Phi Bang had repeated her promise she'd without fail meet me on time at the airport, but remembering the uncertain reception I'd received last year at Chattanooga, I wasn't convinced that anyone would be present to meet me on arrival in Pittsburgh. Thus prepared for an indeterminable wait, I'd packed a book to read.
Much to my astonishment, Phi Bang was standing at the gate, and accompanying her was a fit-looking gentleman who wasn't much taller. Although I'd come without any expectations whatsoever as well as knowing anything was possible, I'll admit I was a bit taken aback nonetheless.
Right away I was introduced to Mr. Vu, whom I was informed would be providing all of our transportation during the weekend, and he rather than Phi Bang thanked me for coming.
Pittsburgh's airport is quite a distance out of the city, and as we puttered along the interstate highway cramped inside Mr. Vu's small Volkswagen Beetle, Phi Bang began pointing out the varying arrays of beautiful wildflowers adorning the embankments. Moments later, in a spontaneous outburst of exuberance, she begged Mr. Vu to stop the car so she could get out and pick some flowers. From his initial reaction, I felt certain he was as astonished as I was by the request. Nonetheless Phi Bang kept badgering him to stop, so with obvious reluctance he yielded to her crazy request. By the time the car was stopped on the edge of the highway, we'd already passed through the cut.
Following an animated conversation in Vietnamese between Phi Bang and Mr. Vu, he shifted the car into reverse and began backing along the shoulder as traffic whizzing by mere inches away from us blasted their horns. Our very accommodating driver was concerned about getting a ticket from the police whereas I just wanted to get out before someone plowed into the rear of the Beetle and killed all three of us. While we snail-pace backed along, Phi Bang kept gushing about how pretty flowers were going to look on a table in her home. Feeling uneasy and now perspiring from angst, I was thinking that flowers are also popular at funerals.
Mr. Vu must've reversed nearly a quarter of a mile before stopping, and when he did, Phi Bang hopped out of the car, climbed the embankment and started picking flowers.
Had our immediate bizarre situation been different, I might've used those minutes alone to inquire about his relationship with Phi Bang, but that idea was ejected from thought the instant a large tractor-trailer rig roared by. That accompanying, delayed-reaction short blast of air turbulence gave the tiny car a vigorous shake, and thus prompted me to question, "Do you do this often?"
"Never!" and his answer emphatic.
"I didn't think so..." and trying not to sound too nervous, I deadpanned, "but I was curious."
Phi Bang was taking her sweet time and Mr. Vu, clearly agitated, began beeping the car's horn.
Closing my eyes in disbelief, in denial I thought, "This can’t be happening."
I opened my eyes, and yes, this ridiculous situation was happening. Phi Bang was halfway up the fairly steep, high embankment and seemed oblivious to Mr. Vu's almost continuous honking of the horn. Several minutes later she returned to the car, and very pleased with the large bouquet of wild flowers that she'd gathered. Mr. Vu sped off before she could think about going back for more.
Our first stop was at someone else's home, a destination I hadn't expected, and as soon as we stepped inside, I discovered we'd landed in some meeting already in progress. Phi Bang pointed at a couch in the adjacent living room, and like her thoughts were focused elsewhere, she instructed, "You wait over there because I have to participate."
She and Mr. Vu joined the others, and for the next hour and a half, every word spoken was in Vietnamese. Once in a while someone would look my way and apologize for the meeting taking a long time, but the discussions went on anyway. As this unmistakable reality of our different worlds struck me, and feeling alone and very out of place, I began pondering, "What am I doing here?"
Eventually the meeting was adjourned and we departed right away. As Mr. Vu was wending his way through busy traffic, he and Phi Bang were talking away in Vietnamese like I was no longer seated behind them. While stopped in the left turn lane of an intersection to await the signal, Mr. Vu turned about to face me, and with a smile he announced, "I'm making wontons for tonight."
Before I could respond, Phi Bang gave him a nudge because the left turn signal had appeared.
This time I was expecting we'd soon pull up in front of Phi Bang's red brick home, typical of the buildings in that older part of Pittsburgh, but our similar looking destination was someone else's home. One street-facing window of the house had large, bright red Vietnamese lettering painted across the upper two panes. I thought about asking what the words meant, but instead I questioned, "What is this place?"
"Now we discuss here with Vietnamese Association about tonight." was Phi Bang's cryptic answer.
She seemed rushed, and her brief explanation didn't tell me anything other than we'd arrived here to attend another meeting. While extricating myself from the rear of Mr. Vu's Volkswagen, he proudly informed me that Pennsylvania's champion ping-pong player resided here. Of course I assumed he was exaggerating, but to be polite, I kept my skepticism to myself.
