The new guy at the Korean corner store was different than the others, somehow. He was bigger, for one thing. Really big. Tall, over six feet, and broad shouldered. He had a face like a movie star. For the first few days he was there, he would stand proudly on the sidewalk, smiling at people walking by. It was almost as if he was the product, the new, new thing that was on offer. I kind of felt like we should know who he was, or ask for a selfie with him or something. Like he might be famous somewhere else.

After he settled in, the big guy started rearranging the flowers and plants that ringed the outside of the store. He took care in this work, and it seemed like he had a real vision for how things should look. It was an improvement. The plants looked far more inviting and attractive than they had in the past.

Other employees at the store sometimes teased and kidded the big guy. From my spot at the coffee shop across the street, I could see them laughing, poking at him or clapping him on the back.

Still, his improvements took hold, and the store popped a little. People who had gotten used to its old ways came by for a fresh look at the plants and stuff. I could see the big guy being genial with people, inviting them into the store. One day that same fall, a gigantic pumpkin joined the plant stands outside the store. I mean this thing was huge. Certainly the biggest pumpkin I had ever seen in-person. It soon became a bit of a local celebrity. It was a fairly tame neighborhood otherwise.

Week after week, the pumpkin attracted attention. Though it was technically for sale, nobody bought it. People took selfies with it. I went over and thwopped it a few times with the flat of my hand and loved the juddering, friendly sound it made. It was like a new neighbor, a very welcome one. It captured our imaginations. I think past a point, we all thought it would be wrong to buy it, even though it was only twenty bucks. It would feel like taking it away from everyone else.

The other store staff didn’t seem so sentimental. I don’t read lips or speak Korean, but I could see the staff rib the big guy, as they had in the past. Now, though, there was an edge to it, a sense of genuine ridicule, an attempt to shame him or make him feel bad. I felt for him. After a number of days of this, the pumpkin vanished. Around that time I saw a news item that there had been a new local pumpkin contest winner crowned, but it wasn’t our pumpkin. It was an even bigger one that was still on the ground in Delta or somewhere. Not too long after that, the big guy was gone from the store too. I wish I had gotten a selfie with him and his pumpkin.

^^^

Robert David Duncan is a Vancouver-based writer, filmmaker and actor. His writing last appeared in Oblivioni Magazine in January.

Image by Kalyee Srithnam