A Spoonful of Time: A Novel

“It’s patbingsu weather.”
Maya almost didn’t hear her grandmother over the whir of the fan and the rumbling snores of Gizmo, the old, lazy pug dog squished by her side. Dropping her journal, she rolled over and slowly pulled the backs of her arms and legs off the thin bamboo sticks of the mat beneath her. Her grandmother shuffled past her into the kitchen, a dusty box in her arms.
“Did you ask me something, Halmunee?” Maya asked, hoping the answer was no. It was too hot to even think about moving. After three long days of blazing August heat and no AC, Maya had finally dragged the bamboo mat out of the garage and into the living room. The mat was supposed to keep a person cool, but it could only do so much. It didn’t help that no matter where she lay, Gizmo scooted up as close to her as possible, his warm fur pressed against her like a hot-water bottle.
With a soft grunt, Halmunee heaved the box onto the counter, then turned to shout back at Maya. “I said, it’s patbingsu weather.”

Relieved that Halmunee didn’t seem to need her help, Maya flopped back onto the mat and picked up her journal.
Growing up in the cracks of her mother’s busy work schedule meant Maya was accustomed to entertaining herself and living in a quiet world. The thoughts and unanswered questions that often raced through her mind found their home in the form of scribbles and drawings in a small journal she usually carried with her. Maya constantly felt the urge to draw. She didn’t know where it came from since neither Mom nor Halmunee was capable of drawing even a straight line. She often wondered if she got her love of drawing from her father.
As soon as she filled up all the pages in a journal, she placed it in her bookshelf in a row hidden behind her ordinary books. She had started doing this two years ago on her eleventh birthday, when Mom had given her a blue journal with Maya’s name etched in silver at the bottom corner.
Her mom was often tired and distracted in the evenings and on weekends, and some days she could go for several hours without uttering a single word. For as long as Maya could remember, it had been just her and her mom in their still and silent house.
But then Halmunee arrived. And Halmunee didn’t live by the
same rules.
When Maya craved attention or someone to talk to, she loved having Halmunee there, someone who always wanted to know how her day went and what she had drawn in her journal recently. But during moments like this, when Maya wanted to move and talk as little as possible, a tiny part of her wished for the times before Halmunee came to live with them-for those uneventful days of quiet and calm.
Pat! Bing! Su!
She smiled to herself. Maya could picture those staccato syllables exploding from balloons, or maybe spilling out of a popcorn maker. Drawing her questions was often more fun than learning the actual answers.
Maya returned to her journal, lost in another world as she flipped
to a new page to draw the word patbingsu.
“It really is the perfect weather for patbingsu,” said Halmunee, now standing directly behind Maya. “I think this would be a good time for me to show you something new.”
Halmunee had tried a few times before to tempt Maya to cook Korean food with her. Each time, Halmunee got more stubbornly insistent. But Maya didn’t have much experience in the kitchen and it seemed like a lot of work, cooking everything from scratch.
When it was clear that Maya wasn’t going to volunteer any further interest, Halmunee nudged her and continued. “You’ll like it. Come into the kitchen and help me with this.”
Maya groaned. The kitchen was the hottest spot in their house!
Halmunee ignored Maya’s protest and shuffled back into the kitchen. “Here. Help me lift this out.”
Maya got up and readjusted the clothes that had bunched up on her sweaty skin. Small beads of sweat sprouted on her forehead as she entered the kitchen and trudged over to where Halmunee stood.
At her movement, Gizmo quirked his head to the side and wiggled himself up to follow after her. He was the laziest dog in the world and could spend hours sleeping in one spot, but he never missed a potential opportunity for food.
As instructed, Maya held onto the box while Halmunee pulled out a small, white appliance with a wide base and a bulky top.
“I’ve never seen a patbingsu before,” Maya said, using a finger to trace the faded dancing penguins that decorated the appliance. She wasn’t impressed. This was definitely not more interesting than her journal drawing.
Halmunee laughed. “No, this isn’t patbingsu, silly. This is what we use to make patbingsu. You haven’t seen this again yet?” Maya shook her head.
“This is an ice-making machine.” Halmunee frowned. “No, that’s not right. It doesn’t make ice. It makes the snow.”
“The snow,” Maya echoed. Her gaze darted nervously across Halmunee’s face, looking for any sign of the frustration or anxiety that sometimes overwhelmed her grandmother as she searched for words, phrases, or names that she once knew. When Halmunee had first arrived to live with them several months ago, Mom had briefly told Maya about dementia and how it made a person forgetful. Without any further explanation, Mom had sighed and gone off to bed, leaving Maya confused. It wasn’t until the next day that Maya realized Mom had been talking about Halmunee.
Since that day, Maya hadn’t had a chance to discuss it further with Mom. Over the past few months, Mom seemed to always be in a bad mood or suffering from a migraine. She was easily irritated,
especially if Maya tried bringing up anything related to Halmunee. “The snow,” said Halmunee. “You know. The snow you eat?”

Relief shot through Maya’s body as she realized what Halmunee meant. “Oh, you mean like snow cones! Yeah, I’ve had those before. But not at home.”
As Maya squinted at the ice machine, the cartoonish penguins seemed a little more familiar, but she couldn’t be certain if that was based on a real memory or wishful thinking.