Changes Come Slowly

Chapter 13

"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted,

and saves the crushed in spirit."

Psalm 34:19

Spring '77...

Six months had elapsed since I'd left Canadian Pacific and Vancouver, and soon my government-paid unemployment benefits would expire, thus following my visit to Tennessee, I resumed job hunting in earnest. My renewed determination soon withered to little more than half-hearted resolve, because job hunting in Montreal was frustrating at best and my lack of adequate conversational French was a millstone. Whether or not I possessed any education at all, or was willing to work at just about anything for minimum wage, none of these factors were relevant to prospective employers. The new reality was that if I wasn't able to converse in fluent French, then I was rejected as worthless.

My most recent interview had been with one of Canada’s well-known department stores, and that interview was nothing less than a remarkably ill-mannered case study in how to damage a person's self-respect. 

 

I'd responded to a newspaper advertisement, one of the many which I'd answered, but this time I'd wangled an interview. With a renewed spark of optimism, I arrived at the store’s head office about ten minutes early and was promptly instructed to have a seat in the reception waiting area, and of course, wait.

After an hour or more of what felt like endless waiting, nothing happening and no one coming for me, I began inquiring as to when I'd be able to meet with the person who'd telephoned the day before and invited me to come in. All this time I'd remained cool, calm and collected just in case I was being tested, so I was shocked upon hearing that the person I was supposed to be meeting with wasn't in the office and wasn't coming in. I was never informed of this minor detail when I arrived, and all the more annoying was that no prior effort whatsoever had been made to either contact me and cancel the appointment, or have someone else conduct the interview. 

Anyway, a sympathetic employee came out, hastily arranged for me to see the Assistant Traffic Manager, but right after I was ushered into his office, he informed me he was short-staffed and too busy to waste time with an interview. I thought this was good news and the reason why I was here, but instead he told me to leave. Desperate for a job, I swallowed my pride, kept my mouth shut, turned around, walked out and kept on going, but inside I was seething with anger.

In the end I did have the final word, and vowed never to set foot in any of the company’s stores ever again; a vow I have kept to this day.

Failing so far to find employment, I paused job-hunting, and over the next several days I made a determined effort in revising and rewriting, “Sketches of a Vietnamese Girl in America” for entry into Canada-wide National Music Competition for young composers. 

Pleased with the added cadenza and new coda, I followed by adding a second movement structured around some new thematic ideas. During my recent visit I'd played these for Phi Bang when she was seated next to me on the piano bench, and curious, I asked for her opinion. Although not helpful, her short answer was an honest, "I don't understand about writing anything music."

After the changes were completed I made a recording of the revised work, and sent the cassette to Phi Bang for her comments.

Ever hopeful but also doubtful, I mailed in my music opus and application just ahead of the competition’s closing deadline. Two weeks later an acknowledgement letter arrived to inform me that my submission had met the entry qualifications.

This was encouraging.

Several weeks passed, but I heard nothing further from the music competition council nor any word Phi Bang. I cared less about the music composition contest, but Phi Bang’s silence was unsettling, because after returning home from Tennessee I felt certain we'd remain close and committed to each other. Nonetheless, I sensed the bloom from our reunion had faded, and once more we were drifting apart, but another trip south was out of the question. 

Following a lengthy rest upon the proverbial shelf, I dusted off other music notation books and resumed working on the F minor piano sonata. The first two movements had been completed months earlier in Vancouver, but the finale had remained incomplete. Brooding over Phi Bang’s silence made seizing inspiration from the cosmos too easy in pounding out a fast paced conclusion in the home key. 

Dissatisfied with the conclusion, I revised the final movement to add a coda that modulated from the darker sounding tones of F minor into the more optimistic timbres of the relative major key. I wanted to conclude my opus on a symbolic positive note, and with loud chords of hope rather than dark knells of despair. Perhaps I was an optimistic pessimist struggling once in a while to shed the image of simply being a dour pessimist. All great-in-the-mind plans aside, life doesn't unfold as expected... or as wanted.

Summer...

