the same way. That man would appear and yell at me.

“Genius, my ass. Useless brat. The one who let his mom die.”

The man who gave me my blue eyes glared at me and swung his hand. Even knowing he was a hallucination, I curled up.

If I were to receive a song from Cain and sing it, I’d have to fix this stupid behavior.

But the man’s hallucination was like a tearing scar to me. Whether I laughed, frowned, or strained, it burst and flowed.

I ran out of the storage room to escape the hallucination. I wandered aimlessly through the evening streets of New York as the sun began to set.

I’m a Cherry without a hometown. Technically, I was born here, but I couldn’t call the place where my mom slit her throat my hometown.

Mom often talked about her hometown. Korea. South Korea. Or the Republic of Korea.

She said it was a place as crowded and narrow as New York, with many cars, but she liked it there. Since it was a country mostly of Asians, maybe she didn’t face much racial discrimination.

She said my Korean name was taken from her surname. I still remember that name she told me just once.

But no one calls me by that name. I abandoned my English name long ago.

I’m just Cherry. A Cherry that can be eaten or thrown away. A Cherry with a lousy name for a boy.

I tried to walk only in bright places, but I ended up in an alley. Rock makes people dark like this. I should live more brightly.

“Cherry?”

Someone called me. The voice was familiar, and when I turned, the bastards who had injected me with unknown drugs were gathered there.