There is a ladder. It’s made of wood, its rungs are narrow, and it leans against the wall. I believe the ladder has been there since before we moved here. You’d never know it’s there, though. Only when the ivy’s vines dry out and the leaves fall off does it reveal itself. The ladder only shows itself to those who seek it, always hiding under the ivy, behind the persimmon tree. I buried a glass jar under the ladder. Inside the jar there are photographs, letters, locks of hair, and a little musical ocarina … I don’t remember what else. So many secrets are filling me up … Perhaps I buried the jar because I didn’t want to remember what I cherished. If possible, I want to cover my memories with vines. I want to be buried like a glass jar under the tangled grass. I’m too tired.

“Leche, I’m home!” Dad looks up in the middle of cutting his toenails, curled up into a ball over the newspaper. In his wide, surprised eyes, I see something that resembles anger. He drops his head and collects the toenails. “Where’s Leche?”

“Where have you been? I heard you ran away from home.” My aunt, or actually my stepmother’s youngest sister who runs a hair salon in Daegu, takes a jab at me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask coldly.

“Look at her,” my aunt says to my father as if I’m not here. “You act like I shouldn’t be here! Your hair looks terrible. You look like a drowned rat. Take a shower, then I’ll give you a haircut.”

I sneer. “You are so predictable.”

“What’s predictable? They say the tamest cat is the first one to jump on the stove. You’ve been going around town like a cat in heat. That’s predictable.”

“Screw you. Don’t make me laugh. Where’s my cat? And what are you cooking? That pot is huge. My cat could fit in there. Where is she?”

My father interrupts. “Shut up! You keep popping in and out of the house as you please. Don’t act like you live here. And what, as soon as you get back, you don’t even say hello to your own parents, too busy looking for your cat?”

I turn to my father. “Well, did you say hello to your own daughter? You never treated me like a person. You wish I would die on the street, don’t you? You must be so disappointed that I keep turning up alive.”

“The way you talk …” He grits his teeth.

I hear a purring sound coming from my room and turn away from him. “Leche, is that you? Baby, your sister is here.” I walk into my room.