(Coco) Still A Child

My mother and I were currently having a fight. Except it seems that she has no idea that we were.

You see, this all began with the talent show a few days ago. My mother had signed me up for an amateur talent show without my consent. However, she does things like that all the time so at this point I didn’t have the energy to get upset. That’s not why I’m angry.

She signed me up for the talent show, which would not advance my career in any form, so I presumed that her motive came from her superiority complex. Why else should I give a basically FREE performance - one that I had to pay a sign-up fee for - if not to satisfy my mother and her petty whims? But no, that was not it. She told me that she was, and I quote, “NOT THAT CONCERNED ABOUT ME WINNING,” because she “HAD HER BETS ON SOMEONE ELSE.”

Not that concerned about me winning? What about those times she forced me to stay late practicing at the studio after I got second place at a dance competition? Had her bets on someone else? Someone else???

At that point I was a little irritated, I will admit. I had always done everything she said, whether it be taking uncomfortable acting roles, embarrassing myself on variety shows or performing for free at amateur talent shows. Therefore, it was a little unpleasant to have her denounce the very image of perfection she had created herself. If she wasn’t satisfied at this point, it was her own fault.

But that was fine. I could get over it. Maybe I still wasn’t perfect yet. Maybe this person had something she wanted me to learn from them. Stage presence? A new vocal technique? Fine. It had been a while since I’d had a rival. I’d always surpass them all too quickly for it to be interesting. Maybe this time would be different?

And it was. I don’t think I can surpass them this time.

Because you see, my newest rival was an 8-year-old boy who called himself Maruto. A hero of justice, and a horrible vocalist. He had no talent whatsoever; no stage presence, no singing potential, barely the physique for a dancer.

But his performance was adorable. Even I thought so. Even my mother thought so.

How could I surpass someone who had won my mother’s affection in a few days when I myself had failed to do it for 18 years?

But that was fine. I was used to this. In fact, I felt a little bit better. At least there’s no reason to think there’s a flaw in my performance abilities. And my ‘rival’ was a sweet little kid. Much better than that guy who tried to push me down the stairs after I won the 100 m dash at the HBS Star Athletics Meet. Much better. I couldn’t be upset.

But then, just as we were about to leave, my mother told the kid, “WHATEVER. GO BACK TO YOUR PARENTS, KID. I GOT MY OWN BRAT TO TAKE CARE OF.”

That was the last straw. Are you hearing what she said? Brat? Brat??? When have I EVER acted like a brat? No, really, name ONE moment.

When have I ever acted immature? When have I ever been selfish? When have I uttered a single complaint? Is there anything I haven’t tolerated to the end with a picture perfect smile?

That was it. I was angry. It’s been years since I was angry.

But even then, my mother hasn’t even noticed. I’m throwing a fit, but she doesn’t even know I’m mad at her. I’m so used to acting mature that I guess I don’t even know how to throw a fit. But this time, I was determined to make her notice. She says I’m a brat? Okay, I’ll be a brat then.

And that’s how I ran away from home.

But you see, there was a little problem. If the media were to catch word of me running away from home, it would destroy 6 years worth of work building my good public image. Of course, that would be a great way to spite my mother, but it would still harm my career and all the employees in my company that depended on it. So if I wanted to run away, I had no choice but to run away to the only place that the press couldn’t reach: Café Eris.

But of course, things never go my way. Today just had to be the day that the press finally infiltrated this place.

Moving conspicuously throughout the café was a young man in a blazer, holding a camera and a notebook. He went from table to table, asking people something and writing down their statements. Dammit. Goddammit. I lowered my baseball cap more and slouched a little. Was he going to come ask me something too? Maybe I should wear a mask.

As my eyes were glued to the reporter, I failed to notice the person approaching me from behind.

“AH, IF IT ISN’T COCO! WHAT BRINGS YOU HERE AT THIS ODD HOUR?”

I whipped around to see the exasperating bald man who was unfortunately, the owner of this café.

At this moment, his voice seemed as loud as my mother’s. Ugh. But I knew that was impossible. I was probably being too self-conscious. Nonetheless I ushered for him to quiet down with my hand, but he was oblivious as always.

“HAHA! AREN’T YOU USUALLY AT WORK AROUND THIS TIME? DO YOU HAVE A DAY OFF TODAY FROM THAT IDOL BUSINESS? THE ONE AND ONLY COCO-CHAN WHO WORKS EVERYDAY? HAHAHAHA!!!”

“Mr. Scanta! Please lower your voice!” I whisper-shouted. Shoot shoot shoot. He had just exposed my identity. I looked back at the reporter, and sighed in relief when I saw him looking in a different direction.

“WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING THERE, BOY? ALWAYS ON YOUR PHONE AREN’T YOU?”

He loomed over my shoulder and peered at my phone. I did a quick scan of the café to make sure no one was paying any attention to me.

“OHHH CHERRY PLAID, HUH? SCOPING OUT THE COMPETITION AFTER PIMMY BEAT YOU AT THE TALENT SHOW?”