Alzheimer’s disease, that silent, invisible, and insidious final earthly antagonist claimed my grandfather in June, a month short of his 89^th birthday. Death was Grandpa’s release from his horrible mental anguish which the dementia of the disease had without mercy inflicted upon him throughout his final years. Yes, I felt a deep sadness and remorse he was gone, but I had no tears to shed in knowing Grandpa would no longer have to relive in his failing mind all those pains and tragedies from his distant past.

Profound and poignant episodes made lasting impressions about my grandfather, and about the hated disease. Even though his younger brother had been deceased for nearly twenty years, one afternoon my grandfather diligently searched the house for him. When my grandmother's patience reached its limit, she reminded him that his brother was dead. Later, my grandfather wept brokenly, like he was hearing the decades-old news for the first time.

There'd be no more of Grandpa's noisy post-midnight episodes of desperate rantings and repeated pleadings about having to go out to meet non-existent trains at a non-existent train station. Trying to explain that the station had been torn down years earlier in a village more than a hundred miles away couldn't arouse him from the disease inflicted delusions. 

Too, there'd be no more of Grandpa's futile searches for his woodpiles out in the backyard. Although he'd had been repeatedly reminded that my parents' house was heated by an oil furnace in the basement, he searched outside for non-existent woodpiles nonetheless.

Alone now in the silent church, I chose to meditate in the pew at the very front. Yes, the pew before the communion table and directly beneath the pulpit, the pew that no one ever sat in during a church service... at least none that I'd attended. Perhaps that pew was reserved for angels, but a more likely reason might've been that no one wanted the minister to see restless fidgeting and lack of attention during his sermons. The middle. I always chose somewhere in the middle. Never up front and never right at the back, just somewhere in the insignificance and anonymity of the middle where most townsfolk sat. Anyway, that day was the first time I'd ever chosen to sit in the front of the church, and believe me, I was no angel.

After making a cursory study of the patterns of the well-crafted woodwork on the walls and ceiling, as I'd often done during services, and glancing at the top branches of the trees waving and beckoning from outside the windows, I finally stared at Grandpa's lifeless form in the open casket mere feet away, and reflected by talking aloud to him, “There are two things I wish I'd learned from you; first, how to milk a cow, and second, how to slaughter, clean and prepare a chicken for a dinner. I know it sounds odd to speak here in what we call God’s house about killing, and more so here in the presence of your remains that cannot hear, but I'll always feel that I didn't learn all I should've learned from you while I could. I'll always believe there was so much more you could've taught me, especially if I'd been more willing to listen and learn when I had those chances."

Failure to learn and failure to pass on knowledge must surely be one of the great tragedies about life and death.

My grandfather’s death forced me to face reality, and with reluctance acknowledge, if not accept, the slow disintegration of my dreams. I had always expected to return from western Canada prosperous and successful, but Instead, I was unemployed, almost broke, and felt like a dismal failure. Returning to live here in the Megantic Mountain highlands was never going to happen.

Worse, my dream of spending my life with Phi Bang was withering away, and there was nothing I could do about that either. Unwanted changes were unstoppable and unavoidable. Time was mercilessly eradicating the little I so desperately wanted to cling to.

About a week later, a large, official-looking envelope from the music composition competition arrived by mail, and in those few seconds needed to tear open the envelope and extract the contents, I was airborne with that elation of, "Maybe... just maybe..."

The ensuing instant crash-landing back to reality really hurt. The judging had been accomplished and winners selected, but my name wasn't on the list. Also accompanying my returned and untouched-looking manuscript was a rejection letter from the CBC. They too weren't interested in my music. I tossed the unwanted work aside and griped to myself about whether or not anyone had even bothered to listen to my opus just once. Reality can be a cruel teacher.

Phi Bang hadn't written for nearly two months, and I had no idea if she planned to stay in Pittsburgh, or return to Lee in Cleveland, or resume her studies elsewhere. I thought about calling, but calling her usually left me feeling even more discouraged afterward. My angst was facing reality, and hearing the message between her words, if not in her words.

