Fan fiction adaptation of "The Catcher in the Rye"

Holden is the manager of the school’s fencing team and is supposed to be in New York for a meet, but he lost the team’s equipment on the subway, forcing everyone to return early. Here, Holden is myself and rather than fencing competition, I changed it to the violin competition.

Where I want to start telling is the day I left my grandma’s home; that’s in Seoul Dachi-dong. You probably heard of it. You’ve probably seen the ads of goddamn academies located in Dachi-dong, anyway. They advertise in about a thousand magazines, always showing some foreign guy with notes on his one hand and geek looking glasses on his face. Like as if all you ever did at Dachi-dong grandma’s house, was going to academies all the time. I never even once went or seen academies anywhere near the place. And underneath the foreign guy on the ads, it always says: “Since 2000 we have been molding boys into splendid, clear-thinking young men.” Strictly for the birds. They don’t do any damn more molding at academies than they do at any other academies in different places. And I didn’t know anybody there that was splendid and clear-thinking and all. Maybe two guys. If that many. And they probably came to these academies that way.

 

    Anyway, it was the Saturday of the violin competition near Dachi-dong. The violin competition was supposed to be a very big deal among young violinists. It was the oldest and one of the most dignified competition, and you were supposed to commit suicide or something if some young violinist from Seoul win. I remember around three o’clock that afternoon I was standing way the hell up on second floor of damn huge concert room, right next to this crappy building that was in the IMF and all. You could see the whole audience from there, and you could see the four judges bashing competition participants. You couldn’t see the grandstand too hot, but you could hear audience all yawning, whispering.

    There were never many girls at all at the football games. Only few someone’s girl-friend looking girls were there. It was a terrible competition, no matter how you looked at it. I like to be somewhere at least where you can see a few girls around once in a while, even if they’re only scratching their arms or blowing their noses or even just giggling or something.

    The reason I was standing way up on the second floor of the of concert room, instead of down at the competition, was because I’d just got back from grandma’s house that morning for this competition meet with my violin teacher near my grandma’s house. Only, I didn’t have the meet. My string snapped accidently when I set my violin in my grandma’s house by myself, tuning the violin. It wasn’t all my fault. I had to learn how to tune from my teacher but my goddamn teacher wasn’t there at all tuning the violin for me. So I got back to my home around two-thirty instead of around dinnertime. My mom ostracized me the whole way back on the car. It was pretty funny, in a way. I hated playing the violin at that time.