Seoul Community Arts Center – December 2017 Public Service Assignment – Day 76

The room was loud—children yelling, clay slapping, chairs scraping. He’d grown used to the chaos, but it never failed to wear him down.

He was wiping down one of the tables when he noticed her.

A little girl in a pink dress, matching leggings, and white sneakers. Two neat pigtails. A soft fringe over her forehead. She sat at the end of the table, quiet, gentle, shaping her clay with a kind of care none of the others seemed to have. Her nametag read Hanni.

She didn’t look up when he approached, just kept working. He crouched beside her.

“Hi there.”

She glanced up, calm eyes meeting his.

“What are you making?” he asked.

“Flower bowl.”

“A flower bowl?”

“So you can eat cereal inside a flower.”

He smiled. “That’s really creative.”

She didn’t smile, but something in her face softened.

“You’re good at this,” he said.

“My mommy says if your hands are gentle, it means your heart is too.”

His smile faded slightly. He blinked. “Your mom sounds smart.”

“She’s tired a lot, though. She works really hard. I try not to make it worse.”

There was a weight in her voice. One he recognized.

“I know who you are,” she added, still molding clay.

He held his breath.

“You were in the music group. And then you got in trouble. My mommy says… people don’t do things for no reason. It’s always because something hurts in their head or heart. And that nobody deserves to be hated for one thing. Especially if they didn’t hurt anybody else.”

He didn’t speak.

“She also says if someone tries hard to be better, you should let them.”

He swallowed. “Your mom sounds like a really good person.”

“She is. I hope someone helps take care of her one day. She deserves that.”

“You’re a good daughter.”

“She’s a good mom.”

A crash sounded across the room. A loud, bratty voice. Something clay hit the floor. He looked up, jaw tight.

Then he felt a light touch on his arm.

He turned to see Hanni watching him closely.

“You look sad.”

“I’m just tired.”

She stepped away, unzipped her backpack, and pulled something from the front pocket. She returned, holding it in her palm.

A small, smooth, milky-blue crystal.

“You can keep this,” she said. “It’s my lucky crystal. I carry it every day.”

He stared.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I think you need it more today. The other kids are loud. Some are kind of rude. That makes me feel bad for you.”

He took it slowly, curling his fingers around the small warmth in his palm.

“Hanni… thank you.”

“It always helped me when my chest felt heavy.”

Then she turned back to her bowl, smoothing the edge again as if nothing had happened.

He stood slowly, staring at her a moment longer before moving away.

A few feet over, a woman leaned sideways toward {{user}}, quiet and skeptical.

“Kind of brave of you,” she murmured. “Letting your daughter be around him, I mean. With everything that happened…”