Autumn...

We battle through the same old drudgery by carrying on with the same familiar routines day after day, but nothing ever seems to change. But routine and drudgery are deceptive, because day after day insignificant small events do occur, and while each on its own is imperceptible at its outset, they do add up to major direction changes in our lives. 

Change in life is like walking into a curve on a railway track. The curve is unmistakable, but pointing out an exact spot where the change in direction started is almost impossible to discern. Only when stopping to look back does one perceive the change in direction ahead had already begun somewhere behind.

During the summer I finally found full time employment with a British-owned ocean carrier that was far more interested in my work abilities than my linguistic credentials. Working for a container transportation line wasn't the same as working for the railway, nonetheless I was grateful to be employed and earning a steady income again. 

Between semesters, Phi Bang had written little. I knew she was working, but when her classes resumed in September, her letters stopped again. In my head I understood why, but undeterred, I kept writing to her so she'd know she was in my thoughts.

The second week of November wasn't a week I'd have willingly chosen for vacation, however, because I was the newest employee in the company, I was left with last choice to select from what was available on the calendar.

Canadian National Railways was offering a special deal to entice would be travellers to visit Toronto by train to see their new CN Tower. A same day return ticket including a trip up the tower was only $29.95. Yes, I was enticed by that exceptionally low price. More than a year had elapsed since I'd returned to Montreal from Vancouver on CP Rail’s Canadian, and a visit to Toronto would be my first real train trip since then.

Travel was on CN’s famous turbo train. First heralded as a new, sleek and fast means to travel between downtown Montreal and downtown Toronto in less than four hours, the turbo train was now legendary for failures and breakdowns during revenue journeys. 

CN’s turbo train I'd boarded that morning certainly was fast, in some places knocking off four miles in less than three minutes, however, lateral jerking made walking in the aisle awkward. 

The train was on time and without fanfare rolled into the sheds of Union Station, and a station name Montreal did not posses. Perhaps the reason was the name Union, the antithesis of everything useless the detested separatist government was promoting.

Toronto’s sky was a very low misty cloud ceiling shaded in Vancouver grey, making for a genuine drab November appearance. Streets were wet but at least the rain had stopped. This was my first visit here and I wasn't at all impressed. Toronto definitely wasn't a city I'd ever want to consider relocating to and eventually have to call it home. 

Nonetheless, Toronto was becoming a less-reviled destination name among the English in Quebec, because thousands of ex-Montrealers were now calling this city home, and thousands more were on the fence about selling-out to join the exodus.

YUCK! 

Yuck for Toronto, and a far bigger YUCK for Quebec’s Parti Quebecois government. A license plate I spotted on someone’s car in Montreal's West Island best reflected English sentiment in Quebec: FUPQ. In spite of my intense dislike for the separatist government, I was already glancing at my watch. I hadn't been in Toronto 20 minutes and already I was mentally noting the hours and minutes counting down until departure time for the return train to Montreal.

Outside the entrance to the tower, the voice of the Friendly Giant echoed in my thoughts, "Look up. Look waaaay up."

I did stop to look up, and CN’s grey concrete tower went way up and disappeared into the grey foggy mist, just like Jack’s beanstalk. 

In an elevator minutes later, I was whisked skyward to the main deck, and stepped into a circular enclosed space much less profound and exciting an experience than my recollections of the 86th floor of New York City's Empire State Building. Because of the present and persisting low grey cloud ceiling, I couldn't see the ground, or any of Toronto from the top of the CN Tower. Nonetheless since I was here, and with nothing else to do until 3:45 p.m., I wrote a letter to Phi Bang on the backs of several postcards I'd selected in the gift shop. When my letter was finished, I mailed it from the mailbox at the top of the tower, and labelled Toronto’s highest mailbox. 

An underwhelming, "Wow."

And I wondered, "Will Phi Bang be interested whether or not I visited Toronto? Would she want to know? Does she even care? 

I didn't know, but I did wonder what she might think, because living with a false sense of hope derived from denial was easier to live with. 

