“It was too hot
for a Par 3 course.
How about checking out
a café
owned by
a reporter I know?”
My husband suggested.
Before we left,
I searched
for a restaurant nearby.
If we were going
all the way
to Goryeong,
I wanted
the whole trip
to feel worthwhile.
It looked
like
it could be
a nice little outing.
We had no big plans.
Just lunch,
a café,
and an afternoon
together.
After lunch,
we followed
narrow country roads
toward the café.
It stood
by itself,
with mountains
behind it.
The first thing
I noticed
was red.
Coca-Cola signs.
A bright red logo.
Even a red car.
Does he really like Coca-Cola that much?
More Like a Small Museum
The owner
was a reporter
my husband had known
for years.
It was the weekend,
and he was helping
his wife
behind the counter.
While we waited
for our drinks,
we walked upstairs.
Rows
of old cameras.
Record players.
Music boxes.
Antique radios.
It felt
less like a café
and more
like a small museum.
A few minutes later,
the owner came upstairs.
“I don’t usually
run the air conditioner
up here.
It costs too much.”
Then he smiled.
“But I’m more worried
about the cameras.
Every one of them
still works.“
That surprised me.
These weren’t things
he simply collected.
He still cared for them.
Sometimes, what makes a collection interesting
isn’t how much someone owns.
It’s how much care is still inside it.
“Why Coca-Cola?”
Later,
I finally asked
what I had been
wondering.
“Why Coca-Cola?”
He smiled.
“It didn’t start
with Coca-Cola.
I collected stamps.
One day,
I discovered
how many interesting things
Coca-Cola had made.
I thought
that was fascinating.”
Then
he began
showing us around.
A music box
still played.
An old turntable
filled the room
with warm,
rich sound.
“It sounds
so alive.”
My husband smiled.
I smiled too.
He showed us
old Coca-Cola bottles,
World Cup edition bottles
made for
the Qatar World Cup,
tiny collectibles,
and stories
behind each one.
I had already
taken
a few photos.
After hearing
the stories,
I realized
the bottles
represented
all sixteen
World Cup teams.
So I went back
and took another photo,
making sure
all sixteen bottles
were in the frame.
I couldn’t stop
looking around.
I found myself
taking
more
and more photos.
A Different Kind of Saturday
At one point,
I said,
“You probably
would have had
more visitors
if this café
had been
closer to the city.”
He shook his head.
“Maybe.
But these things
wouldn’t have lasted.”
“People touch them,
even when I ask them not to.”
I nodded.
“Then protecting them
would become
another full-time job.”
He smiled.
“Exactly.”
On the drive home,
I realized
something.
The café
had been
my husband’s idea.
Years ago,
I might have felt
as though
I were simply
going along
for him.
But this time
felt different.
I found
my own curiosity.
I asked questions.
I listened.
I took photos.
We were both
having fun
by then.
My husband
pointed
to several
Coca-Cola lights
hanging
from the ceiling.
“Take a picture
of those.”
“You do it.”
I handed him
my phone.
He carefully
zoomed in
and took
several photos.
Then
I took
a few more
my way.
We looked
at both.
“I like yours better.”
We laughed.
We were simply
enjoying
the afternoon
together.
Back to Our Own Rhythm
Back home,
everyone
returned
to their own rhythm.
My husband and I shared
a simple dinner.
Just
instant ramen.
After that,
he went
to a nearby café
to cool off.
Everyone else
had already
found
their own rhythm.
I loaded
the dishwasher,
started
the laundry,
and settled in
with green tea
and my laptop.
The fan
was blowing gently.
The house
was quiet.
I didn’t feel
like going
anywhere else.
The afternoon
had already
given me
enough.
