Face Time – Chapter 14

Lee

When I’m in Mumbai, my firm puts me up in the Sahara Star, a huge, modern hotel west of the airport. I like the place well enough even if it is overly extravagant for me. My room is spacious with a brand-new bed that always threatens to swallow me whole, a dresser, a desk, a table, and a luxurious bath. I know lots of people who travel in India and stay in hostels so I consider myself lucky, but my conscience nags at me. I wanted to be a lawyer to help people, not make tons of money, wear the nicest suits, and stay in five star hotels around the world. But I took the job because I was the head of my class and I was still a failure to my mother. Fuck that. I got away.

Taking the job in Seoul was the right decision at the time. I’ve made enough money to pay off my loans (my father helped too without letting my mother know), and I have a savings account that I can be proud of. I don’t have to do this job forever.

As I lace up my shoes, I repeat, “I don’t have to do this job forever” in my head. Laura changes everything. I suddenly care more about what she thinks than any other person on this earth. I texted with her yesterday after sending her photos of India, and she said something was going on with her mom. I can’t stop thinking about her, wondering what she’s doing and how she’s managing her mother and herself at the same time.

I need this run.

It’s 5:45am, the perfect time to run in Mumbai. I have my iPhone, my running shorts and shirt, and a small squeeze bag of bottled water ready to go. The traffic at this time of day is low, and the air is clearer than it will be after work. The majority of the city cows are still asleep and hopefully I can avoid stray dogs. Stray dogs in India are a runner’s worst nightmare. If you see one, you need to slow down so they won’t chase you. Luckily, the first time I came here, I had drinks with a colleague who clued me into this otherwise I would have been Lee-dogmeat. But it’s hard sometimes, when you’re in a really good groove, to see the dogs ahead of time and force yourself to slow down. Those mongrels screw with my rhythm.

The doorman at the hotel opens the door for me, and I walk to Nehru Road, stretching my legs and upper body, before choosing a running playlist on my iPhone and attaching it to my armband. When I run in India, I only wear one earbud so I can listen for cars or motorcycles. It’s best if I make it back to my hotel in one piece.

I pick up the pace on Nehru Road, my feet pounding the pavement as I hurtle past apartment buildings, my path shaded by palm trees. A bus putters on the curb ahead of me, and a few people are waiting along the dirt’s edge, reading newspapers and fanning themselves. I blow by them and several heads turn to follow me. I might be the only Korean they ever see, and I’m running, which is also a strange pastime in most of India.

Running helps me clear my head. My therapy, just like Laura. A run outside gives me a chance to enjoy my surroundings, zone out, and not pay attention to anything but my legs and lungs. I can do this when I run in the States and most of Asia, but here, I can’t unless I take transportation down to Marine Drive in the south of the city where there are more pedestrians and less traffic (and dogs).

My brain is everywhere this morning. I’m watching the cars zip past me, I’m running around people crossing the streets, and I’m wondering what Laura is doing right now. I wish she was here. What would it be like to have her travel with me? Would that be awkward or would we love being together?

Crossing over Shraddhanand Road, I only have another block before the train tracks. I try to avoid the street that runs parallel to the tracks because it’s crowded with people and rickshaws, vendors selling fruits, and commuters with their briefcases. After a block, I zig to the right in order to get to the pedestrian overpass that goes over the tracks. Crowds are on the stairs already, so I have to slow down. I pick up my pace along the bridge and down the stairs on the other side.

I hook left and run along Church Road which is the last quiet stretch of space before I hit Swami Vivekanand Road. S.V. Road is a nightmare during the day with two huge lanes of traffic in either direction and hawkers sandwiched into every available slot, but now the street is relatively uninhabited. I’m starting to drip sweat, the sun prickling the top of my head and possibly cooking my brain. The temperature hasn’t been less than 100ºF since I arrived. I cross the street and run on the side closest to the airstrip located here. This area is known as The Flying Club, and small planes and helicopters fly in and out of Juhu Airport all day long.

I turn onto Vaikunthlal Mehta Road and slow down because in and off to my left is the Flying Club Shantytown. I can’t see much of it from the road but I know it’s there. Little Indian boys on the sidewalk run after me, laughing and waving their skinny arms, but I keep going, trying not to break my pace because, if I stop, they’ll swarm all over me. Ahead of me, though, is a line of white United Nations and Red Cross trucks, with dogs barking at them, so I slow even further, coming to a stop amongst a cluster of people watching men and women stream from the truck beds with supplies.

“What’s going on?” I ask an older man next to me. I hope he speaks English.

“They’ve come to give vaccinations and fresh water.” He points down the alley at the retreating backs of people wearing UN and Red Cross smocks.

“I see.” I nod at him, and we grow silent watching workers stream down the alley, dogs nipping at their heels and little children running after them. I stare hard at the UN trucks. I knew a guy in law school who applied to work for the UN right after graduation. I wonder if he’s still working for them and likes what he does. I have mixed feelings about the UN, but, watching this woman smile at a little boy and hold his hand to lead him to a vaccination tent, my chest constricts. I’m not cut out for humanitarian work — my heart is too soft — but maybe I should find out what other kind of work is available to me.

I pop my iPhone out of my arm band and back up to take a few photos for Laura and resume my run past the remainder of the shantytown. Turning left onto Juhu Tara Road, my mind starts to zone out again. This stretch is filled with high-end hotels right on the water. Sea salt infused air whips past my head, enhancing the smell of fried dough and dosas from carts at the intersections. They each have lines a dozen deep, and my stomach starts to growl.

Just before the bottom turn of Juhu Tara Road to Juhu Road, where I turn left and loop around the airport back up to my hotel, I slow down again. One moment I’m thinking about how I want to change jobs to something more fulfilling, take a pay cut, and only travel for fun, and the next I’m staring into a jewelry store. I’ve already purchased a gift for Laura from this trip, but I haven’t sent it yet. India is well-known for its gold jewelry. I’d love to get her something she could wear all the time but not a ring. It’s too suggestive. A necklace? No. Bracelets. A stack of them that she could wear one-at-a-time or all at once. Yes, that’s perfect for her. The sign on the door indicates the store is only open till 6:00pm every day, so I’ll have to come back at lunch.

I side-step this building and run down a causeway to Juhu Beach. A few families are out walking before the sun climbs higher in the sky, and a group of men are sitting and drinking tea while staring out at the water. The surf is calm, small waves breaking and pulling back out to sea, and the tide is out, making the beach seem a mile wide. Removing my iPhone from the armband again, I go back to my playlists and scroll through, stopping on The Beatles. I wasn’t joking around with Laura. I do love The Beatles. I have every one of their albums loaded on my iPhone. Which one to listen to? Time stops ticking as my finger hovers over “Let It Be.”

My whole life, I’ve cruised along, letting the criticisms from my mother, Nari, and Sandra sit and eat away at me. I’ve been waiting for the answers to come, waiting for enlightenment. Now my life is coming into focus since I met Laura, and I feel like I just ran past the turning point.

I take a few more pictures and then turn the camera to my sweaty face and smile. Laughing at the photo of myself, I don’t think I’ve ever looked so happy. I hope when Laura gets this she can tell how changed I am with purpose and direction. I can’t wait to talk to her again.

I attach the photos from my run after a text, “To Laura. From Lee.” After the photo of me I write, “I’m always thinking about you.”

I’ll send them all when I get back to the hotel.