Anyway, the surprisingly long room we'd stepped into, which I expected would've been the living room, had no furnishings except for a ping-pong table. The mantle over the disused fireplace was crammed with every type of trophy, medal and award imaginable, and framed ones hung on the wall. Every award, and I do mean all, were first prizes for winning ping-pong tournaments. The person residing in this house, whom I never did meet, truly was the state champion, and definitely a contender for the United States championship. Nonetheless I thought it strange to discover that Pennsylvania's champion ping-pong player was a recent refugee from Southeast Asia.
While waiting as the meeting dragged on, I read through that impressive array of trophy inscriptions, and in silence I mused, "Will he one day be sent to Hanoi as an American ping-pong diplomat?"
When the group at the table paused for lunch, I was invited over to join them. Bowls of steaming noodle soup were served, and this was my introduction to what I would much later learn was phở mì. Those seated across the table began employing their chopsticks to pass a small green chilli pepper from bowl to bowl like they were playing some type of game of hot potato. At the outset Bang spoke up, so the chilli never landed in my bowl. Aside from the odd question in English directed to me, all conversation remained mostly Vietnamese.
Right after our meal the three of us departed for our next destination, and while playing ping-pong wasn't on the afternoon menu, I was starting to feel like a wayward ping pong ball bouncing from place to place.
"Finally!" I thought upon arrival at the Carnegie Mellon University campus, because I'd been informed one of the buildings here would be the evening's venue, so now I'd get some time to rehearse.
Turned out I couldn't have been more wrong about the rehearse part.
Upon entering the imposing large stone structure via the main doorway, boisterous applause and someone speaking over the din using a squawky microphone greeted us, but not because we'd appeared. A raucous event was in progress in one of the halls at the far end of the corridor, and as we neared that open doorway, Phi Bang and Mr. Vu stopped. While they discussed something in Vietnamese, my attention was drawn toward the other side of the doorway, where hundreds of noisy people were seated in rows of chairs like they were attending a pep rally.
Whatever was going on was entirely in Vietnamese, thus my first rebellious thought of the day was, "No way! I'm not going in there to sit through that."
As if Phi Bang had read my mind, she suggested I might be more comfortable waiting elsewhere while she and Mr. Vu went in to join that assembly in progress. I welcomed her first practical suggestion since my landing in Pittsburgh, and even better, she'd informed me a piano was available so I could practice.
Right away Mr. Vu went through the doorway and disappeared into the noisy crowd, but Phi Bang remained and escorted me to the end of another long corridor. Our destination was a smaller hall that looked like a student lounge filled with tables, chairs and well-worn sofas. She pointed in the general direction of the grand piano on the far side and suggested I practice while waiting, but she couldn't have been paying attention.
Adorned in a beautiful white evening outfit, an Asian pianist with waist-length black hair was practising Liszt's 3rd Concert Etude in D Flat Major, no doubt for this evening's event, and for a moment I was captivated. Snapping to and realizing Phi Bang and I could use this opportunity to talk here alone, I turned around to suggest the idea, but she'd vanished.
Watching from outside the doorway, I was horror-struck the talented pretty pianist in there was practicing to perform the Liszt Concert Etude, because my keyboard ability was far removed from the gifted elite league capable of performing musical works of that caliber. Feeling deflated, I wondered what the heck I was doing here in Pittsburgh and why I'd been crazy enough to accept Phi Bang’s invitation in the first place, and more so because she was flitting around like a butterfly.
Expecting another long wait, I entered, plunked myself down on the most comfortable-looking couch in the far end of the hall, and listened to the lady practicing Liszt. While she flawlessly played the opening themes, she was having problems with a few of the technical complexities further into the work. Curious, I arose and walked over to the piano, but only to observe.
She stopped playing lifted her hands from the keyboard, scowled at me, but didn't say a word.
I hadn't intended to become an interrupting distraction, nonetheless because she'd stopped, I inquired, "Are you planning to perform that Liszt Etude this evening?"
"No."
"You're not?" disbelieving the answer I'd just heard.
“No.” but this time her answer more terse.
I wondered if some other famous concert opus was on her music menu instead, and curious too about why she'd been focusing solely on the Liszt etude if she was going to perform something else, I dug, “What work are you planning to perform this evening?”
“None.”
“Why not?” again disbelieving my ears.
"I’m not the same as they are." and giving me an unmistakable glare of annoyance.