After returning to ground level, I spent a lonely afternoon wandering around Toronto's downtown core while thinking about Phi Bang.

"Seems so much like Seattle." came to mind as I waited out the remaining hour until train time in Union Station.

Arriving on time in Montreal’s Central Station on CN's turbo train felt no different from arriving on time in Vancouver on CP Rail's Canadian, because no one was waiting to meet and greet me. No one anywhere was waiting for me to return. Being alone but not wanting to be alone was the story of my life. All I really wanted was to live a happy ending with the one special woman I could one day call my soulmate, because God had made her and chosen her only for me... the way Rebecca was chosen for Isaac.

Later at home I complained to God about my failing relationship with Phi Bang, and I'll admit being angry and disappointed while pondering, “Does God really listen to our cries from the misery of our hurting hearts?”

God’s silence felt unbearable, but I refused to abandon hope in him and disbelieve.

Winter '78...

In four and a half years much had changed in the West Island, and most irksome was the migration elsewhere of almost every friend I'd had and acquaintance I'd known. Eventually I crossed trails with one high school friend who hadn't thrown-in the towel, and made that one-way westward journey down Highway 401 to English Canada like most others had done following graduation.

I was looking forward to getting together with Jim for an evening out to unwind and talk over old times, more so because I hand't seen him since summer '74 when he'd hitchhiked across Canada to visit me in Vancouver. But sometimes events don't unfold anything like as anticipated, because people change over time... all of us do.

“Look around this place!” Jim encouraged a while later as he surveyed the surrounding tables, meaning the attractive young ladies seated at the nearest tables.

“Yeah, I did, but what about it?' responding with ambivalent disinterest while gazing at the rising minuscule bubble-streams in my half-empty glass of beer. 

This brasserie, watering hole, pick-up joint, or whatever people choose to label it now, was well-known throughout L’Isle de l’Ouest... or West Island as I and most Anglo's had always known it.

“I’m not talking about décor, muh boy," and Jim drooling like a kid in a candy store, "I’m talking decorations.” 

“What decorations?” 

“Look at ‘em!" as he gestured, "beautiful young women… and a garden of opportunity just waiting to be plucked.” 

“I’m not looking for any opportunities, and besides, it wouldn’t be right for me.” but I'd already stolen quite a few glances at those around us.

“Forget all that religious stuff of yours for a minute and look.” sounding like he'd heard it all before.

“Don’t drag religion into this” 

“Why not?” 

”Religion without belief doesn’t mean anything.”

“So?” 

“I’m a Christian.” 

“What’s the difference?” 

In the past I'd shared with Jim about my faith in Jesus, the Son of the one true God, and in past times the two of us discussed our thoughts and beliefs at length, but he sounded as unconvinced as ever about the reality of God.

"Jesus teaches us not to look at women as objects of lust.” and feeling uneasy because I gave this answer.

He laughed at first, and defying me to argue this point, he skewered, “Are you gonna sit there and tell me you've never looked at a woman without lust?” 

“No.” and now wishing I'd left the subject alone because I felt like a hypocrite.

"So what's different here?"

"I'm just not interested in looking for someone." and this answer genuine because my mind was on Phi Bang.

“So what’s the point with all that religious stuff of yours?”  

“I don’t know all the answers... but surely there has to be something more to life than this.” I insisted while feeling all the more shallow, because in that moment I felt shaken about what I'd claimed to believe in.

“This is what life’s all about.... and this's why we’re here!” and right away turning his attention to a very attractive young lady at a neighbouring table.

Whether from confidence or bravado, Jim gave her a friendly smile and hand wave, but she turned her head to look the other way. Even I understood that much female body language.

“She may be why you’re here but I have no idea why I’m here.” knowing that in spite of our friendship, our beliefs and values would remain incongruent.

“Tell me, how can you you believe in God? How do you even know if there is a God?” now sounding more curious than derisive.

“To be honest, there are some days when I really don’t know, but I believe in God nonetheless because I know he's there.” 

Where's there?"