“What?” I turned back to Scanta. He was staring at my phone’s screen, where the QBC Countdown Stage video I was watching continued to play. It wasn’t even Cherry Plaid.

“C’MON COCO, DON’T BE TOO DOWN, YOU STILL DID GREAT! TRULY A PERFORMANCE WORTHY OF COCO PARK, KOREA’S POSTER CHILD, SIGNED WITH BM ENTERTAINMENT-”

Was he serious right now? I looked over at the reporter. He was looking in our direction now, along with pretty much everyone else in the cafe.

“-DATE OF BIRTH DECEMBER 25TH 2003 LEGAL ADDRESS 127 CEDAR-”

“STOP!!!” I stood up abruptly.

The cafe went silent.

I want to off myself.

“That’s not my real address, okay?” I told the people staring at us.

They all looked away awkwardly, reporter included. I breathed a sigh of relief. Or maybe exhaustion.

“So Coco, what would you like to order? Don’t tell me you’re just going to loiter?” Scanta said in a significantly quieter voice. He was doing this on purpose, wasn’t he? I grit my teeth.

“What if I am here to loi-”

He cut me off, “Oh, by the way, why are you here alone today? Your mother was here earlier, why weren’t you with her? Also why are you wearing commoner clothes? Does Prince Coco want to try humbling himself for a change? In that case, today, I’ll serve you the same garbage coffee as everyone else, and actually give you change. You have to pay with a smaller bill though, okay?”

God, he talks a lot. I was glaring at him but he didn’t seem to notice. Why does no one take me seriously? “That’s not it, I just wan-”

He gasped. Very loudly. “COCO, IS IT TIME FOR YOUR REBELLIOUS PHASE??? FINALLY!!! YOU’RE RUNNING AWAY FROM HOME AREN’T YOU?!”

“...”

The entire café was silent.

Frick.

I stood up, hitting my leg against the table and making even more noise. Should I just run? I’ve already made a complete fool of myself. I should run, shouldn’t I?

The reporter started walking right towards me, blocking the only aisle I had for my escape.

I sat back down. Okay, I guess my life is over. This is what I get for disobeying my mother, right?

Well, the reporter has guts, I’ll give him that. Usually these rats just take pictures from a distance and make up whatever story they feel like.

“Hello sir, can I ask you a few questions?” He stood nervously beside my table. Looking at him closely, he was just a kid, probably younger than me.

“Sure,” I replied flatly, “Sit down.”

His face lit up. “Ah, thank you! But…but…” he stuttered, “It won’t take long, so, uh…” he hesitated, and ended up sitting down.

He opened his notebook, and a loose piece of paper slid out. It was a photo of Pimmy Park of Cherry Plaid, who was another regular at this café. It looked like it was taken during the café talent show. He managed to catch wind of that too? Looks like he had already made his move a while ago.

But then I realized that the photo was printed on 8” x 11” printer paper. So which was it? Was he an amateur or an expert?

He noticed me looking at the photo. “Oh, yes, that’s who I wanted to ask you about! Her name is Pimmy Park, right?”

“Right...”

“She’s a regular at this café, right? Do you happen to know her?” he gazed at me expectantly.

“I guess I know her a little. What do you want to know?” Good. Looks like his target wasn’t me. It didn’t seem like he realized who I was either. I would also like to believe that he didn’t hear any of my previous conversation with Scanta.

“Ok, so...I would like to know what you think about her, and uhh...you were there at the talent show,” he scanned my face and tried to see under the shadow of my cap, “I- I think you were a competitor, so...oh! Um, as a fellow winner, can you tell me your thoughts on her performance?”

“Sure…” This kid was confusing me even more. That’s all he wants to know? Is he really a reporter? “By the way, what magazine do you work for?” I tried.

“M-Magazine?”

“Oh, is it a newspaper?”

“No! It’s- well, it’s a newspaper b-but...it’s uh...my...school newspaper…” he said sheepishly.

“...”

“We do local features...s-so...if that girl plays here regularly...I wanted to interview her because her performance was the best...I couldn’t find her so I-”

I ignored the fact that he thought Pimmy did better than me. “So what’s with the clothes?”

“Well, uh...my seniors...said that...more people will agree to talk to you...if you look more professional…” Well, I guess he was right about that. I can’t believe I thought he was a reporter. I guess I was really overreacting today.

“Can I see your article so far?” I smiled, gaining a bit more composure. “Maybe I can give you some pointers. I have a bit of experience with this.”

“Really?!”