“I’m sorry..." stumbling to make a quick apology, "I assumed you were Vietnamese."
Ignoring me like I'd been beamed-up by Mr. Scott, she resumed practicing the piano. Although embarrassed by my faux pas, I felt relieved knowing we wouldn't be sharing the same stage later.
From her terse responses I recognized she wasn't in the mood for conversation, so I retreated to the comfort of a couch to wait for Phi Bang. With disinterest I gazed at the window architecture rather than at what might've been outside, because I was starting to feel more like an unclaimed piece of airport luggage that no one quite knew what to do with.
Eventually Lady Liszt disappeared, so I took possession of the Steinway and prepared for later. The high-ceiling hall had become stiflingly warm, and perspiration from my fingers was now making the surfaces of some of the white keys slippery.
At first I ran through the first movement of Beethoven's famous 14th piano sonata, but I was unable to master those problematic passages to feel comfortable enough to risk a performance of the very familiar work. Frustrated by the Beethoven, I set aside the music score and returned to my own compositions. These I could play from memory, and in doing so, give more attention to looking at the keyboard rather than notes on paper.
While playing around on the piano to an audience of none, I soon lost track of time, so I was surprised that hours rather than minutes had passed when Phi Bang appeared to collect me. Regardless of what might unfold during the evening's event, I felt confident and ready for what I'd been called upon to contribute.
Little conversation transpired between any of us as Mr. Vu wasted no time in ferrying us to Phi Bang's home on Lloyd Street so we'd have time to eat dinner, and maybe even catch a few minutes to rest before returning to the university.
I had been looking forward to seeing Mai Lien again, as well as the other members of the Vinh family, but Mai Lien was in New York City. When I asked why she was there, Phi Bang was rather vague about that, so I didn't press further. Phi Bang's father too was out of town, because he'd enrolled in a university in Oklahoma and was busy in his new role as a senior student. Phi Bang's younger sister and eldest brother were also absent.
One might think no one else was home, but Phi Bang's five youngest brothers were. They'd grown too, and now spoke flawless unaccented English like they'd always lived in America. Much had changed in the three years between visits, thus compelling me to confront a reality I'd never considered before; my memories had stood still and were now out of date.
Anyway, Grandmother was present to keep an eye on the household and remembered me from the last visit, but as far as I could determine, she still couldn't speak a word of English. Language barrier aside, she'd already prepared our dinner, Vietnamese food of course, and as delicious as I remembered her making the last time I was here. While at the table, Phi Bang whispered a reminder that Grandmother never cooks American style foods, and I thought it good at least one memory hadn't become outdated in the three years since.
Later, and following what had seemed a lengthy wait, Phi Bang descended the stairway and stepped into the living room. Her untied black hair fell over her shoulders and rested upon the pale turquoise áo dài she'd changed into, a traditional, attractive Vietnamese garment that can best be described as a cross between a shirt and long dress.
Phi Bang looked astonishing, and she really did, perhaps because I'd never seen her wearing an áo dài before, nonetheless, the áo dài made her appear very petite. Although she looked stunning, I chose to remain silent, because I knew in my heart she hadn't dressed this way for me.
I was almost expecting to see her holding in one hand a nón lá, one of those conical shaped straw hats that I'd seen Vietnamese women in pictures wearing, but she wasn't. In spite of what I'd thought or expected but never said, Phi Bang ignored me like I was invisible and disappeared into the kitchen. A few moments later she returned to announce that we'd be leaving shortly.
Sure enough and less than five minutes later, Mr. Vu arrived to pick us up, and he proudly boasted that he'd specially made and cooked several hundred wontons for snacks.
"Exaggeration!" is what I thought, but stayed quiet.
Regardless my skepticism about wontons, the last traces of daylight were waning, and with all of us, including two of Phi Bang's brothers, squeezed into in the VW Beetle, we hurried back to the university campus to attend the event that everyone seemed to be anticipating with unabated excitement, that is everyone except me.
Mr. Vu dropped us off near the entrance and went to park his Beetle. Immediately upon entering the same imposing building we'd visited earlier, someone pulled Phi Bang aside, and whispered to her while pointing in my direction. After the brief, curiosity-inducing discussion I'd witnessed, she returned, and from the troubled expression on her face I knew something was amiss.
Cocking her head a little to one side and employing her not quite right English, she began, "Two pianos are inside but one is broken."
"Oh?" hoping a simple response might extract a little more information.
"The broken piano has a chair to hold it"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"The chair piano has a broken leg."
"And..."
"You cannot play the broken piano." and she looked down.