"Here. Right here. His presence is in this place." 

I'd answered what I believed to be true, but present reality in my life seemed to be less about God and more about waiting for another letter from Phi Bang, letters that never seemed to come soon enough.

“I think I’ll stick with my Garden of Eden here.” 

“I suppose you’re in the right place if you want to look at women that way.” accepting Jim's answer as genuine for him, although I remained unimpressed with it.

“Is there any other way to look at them?” and sort of defying me to tell him there was some other way to look at a woman.

"Fair enough." capitulating to take the easy out.

Looking around again, I couldn't see the garden of opportunity Jim was seeing. All I saw was a sea of unknown faces. In spite of this, I'll admit on a human level my friend was half-right in what he'd said, because this place was filled with beautiful women... yet to me they all seemed like unapproachable intimidating strangers.

Some really attractive girls were laughing, a few looked bored, others were shouting and trying to be heard over the deafening, thumping disco music, too many were smoking cigarettes, and most were downing beers as if a serious drought was coming. 

All this aside though, those beautiful ladies were accompanied by males; meaning likely a boyfriend, possibly a live-in partner, or maybe even their husband. I didn't know, but regardless of what the relationships might've been, I really didn't want to intrude and tangle with any of those male someone elses in their lives. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Jim challenged before adding, “Surely your religion allows you to talk to a woman.”

“This place really isn’t my style.” 

“Style? Forget style. All you gotta do is connect with someone. And that’s it!” sounding like a pro giving advice to a naive rookie.

“I meant coming here... this isn't for me.” because in my heart I knew I'd never find that one and only right person for me in a place like this.

“Man, you really need to relax and loosen up.” 

“I've always envied you." I revealed.

"Me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I've always considered you one of those happy-go-lucky people who have everything handed to them without ever having to ask or struggle for it.”

“Really?” and his astonishment seemed genuine.

“Yes. Really!" and wanting to change the subject, I prodded, "What happened between you and Janet?” 

I was hoping maybe he'd shed some light on why he and Janet had separated after more than two years of living together.

“I wasn’t ready to settle down.”

“Why not?” 

“Things were great for a while but then she started talking about buying a house and starting a family.” 

“What’s so bad about that?”

“You wouldn’t understand because you haven't been there," and pausing to gulp a mouthful of beer, continued, "Women are funny that way, you know.” 

“I wouldn't know.”

“They have different needs.” 

“What needs?”

“All they think about is settling down, buying a house and then having children... and then they want you home all the time. They want to run your life."

"So?

"I couldn’t take the pressure...  after all I’m only twenty-four and I’m not ready for that scene.” 

“Then why'd you get mixed up with Janet in the first place?” asking out of genuine curiosity.

“Older woman. You know how it is.”

“I really don’t know.” 

“Jan was twenty-seven, divorced and had a six year old daughter when we met.” 

“Why on earth would you want anything to do with a divorced older woman with a child if you didn’t want the responsibilities? and truly wanting to understand his reasoning if there'd been any.

“I didn’t know she was divorced and had a child when we first met, but when I found out, I thought I’d give family life a try.” he admitted.

“Did you meet Janet in this place?” 

“Yeah. How’d you know?” 

“Lucky guess I suppose.” thinking it simplest to leave my answer at this.

“Yeah... I guess it was a lucky night for me back then.” Jim sounding wistful.

“So now you’re back here again and looking for someone else?” sounding like someone who had just put the pieces of a puzzle together.

“Yeah. That’s life.” shrugging his shoulders like what he was doing was no big deal.

I glanced around the room again. Some faces I recognized from high school, except those kids from the lower grades were now young adults. I grew up with these people. They were my peers. This was my generation, and yet I felt so far removed from it.

“What happened?” I wondered in silence while staring into the now empty beer glass I was holding and fiddling with.

I felt like I'd somehow missed a turn some place along Life's highway, because I couldn't identify with these very attractive but loud, harsh, brazen young women. Their nature was so very different from the gentle beauty and quiet, unassuming yet determined nature Phi Bang possessed. 