He handed me his notebook, and I scanned the messy writing. So far, he had just collected some general impressions on Pimmy from some café regulars. There wasn’t even any mention of her idol career. It was mostly a variety of favourable opinions:

“Great performance! She could be a professional!” - Lucky Rahman (33)

“She should come play with her band sometime. Is Cherry Plaid your school band?” - Ahmed Rahman (35)

“I like her hair! I want pink hair too! Like Coco and Ms.Rika!” - Kulsum Rahman (8)

“Who?” - Wabong (??) ← Left really quickly. Ask him again later

“I don’t really talk to her so I’m not sure, but she...has a lot of presence. An aura, if you will. In a good way of course!” - Tristan Smith (19)

“A nice girl with way too much time on her hands” - Mr. Scanta (??) ← Refused to give me his age. Remember to ask other customers if they know

“Who?” - Genu Tibia (22)

“My sister says that old lady is the final boss!!! But I think the final boss will be Mr. Santa because wouldn’t that be a great plot twist?” - Maruto (8) ← He was the winner of the competition, which is why he wants to battle Pimmy, I think

“Never speak to me or my son again! And that goes for both the twerp and you!” - Rika Park (37) ← The scary lady

“That girl has...curious hobbies.” - DJ McDizzle (26) ← ask to elaborate

“If I get her to perform at our café and we get a lot of customers, maybe I’ll get a bonus.” - Katie Whitfield (20)

“A danger to society.” - Anonymous girl dyed blonde hair and green hoodie (18) ← Word it nicer, like “Fatally talented.” She also didn’t give me her name. Ask other customers

“Her performance was nice, wasn’t it? I liked it much better than the loud DJ thing. I don’t think she goes to our school, does she?” - Maisha Chowdhury (17)

“I fear no man. But that girl...she scares me. And I’m a goddamn ghost!” - Lolita (??) ←- Probably cosplayer, interview her later

There were a few more, but they were just variations of, “Nice performance, don’t really know her.” I didn’t have much else to contribute either.

“A nice girl. I see her around a lot. She seems to admire me very much, but who doesn’t?” I told him. He wrote it down as I thought about his notes.

Looks like my mother really did come by in the morning. Scanta had mentioned it too. Was she looking for me? Or did she just pick her usual non fat, no dairy, no meat, vegan, extra cream, extra egg, gluten free, oat milk matcha latte with extra foam and a frog design at a 45 degree angle on top and left. Left where? For a flight back to Korea? To do what? She was MY manager. She couldn’t do anything if there was no one to manage. So she was probably looking for me, even if she didn’t want to. Hah.

I gave the boy my tips, and told him to remove the photo and some other things in order to respect Pimmy’s privacy. Then the boy made to leave.

But curiosity got the better of me. “By the way, did this lady,” I pointed to my mother’s name, “say anything else? Maybe about her son?”

The boy thought for a bit. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“Because this guy is her son!” a voice piped up behind me, making me jump.

“Scanta?! Why are you here again?!”

“You still haven’t ordered anything.”

“Just give the usual then.” I shooed him away. Then I slammed my head against the table a few times.

When I lifted my head, I saw the reporter boy looking at me excitedly. “You’re that rich lady’s son?”

“I am…”

“Can I interview you later?” he beamed. I was going to have to say no, but- “About your mother?” he added.

Of course. Of course it was about my mother.

“We’ll see.” Even the way I replied was like my mother.

As the boy left, Mr. Scanta placed an order of non fat, no dairy, no meat, vegan, extra cream, extra egg, gluten free, oat milk matcha latte with extra foam and a frog design at a 45 degree angle on top. “It’s on the house,” he winked, as if doing me a favour. Even though he owed me 10 free drinks as my talent show prize. “Also, if you need a place to stay, the storage room in the back is always available for you.”

“I’ll pass,” I grumbled. That wasn’t even my usual. It was my mother’s.

After drinking the whole thing anyway, I slumped over my table and watched as the reporter boy interviewed a few more people. I forgot to tell him my most important tip - that no one in this café is ever helpful, so he should just give up.

Then, I heard the bell at the door ring. I looked up. Had my mother finally found me?

But it was not my mother, it was Pimmy Park. As she walked in, the reporter boy ran towards her. I chuckled as she stumbled backwards a little. I guess she thought he was a real reporter too.

Nonetheless, the two of them sat down at a table, and it looked like he was able to interview Pimmy normally. After he left, I approached Pimmy.

“Hey Pimmy. Looks like the paparazzi have finally found us.”

“Oh! Coco!” She greeted me. Her eyes flitted around the room, and she was sweating heavily.

“Woah, are you okay? I was just joking. That kid isn’t a real reporter.”

“I-I know,” she met my eyes nervously, “I was so relieved when I realized. Gave me a real scare…” It sure looked like it did. Poor girl. She wasn’t this jittery during the interview though. I admire her professionalism.

Just as Pimmy was about to say something else, I heard the bell ring again.

Standing at the door, clothes all grimy and in tatters, was my mother. I stood up. Even her sunglasses were perched on her nose asymmetrically. She hated that.

I was a little shocked. Looks like she really was searching for me. But where was she searching that she looked like that? The forest? The playground? Under the bed? I’m not a child anymore.

She power walked towards me without a word, and I braced myself for a storm. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too bad. She wouldn’t make a scene in front of all these people, would she? Never mind, she definitely would.

But, when she reached where I was standing, she still didn’t say anything. She didn’t yell at me, or slap me, or drag me away.

She gave me a hug.

Maybe I am still a child.