“No, I mean, you look cute.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, wanting to hit him playfully on the arm. But she felt conscious of how close they stood together, how he could reach out his hand and grab hers as they walked past the carnival games, the wild pulsing lights, the stuffed neon animals. How his fingers would feel between hers.

He stopped in front of a tent with basketball hoops. “Should we play a game?”

“Oh, I’m no good.”

“Here, let’s try this one. I’m Magic Johnson.” He pretended to dribble and mimed a sloppy jump shot.

She laughed. “I’m terrible, it’ll just be a waste of money.”

“Let’s try.” At a red-and-white-striped booth, he purchased a handful of tokens. After handing them to the vendor, they threw the ball wildly, missing each time. Mina screamed when she almost shot her ball into another person’s hoop. Finally after several rounds, both Mr. Kim and Mina scored, one after the other. They jumped up and down, high-fiving like children, victorious and giddy.

They each won a small white teddy bear, holding a red heart between its paws.

“I’ll give you mine, if you give me yours?” he asked.

“Why should I? I like mine better.”

“They’re the same.”

“No, they’re not. Mine is more symmetrical.”

“Okay, fine. Yours is more symmetrical.” He pouted playfully.

“I’m just kidding. Give me yours.” She took his bear and placed hers in his hand. For a second, they held them together, admiring their silly faces—the bulbous snout and half-moon ears, the saccharine heart.

“Thank you very much,” he said in English.

“You’re welcome very much.” She couldn’t help but laugh.

Through the maze of people, mostly younger than them, her self-consciousness twinged. She squeezed the bear in her hand. Was she cheating on her husband? In their fifteen-year marriage, there had been only a handful of times when she had come close to even thinking about another man. Nothing had actually happened. She had met an attractive new coworker, or she would pass someone on the street, and she would imagine what it would be like to be with that person—a dinner, an embrace, a kiss. It flashed in her mind like a projection on a movie screen. When she thought about these moments, she hated herself. But why should she? Hadn’t her husband ever thought about someone else—a pair of legs passing, a pretty smile? How was it possible, human, to not imagine the possibilities?

She panted, breath quick and shallow, questions seated on her chest. Her mind, like a fine fishing net, strangled the details around her, the sounds: a shriek of laughter, children screaming, a man singing in a Spanish baritone, the thumping bass of a boom box.

“What do you think?”

Without her realizing it, they had reached the Ferris wheel line.

“Wanna try?” He raised his dark brows. His eyes, however, appeared sympathetic, ready to be turned down.

As she lifted her face toward the sky, the questions unseated themselves; her brain was less of a tangle. The wheel seemed gentle, a spider’s web made from steel and light. “Okay.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He smiled.

“I think I’ll be all right.”

As he walked toward the ticket booth, she waited, watching him, still holding the bear. Black beady eyes. Red heart. Thinking of her daughter’s stuffed animals, she hugged the bear to her chest. She could almost cry. She didn’t want to think about her anymore. But if she stopped thinking about her, would that be a betrayal? How could she manage to love and honor people without those feelings tearing her apart? How could she continue to hold on to them without it destroying every bit of her, shredding every possibility and hope she might dare to have?

He returned with the tickets. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

They walked to wait at the end of the line. “Are you cold still?”

“A little.”

“I wish I had more layers to pull off,” he said.

“Ha, that’s okay.”

“Wait here. I’ll get us something to warm up.”

The crowd, bodies like bees in a hive, swallowed him. A mass, strange faces and limbs.

An explosion blasted inside her mind. Her knees almost buckled as she clung to that rope inside her brain. She had been holding her mother’s hand, and suddenly she was not. She was lost. Frightened, she had cried out at the people, rushing by her to get out. She had fallen to the ground, smoky and sulfurous, the earth’s shards stabbing her, had been almost trampled except that a man, a stranger, had helped her, had picked her up and placed her on top of his shoulders even though blood ran fresh from his scalp.

Mr. Kim returned with two Styrofoam cups, startling her out of the memory. “Have you had hot chocolate?”

“No, never,” she said, relieved he was back.

“I think you’ll like it.”

She blew on the drink before sipping. “Mmm, that’s good.” She wanted to gulp it all down, but it was too hot.

“I guess you have a sweet tooth.”

“Didn’t realize it until now.” She’d always liked chocolate but had never had it melted into a drink before, a comfort. She leaned her head back, entranced by the Ferris wheel, the swaying cars, the lights dancing, winking at the world.

“You’re going to be cold up there,” she said. “You don’t want your jacket back?”

“I’ll be okay.”

As they walked up the line, the attendant said, “You have to throw away those drinks.”

She took a final sip before he placed their two cups in a trashcan nearby. “I was hoping we could hold on to those.”

“Me, too.”

As she climbed on, the entire car rocked as if they could flip over and she squealed sitting down.

“Don’t worry,” he said, grabbing her hand gently. She squeezed his hand back as they rose higher and higher into the black sky. The crowd below them receded, shrank in size. Shivering, she sat the closest to him that she ever had, the side of her hip pressed against his.

“I’m going to close my eyes,” she said.

“Okay. Don’t worry.”

While the wheel rotated, gliding up and over and down and under, she squeezed his hand harder, eyes closed. Her heart thumped against the wall of her chest. Teeth chattering, they huddled together closer. He reached his arm around her shoulders. The cars creaked gently around them.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, just keeping my eyes closed.” She laughed. “I know it’s childish.”

“Don’t worry. It’s a big step for you. Be happy that you made it this far.”

“You mean . . .”

“On the Ferris wheel. You didn’t have to get on, but you did.”

His breath was close to her ear, her neck. She turned her head toward him, and he touched his lips against hers. She kissed him, tasting chocolate, the salt in the air around them. She became nothing but a body, far away and light, built for flying.

And when he lifted his face from hers, she opened her eyes to the contrasts of the world below—bright and sparkling, deep and dark, everywhere, magnificently, breathtakingly around her.

Margot

Fall 2014

LAMPLIGHTS GLOWED STEADY AND UNFLINCHING WHILE television screens flickered behind gauzy curtains, closed windows. A chorus of dogs behind fences and walls accompanied the howls of sirens. Sweet corn masa toasted on a griddle somewhere. Regardless of temperature or season, there was always something burning in Los Angeles—a bacon-wrapped hot dog, a roach of weed, short ribs sizzling, the rubber of tires in the heat, an entire neighborhood crackling with sparks in July, an entire forest on fire. You’d never forget the flames.

Sitting in her car, parked beside a strip of dying lawn with succulents and cacti in battered ceramic pots, Margot gathered herself, breathing through her mouth. Twenty minutes earlier, the waitress at Hanok House had slipped her this address near MacArthur Park. It was still only Monday.

Through the open courtyard, Margot ascended the first flight of stairs to Mrs. Baek’s apartment. Unit 211. Her knuckles rapped on the door. The pads of her fingers lingered on the smooth gray surface as if touching an animal.

A shadow filled the muted light of the fisheye on the door.

“Who is it?” Mrs. Baek asked, gruff and harsh.

“It’s Mina’s daughter, Margot.”

The door creaked open to reveal a brass chain bisecting Mrs. Baek’s face—pale and ghostly without makeup, hair wrapped in a salmon-colored towel. She squinted and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Could I talk to you?”

“It’s late. How’d you get my address?”

“I . . . googled you.”

She sighed, unlatching the chain. “I was just about to put on a sheet mask.”