Confusion and despair felt overwhelming as I tried in my mind to reconcile this contradiction, because I didn't seem to fit into my world but I definitely didn't belong in Phi Bang’s world. Regardless, this disco bar scene certainly wasn't what I wanted nor could it ever offer me what I was searching for.

“Jim, I gotta get out of here.” now wanting to bail and escape

“We just got here!” he said and then suggested, “Stay a while longer.'

"Why?"

"The night’s still young and we haven’t got started yet.”

“No thanks. I need to go.” determined to leave, but then added, “Do you remember that time we walked for miles along the railway track from North Hatley almost to Ayers Cliff?

“Yeah... and my feet still hurt from that.” Jim exaggerating nostalgic.

“Well it’s my turn to do some serious walking to sort things out and I need to do it now.” 

“Yeah. I understand... I really do."

"Thanks."

"Let's to get together and do this again some other time.” he suggested with a tone of forced sincerity.

“Sure.” I concurred in wanting to sound agreeable, yet nonetheless thinking to myself, “Yeah. Sure. Not a chance!”

Stepping outside minutes later was a relief. I hated disco music and the constant loud thumping that came with it. The late night silence and cool night air felt soothing, and inducive to reflective contemplation while walking. 

To me, life and people relationships always seemed to be strange mysteries that were most often unfathomable, and some unsolvable. Several years earlier in high school and then CEGEP, Jim I had been close friends yet so different from each other. Maybe that was the reason we once got along so well, but now we seemed like strangers to each other. Anyway, he'd walked away from Janet, and threw away that special type of relationship many others would've envied to have, and one like I'd been hoping to establish with Phi Bang.

While walking, my mind was on Phi Bang and the words I would pen to her in the letter I was planning to start upon reaching home. By the time I reached Gouin Blvd, my thoughts turned to the question Jim had asked earlier and was now nagging me. How could I believe in a God who seemed so silent, so distant, especially since I felt that the more I prayed and pleaded to God about Phi Bang, the more distant and silent Phi Bang became? 

To be honest I didn't know the answers and I felt my faith was being tested to the breaking point, because I'd reached it.

No one can cross a language barrier, a racial barrier or a cultural barrier without making mistakes. To believe otherwise is folly. Stupid mistakes born of cross-cultural ignorance are often easily forgiven, but outright foolishness is not. In spite of language barriers, in spite of racial barriers, in spite of cultural barriers, in spite of great distances in miles, human nature is the same everywhere. Differences between cultures, races and languages only influence the manner in which different individuals have learned how to respond and deal with the idiosyncrasies of human nature, and within its basic ordained relationships.

Phi Bang and I had few misunderstandings because of our differing languages, or from errors made when confronting and questioning our racial and cultural differences. My failing was that I really didn't understand human relationships, and in particular, I didn't understand that special love relationship between a man and a woman, because I'd never found it.

Phi Bang drifted away because of the long periods of separation between our tragically short times together. Time apart was unavoidable. Our relationship, if there'd ever really been one with depth, fell apart because I wasn't communicating. Yes I'd learned well how to read Phi Bang's letters, but maybe never learned how to read between the lines and know what she was really telling me. I may have been guilty of writing far too many pages of words to Phi Bang but never really speaking from the depths of my heart. A fear of offending her prevented me from learning, because I didn't ask her very many personal questions. The truth was that I feared what Phi Bang's answers might've been had I only dared to ask.

February 1978 was a cruel month, and not only because of the frigid winter weather. The unavoidable reality I'd been refusing to admit to myself was now confronting me, and no longer possible to be ignored and expunged from my thoughts. I was no longer able to convince myself into believing my made-up beautiful fantasy masking as a lie. Awaiting me now was only pain and anguish in facing the cold hard truth that until now I'd feared even to contemplate. 

Our relationship was over. I had nothing left in me to give, because nothing I could write, say or do would change Phi Bang’s heart. Our relationship was over. I could no longer cling in desperation to a hope that didn't exist for me, and may never have existed. Our relationship was truly over. The despair of irretrievable loss was unbearable, and grief overwhelmed me. Alone at home, I broke down and wept.

