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By Willow Calderwood
Published in the 2023 journal.
The water swished and sloshed in front of my feet. I was standing on the hard white dock with hundreds of other eager students and passengers, ready to board the ferry. The air was brisk, and many of us were still rubbing the sleep from our eyes. We were returning from our field trip to Incheon, headed back to Jeju. One of the teachers assigned to the trip was pacing among several groups of students, saying things like, “Did you remember everything you brought?” and “Please make sure your tickets are easily accessible.” I squatted down to rummage through my backpack. My feet weren’t nearly warm enough in my sister’s old white Pumas. I heard a boy somewhere to my left: “I could get used to this!”
“Get used to what?” asked another boy. I turned my head slightly to eavesdrop.
“Like, riding on boats and stuff. This one is pretty cool looking, too.”
I fully turned my head now to see that it was a boy from my class last year.
“Oh, hi!” he said when he saw me looking. He gave a slight wave.
“Hey,” I responded before turning back to my bag.
I finished checking that my ticket was secure in my front pocket and stood back up to gaze towards the ferry. It was mostly white with a long strip of deep blue along the bottom. On the side, the word Sewol had been painted on in English along with some other words in Korean. There were many rectangular windows lining the upper levels of the vessel.
I was caught in a tired stare when my best friend grinned and said, “I’m so glad we didn’t have to wear our uniforms on this trip. I feel so much cuter in my normal clothes.”
“Uh huh,” I said with a soft smile and a nod. I twirled a piece of my hair and listened to her talk for a few more minutes.
Eventually, a woman with a long ponytail and a blue and white uniform stepped out of one of the passenger doors of the boat and walked down the ramp. She tousled her bangs for a moment and unclipped the bit of rope that blocked the ramp before sliding to the side to act as an usher. We students inched towards the entrance as the volume of the chattering voices increased. I could hear several teachers saying, “This way, this way,” as they gestured ahead.
“Watch your step,” the crew member lady said as I mounted the ramp, but I tripped a little anyways as I bowed to her.
My friends started walking towards the third floor to find a seat. I followed them to a lounge area on the right side of the cabin. My closest friends wanted to look at photos from the trip, so they sat across from me. A couple other girls sat by me and listened to music. I forgot my headphones, so I tucked my hair behind my ears and leaned against the window to rest.
I was jolted awake by a deafening crash somewhere behind me. I shot up just to lose my balance and slam my backside against the window. My friends and I looked at each other with wide eyes as a blue backpack slid from the left side of the ship towards our feet: the boat was tilting. Several of us hopped up to stand on our now angled seats as other colors and sizes of backpacks and bags tumbled towards our end of the boat. One girl was too slow, and a red backpack whipped into her leg, knocking her down. I shrieked and pulled her onto my seat as blood dripped from her left ankle.
“Do not move. Just stay where you are. It’s dangerous if you move, so just stay where you are,” was the message played perpetually on the overhead intercom system. One of the teachers yelled, “This way! This way!” and called us to the hallway. We grappled our way over, holding hands with one another and using the sideways floor as support. When we were in the hallway, we were handed neon orange life jackets, but there weren’t enough for each of us to have our own, so I gave mine to a student next to me. The boat now felt very tilted. I tripped again. We sat down with our feet to the wall and put our backs on the floor. We held hands. I saw a couple droplets of water squeeze through a bolt in the wall near my feet. Several students recorded themselves and laughed; “the helicopter is on its way” and “I’m going to post this on Instagram.” I let go of the girls’ hands briefly and reached in my back pocket for my phone. The screen was shattered from when I landed against the window, but I still texted my mom, “I love you,” before pocketing it again. The air felt still and tight. One of the girls reached over and wiped a tear from my right eye. Shouts and laughter blurred into echoing sobs as the water now swished and sloshed over our feet.
“Some people are jumping!” I heard the boy from earlier scream.
I squeezed my friends’ hands as the water rose unstoppably. The crew member with the bangs pushed through chest-high water with a life jacket, probably for me. I saw my ticket floating away. . .