My Visiting Cousin

My 12 year old cousin is visiting from Korea. He wears a bright red athletic shirt with cutoff sleeves and sports a short, spiky haircut. I think he’s miserable here.

He speaks little English. “Yes” and “no” are in his vocabulary, but he spits them out timidly, as if he doesn’t want me to hear. My Korean is . . . rusty. It makes for lousy conversation.

At dinner, he shovels food into his mouth. He reminds me of a sadder version of Eeyore. He refuses to make eye contact. He stares blankly when he answers questions. I’ve discovered that he hates onions, but loves ice cream. I think we have more in common than he realizes.

I ask him if he wants to see a movie. He politely declines. I ask why. He says he likes Korean action movies, but not American ones. I ask why. He mumbles something in Korean. I still wonder.

He gets along better with my dad. My dad makes him laugh and tells me that my cousin loves it here. Really? This kid loves America? I trust my dad, but I don’t believe it.

My cousin found a sanctuary in the computer. He reads Korean comics. I’m next door. I hear the clicking of the mouse scroll wheel. He zips through the comics. And every couple minutes, I hear him burst out in laughter. Life from the otherwise lifeless boy, sparked by a pile of electronics.

Two days remain until I leave, but for now, I’m taking my cousin out for ice cream.