Athough I felt like the world had come to an end, the sun rose on time the following morning. Frigid winter days came and went undeterred by my misery, and without any concern about how I may have felt. I never wanted to give up hoping we'd have a future together, but Phi Bang no longer wanted me. Her plans for her future didn't include me.

During that change of seasons from winter to spring my despair abated, but something had changed within me. Maybe the change was the numbing sorrow of irretrievable loss. Perhaps the change was because I'd come to terms with reality and experienced the humility that follows devastating failure. My bitter lesson was also learning and understanding the humbling truth that my place in the order of things is irrelevantly small and so microscopically insignificant.

Days came when I would ask those two haunting questions, "What went wrong? Did I miss something somewhere?" 

The questions no longer sounded relevant, because the passing of time and changing life events showed me they weren't the right questions to have been asking. Knowing the answers to what went wrong didn't matter anyway, because the answers wouldn't and couldn't have changed anything. Only God can change the human heart, and only when He allows it.

Of greater concern now were these questions, "Now what? Where to from here?"

Full circle... so now what?

Keeping reminders of the past visible doesn't help in letting go, and by the end of April I'd removed all the photos of Phi Bang from the top of my piano as well as the one on my desk at work. Another chapter in my life was closing, and I felt that similar melancholy as on the day I departed from Vancouver for the last time.

Opening up the mailbox every workday morning was no longer an erratic emotional elevator of anticipation then disappointment. I no longer felt distraught Phi Bang's letters weren't there waiting for me, because I'd learned to stop expecting them. Instead and unexpected, I began to welcome the unsolicited letters from other people around the world whom I'd sporadically corresponded with last year when trading stamps. Perhaps I'd become more willing to respond to other people's letters out of learning the courtesy of giving a reply.  

At some point during these past few months, I noticed the letters from my new friend Kiem Kie in Indonesia were arriving in my mailbox more often. Her letters were different and written from her feelings as well as her thoughts, and reading her penned words felt like she was talking to me. She seemed genuine, because she didn't leave me guessing and wondering about what she intended for me to understand and discover about her, what she thought, and what she was doing.

While I didn't want to admit something had changed in me, I found myself looking forward to receiving Kiem Kie's letters. All the more surprising, she seemed to be much more interested in me than Phi Bang ever seemed to be, and I was unsettled by this unexpected sudden rather than gradual realization.

One morning in June, after months of unwritten silence from the United States, a letter with familiar handwriting was waiting in the mailbox. Having already come to terms with my wounded feelings, I'd begun to believe my emotions had been tempered, but in those moments as I held the envelope, I didn't know what to think. 

Agonizing over what the contents of the envelope from Phi Bang might reveal, I was now wishing she hadn't written... life was easier this way. Regardless, she'd written, but I delayed opening the envelope until after I returned home from work. 

Her letter was short, to the point, and unsettling. She wanted me to visit her soon in Pittsburgh.

"Why this after all these months of silence?" because I never anticipated this possibility.

"I needed this invitation from you six months ago, not now." wanting to make sense out of her latest surprise.

Travelling once a year to visit Phi Bang somewhere in the United States, and then afterward waiting for her rare letters to arrive was no longer something I wanted. As far as I was concerned our relationship was over.

Ted was home so I talked to him. Much to my astonishment he thought visiting Pittsburgh was a great idea, and as we talked more into the evening, we decided to drive together to Pittsburgh so he could meet Phi Bang. I thought maybe having an ally along might help.

As our departure date approached, I pondered whether or not Phi Bang was interested in putting our relationship back together again. Even with this latest invitation from her in hand, I didn't want to get on that emotional roller coaster with her again.

I wrote and confirmed I'd visit her, and also informed her Ted was coming with me because we were going to drive to Pittsburgh. 

The Thursday evening ahead of our planned Saturday departure, the telephone rang while Ted was standing next to it. He grabbed-up the receiver after one ring, and seconds after answering, held out the receiver and said, "It's for you."

