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By Root 1017 0

First. Their house was halfway to school, and when I called at the gate, my friend would come running. We held hands and chatted about other girls and the allegiances and rivalries that seemed to come and go with every classroom period. We also talked about Yee Sunsaeng-nim, who seemed fine during the several weeks after our private conversation—even cheerful sometimes—despite her pallid complexion. But one morning in early October when we entered our classroom, we saw Principal Shin sitting at Sunsaeng-nim’s desk, leafing through the day’s lessons. I dropped my copybook and Jaeyun jostled into me. Frowning at the commotion, the principal told us to sit until all the other girls arrived. The ten-minute wait was an eternity. I held Jaeyun’s sweaty hand under the desk, my own palm bloodless and cold. Everything seemed enlarged: the intake of breaths as one then another girl came in and saw Principal Shin in the teacher’s chair, a bench scuffing, the sweet-sour smell of men’s hair oil that now filled the front of the room, the chalk screeching as he wrote the day’s schedule on the blackboard. I thought I heard my heart beating. All the girls had long been seated, and if he didn’t say something soon, I felt I’d explode.

Principal Shin closed the door, faced the classroom and clasped his hands behind him. “Attention, girls,” he said in a voice as soft as water. He cleared his throat and found his usual authoritative tone, “Attention, girls! I have bad news. Yee Sunsaeng-nim has died.” Some girls cried out. Jaeyun put her head on the desk and her shoulders shook with sobs. I struck the desktop once with my fists as tears fell unnoticed on my books. In a corner of my mind, I thought how odd it was that we all knew something terrible had happened, and yet it still felt like a blow when Principal Shin finally said the words. I wanted to raise my hand to ask Yee Sunsaeng-nim about this curious power of words, and then I felt the loss, and buried my head in my hands.

“It’s a very sudden … a sudden illness that … moreover, a tragedy for us all. You must pray for her soul. Let us pray.” Amid weeping and sniffling, Principal Shin bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, give us comfort as we learn of this sudden loss of our honored teacher. Please help the young ones to understand this—so sudden, and that Sunsaeng-nim rests peacefully in heaven, well, and that Sunsaeng-nim … And, moreover, with your great mercy, these students will only remember her with the greatest kindness, as we all do, and help us to study hard to honor our teacher’s memory, and—” He cleared his throat and ended hastily.

The remainder of the day passed somehow. My head pounded and I couldn’t stop crying. I blew my nose and remembered Yee Sunsaeng-nim loudly blowing her nose on the morning of our talk, and I cried again. By midday, a cold hardness settled inside me, and I felt empty and exhausted. Principal Shin tried to motivate us by saying that Yee Sunsaeng-nim would want us all to continue as before. “Think of how you can prove to everyone what a fine teacher she was! Moreover,” he said, “your new teacher—yes, a new teacher will come soon—must see how well she taught you.” He plowed through our lessons, visibly agitated by our unceasing tears, but not once did he lose his temper.

By the end of that long school day, I was sad and confused, yet also strangely alert. Jaeyun and I walked wordlessly to her house and clasped hands tightly before parting at her gate. I hugged my book bundle to my chest and headed home, the familiar roadway feeling as foreign and insignificant as the classroom was without Yee Sunsaeng-nim. What had really happened to her? I thought about the conversation we’d shared, and ached for her and what she must have endured. I didn’t want to believe my heart, which told me she had ended her suffering herself. God didn’t let victims of suicide enter heaven. I remembered the special sermon once given at church to condemn this method of preserving pride, made popular by tales of family betrayal and dishonorable love. I worried that her ghost would never