Well, I've certainly been on the lookout for leggings.
I told myself this as I entered the small clothing shop on 14th St. It was a Saturday afternoon in Union Square when I spotted the rack of navy, brown, and black. '$3.99' was scrawled in cardboard. I chose a pair in black and headed toward the register to pay.
The second I stepped inside I heard her voice. An older Asian woman, perhaps in her fifties, held a phone to her face and manned the register in the back. She spoke in loud and brusque Korean, sans affectation. I imagined she was talking to her sister on a different continent. Or an old friend.
Or a daughter.
As I brought the pair of leggings up to the counter her voice lowered slightly in acknowledgement. Polite, I noted. She held up four fingers. I reached for my wallet, and waited for the questions that would inevitably follow.
"Are you Korean?" (Hangook-saram-iye-yo?)
"Yes."
"Ah yes, I could tell you are Korean." (Hangook-saram-ga-te-yo)
"Yes."
"Are you a student?" (Hakseng-iye-yo?)
"Oh, I've already graduated."
"Well, you look quite young." ("Juhl-muh-bo-ie-yo")
I began to pay and realized I was one dollar short, save the two $50 in my backpack. I shuffled around for coins when she raised her hand to stop me.
I suddenly realized I was dressed in a loose t-shirt and baggy shorts, my usual garb at the time-. An out-of-season black coat hung on one arm. I probably look really run-down, I thought. I still hadn't looked her in the eyes, but this could have passed as natural- expected even, for completely different reasons. I lost my breath.
Before I could think or act otherwise, I instinctively obeyed.
It had been years since I submitted like that on reflex, and no sooner had I done so did it occur to me why. There was nothing significant in what she said, much less, the dollar. Our words were as weighted as discussing change over a loaf of bread. It was a dialogue I held a hundred times before. My Korean came easily and naturally; vowels and consonants rolled forth as smooth as English. I estimated she would forget our conversation in a week. And as I did with all the others, I bid her farewell with honorifics. But only after I walked out of her shop was I able to exhale. It was her tone that caught me.
Assertive, low, hushed. Unquestionably familiar.
It was the first time in several months I had opened my mouth to speak Korean. For this and for another reason, it made me sad.