"Who is it?"

"I think it's her."

After exchanging quick hellos, Phi Bang dropped her bombshell, "I'm so sorry to tell you. I must ask you change your visit time to the next week." 

"Why?" side-swiped by her unbelievable request.

"I must go to New York now for meeting with Vietnamese Association, so you must change your visit time to the week after next week." 

"I can't just go and change my time off work like that." feeling stung.

"But I'm not at Pittsburgh during next week.

"Well I can’t go to Pittsburgh the week." struggling not to sound too upset by this news.

"After I return to Pittsburgh I call you again. Then you can make change for plan to visit." 

"Don't bother. I won't be able to change my time off." 

"I want you come visit me at Pittsburgh." she persisted. 

"Call me after you return from New York. We'll talk more about it then." 

I said good-bye and then hung up the telephone.

Preempting Ted's expected question, I said, "We won't be going to Pittsburgh on Saturday." 

"Why not?" 

"Phi Bang said we can't go there now.” 

“What happened?” 

"Her plans changed and she'll be in New York next week." 

"So what am I supposed to do with my week off?" Ted griped.

"I have the same problem too.” 

"So are you going the week after?"

"I don't know." I muttered, because I really didn't know."

"You're crazy." and he left the room.

Maybe I was crazy, maybe even "Beaucoup dien cai dau" in recalling that expression May Lien had used.

We both ended up with a week off and nothing else planned, nonetheless one afternoon, Ted drove me Place d'Armes in downtown Montreal near where I worked, so I could check my mailbox. I was hoping to find a letter from Kiem Kie waiting for me, and I wasn't disappointed. In fact I was happy, and after reading her lengthier than usual friendly letter that soothed, making a visit to Pittsburgh no longer made sense.

A week later Phi Bang telephoned from Pittsburgh, only this time she was very forward about her agenda.

She wanted me to go to Pittsburgh to play the piano and perform some of the musical works I had composed. The Vietnamese organization she was involved with had arranged some sort of a fund-raising event, and for reasons I shall never know, she'd placed herself in the awkward position of having promised to find someone to perform on the piano. She was now in a spot and was begging me to help her out. Her pleading shoved me into unwanted angst. Part of me wanted to just say good-bye to her and hang up the telephone. Another part of me wanted to go and help her out.

Undecided and non-committal, I promised Phi Bang I'd call back later after thinking things over. I was still annoyed with her but didn't want her to know.

The following day I gave in and promised her I'd fly to Pittsburgh early Saturday morning. She sounded happy with my decision, and repeatedly assured me she'd meet me on time at the airport.

Friday evening was spent in the basement practicing the piano, and trying to decide what works to perform in Pittsburgh tomorrow evening. I'd made numerous markings on the pages my copy of the first movement of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" but hadn't yet made up my mind about whether or not to play the piece. The sonata's first movement, seductively deceptive in its simple on-paper appearance, is far from simple to competently perform. The music is filled with awkward little passages just waiting to trip up the amateur and inexperienced pianist, both categories for which I felt fully qualified. 

Once more I stumbled through "Sketches of a Vietnamese Girl in America". Hurriedly I rewrote part of the cadenza and altered the coda, hoping perhaps to add a little flair at the end of my performance. My work paled in the presence of a Beethoven opus so I decided not to open with Beethoven.

By the end of the evening I'd decided against any Beethoven and elected to perform my own works only. My intention wasn't disrespect toward Beethoven, rather it was common sense, because if I made mistakes while performing my compositions, who'd be the wiser if something wasn't played right?

The final movement of the F Minor piano sonata had been completed months ago, and I was now confident enough to play well through the entire work. Deciding the sonata might be too long a work, I eliminated it too. 

By midnight I'd had enough of rehearsing. Worse, I was just as undecided about what work or works to perform, because I really didn't have any idea what type of audience I was supposed to be performing for. Wearily, In the end I packed all the musical scores into the bag and deferred making my decision until tomorrow.

The Oddblock Station Agent