"But you said there were two pianos."
"Yes there is another one..."
"What about the other one?"
"The university will not allow us to move it." assuming she'd given me enough clues to figure out the problem.
A tiny light in my head clicked on, so I asked, "After all this are you trying to tell me there won't be a piano for me to perform on?"
"Yes, no piano and yes the university will not allow to move other piano so yes you cannot be able to play."
Shaking my head, I couldn't believe what I just heard, but not the news about the broken piano, rather the manner in which Phi Bang had explained it. Her method had been a game of verbal charades if such a thing was possible, and I guess I beat the buzzer.
"Yes I don't know how to say sorry to you." and she looked embarrassed.
"I guess it doesn't really matter now." and rolled my manuscript into a tube.
"I’m so sorry."
In those astonishing few seconds, I realized I'd come to Pittsburgh only to experience one of the strangest days of my life, but rather than get upset over all that had transpired, I reassured her I was okay. At the same time I felt some relief too, because now I wasn't going to have the opportunity to make a fool of myself in front of an audience.
The large hall was dark, and at the far end from the entrance were several round tables ringed by chairs, where the few people present were seated. Loud music was blaring and an energetic couple who seemed oblivious to the stifling heat, was on the dance floor. This event didn't appear to be any different from a North American style high school graduation dance, except everyone less one was Vietnamese.
Phi Bang approached a table, and introduced me to the others already seated there. After exchanging introductions and greetings, as well as asking a few questions to be polite, I was then politely ignored as conversations reverted to Vietnamese. I understood though, because Vietnamese people speaking Vietnamese to each other was no different from people like me speaking in English to others like me. Phi Bang soon slipped away from the table without a word, leaving me alone.
I watched what she was doing though, which was spending her time like a butterfly flitting around from table to table and talking to people. Maybe this was expected of her, but I didn't know. Regardless, I'd been abandoned, and felt stranded with a group of strangers who all knew each other and conversing only in Vietnamese; I felt very out of place. Finally spotting the damaged piano that had been unceremoniously shoved out of the way into a corner, the injured instrument, strangely enough, didn't look much different from how I was feeling. Regardless, I didn't have a broken leg and pedals badly bent askew that no one could perform on this evening... but we'd see later.
Having endured more than enough loud music and being invisible, I slipped away, stepped into the hallway and wandered off. I wanted a quiet refuge, and soon located that spacious hall where I'd spent much of my afternoon.
By themselves in the hall but at the end opposite from the piano were Phi Bang's two brothers who'd come with us. Both seemed glued to whatever they were watching on TV, and they seemed oblivious to my appearance. Not wishing to attract their attention, I ambled over to the silent Steinway, sat on the bench, and while staring at the keyboard, again wondered why I was sitting here by myself rather than protesting.
"Maybe I'm a doormat." did cross my mind, but I left that alone.
Still holding the music I'd brought with me, I readied it in front of me.
"I don't need this." I sighed a moment later while closing the folder, and unsure if I meant the already memorized music or Phi Bang being everywhere and elsewhere except here with me so we could talk.
"I came here to play this and play I shall." I muttered, and thus I began playing the composition I'd intended to perform for my absentee hostess and a non-existent audience.
Lady Liszt from earlier in the afternoon seemed to materialize out of nowhere the moment I finished, approached, and stood next to the piano.
"I was listening to you play... it was very good."
"Thank you..." surprised she'd spoken to me, "but I'm not really good at performance."
"I'll give you an 8 out of 10." having rendered her verdict.
"You're too generous."
"Are you a music student here?"
"Only a visitor."
"I thought you were involved with the Vietnamese group over there." and she pointed in the general direction of the source of the still audible but somewhat muted noise.
"I should be over there, but I had to get away for a bit."
"Don't you like Vietnamese music?"
"It's not the music itself... it's just too loud."
"So you don't like loud music?"
"No."
"Neither do I." and finally she smiled.
"Are you a music student here?"
"No."
"So what are you majoring in?"
"Astronomy."
"Now that's quiet..." not having expected to hear astronomy from her, "I mean outer space."
"No... out there isn't quiet." she corrected while pointing skyward.
"I've never been out there so I'll take your word for it."
She laughed at my silly remark.
"Perhaps you should be studying music." I persisted.
"Why?"
"Your interpretation of Liszt's Concert Etude is quite good."
"Thank you. I’m surprised you know the work."
"I can even tell you that it’s the D flat Etude, the third in a group of three concert etudes that Liszt composed. The other two are not well known and are rarely heard today."
"You seem to know more about the work than I do." and she seemed rather surprised.
"Not really, but at least you can play it because I can’t."
"True that I can... but I know it’s too difficult for me to play well" she conceded.
"Practice. It’s always the same story. Practice." for a moment almost sounding like a music teacher.
"Only up to a certain level because above that level a pianist has to be gifted."
"You’re right." I concurred with a chuckle and then added, "I can only improve my playing of a piece up to a certain point, but never technically perfect."
"What were you playing when I came in?"
"Sketches of a Vietnamese Girl in America."
"I've never heard of that piece."
"I'd have been surprised if you had." and I laughed.
"Why?"
"It's one of my own compositions."
"Really?" and her astonishment seemed genuine.
"I wrote it for the lady you may have seen me with earlier today."
"Is she your wife?"
"No. Just a friend."
"She must be a special friend."
"No. Just a friend I’ve known for the last few years." I replied.
"Would you play your work again so I can give it all a listen?" and again sounding like she was genuinely interested.
"Believe it or not, I came to Pittsburgh to perform for that Vietnamese event, but the other piano was damaged when it was being moved... so I'm honoured to now have an audience." and I proceeded to perform the work.
"It's definitely not Liszt... nor as complex a work as should be for a concert performance." she commented after I removed my hands from the keyboard.
"Is that good or bad?" and hoping for honest feedback.
"Please don't think me too harsh... because it's good for here..." she critiqued, "and an Asian influence is obvious in the music with your use of the pentatonic scale... but the timbres are so melancholic where you transition into the minor key."
"That's the feeling I wanted to convey in the music." and aware she knew much more about music than she was letting on.
"Why convey melancholy?"
"1975 was a difficult time for her... fleeing from Vietnam and all that."
"But both of you are here together now."
"That's an interesting way of putting it." realizing she had no idea how my day had unfolded in placing me here.
Wanting to change the subject too, I stood and vacated the piano bench. At the same time I noticed one of Phi Bang's brothers turn off the TV, and then both brothers left.
I gestured toward the unoccupied bench and then said, "Now I'd like to hear you play the Liszt etude again."
"Fair enough." she accepted, took possession of the piano, moved her long hair behind her shoulders, and then jumped into the work.
Her performance wasn't flawless, but I found her interpretation satisfying to listen to; a genuine, even passionate rendition rather than a pretentious familiar manner that some well-known performers seem to toss off the work with.
"Wow!" I applauded with amazement when she finally removed her hands from the keyboard.
"Thank you."
"When I heard you practicing this earlier today, I thought you were going to be performing in there too. I was nearly in a state of panic thinking that I would be mixed into a group of performers far superior to me." I admitted.
She laughed at my admission and revealed, "You needn't have worried because I'm not Vietnamese.
“Are you Chinese?” asking because I was curious.
"Yes, I'm a Chinese from the Philippines."
"You mentioned earlier that you're studying astronomy."
"My final year here." sounding very negative.
"You don't sound very enthusiastic about it."
"When I complete my studies I can’t stay in the U.S. and I don’t want to return to the Philippines." she stated rather strongly.
"Isn't that your home?"
"Whatever can I do there in Makati with an astronomy degree in Physics?"
"I really don't know." I said just to say something.
"It's late..." she announced after glancing at her watch, "so I must blast-off into space."
I laughed and handed her the copy of my composition.
"I meant the dorm."
"Take this with you."
"You don't need to do this." but she opened the manuscript and took a look.
"I have the original and more copies at home... and besides... if I don't hand these out when I can, no one else will do it for me." I pointed out and then suggested, "One day when you've had enough of Liszt and want something easier, you can try this one."
"Thank you for your kindness."
"No. I should thank you." I countered, and feeling grateful to have had someone to talk music with for a while.
Lady Liszt said good-bye and departed with the music I'd given her. A quick check of my watch confirmed I'd been absent from the other hall for almost an hour. Seconds later I noticed one of Phi Bang's brothers reappear to peek into the room from the doorway, and then right away disappeared. Perhaps my absence had been noticed.
Minutes later Phi Bang rushed in alone and was very apologetic about all her flitting around, although she referred to her distance-keeping as being a necessary busy. She then asked me to play “Sketches of a Vietnamese Girl in America” for her, which was the work I'd chosen to perform, had the performance gone ahead.
I have no idea what Phi Bang's brother might've reported minutes earlier, but her present demeanour seemed so different from how she'd been all day long. If I had to guess, I'd say she was now displaying some jealousy, a trait I'd never seen her expose before.
As I looked at her rather than get busy with the keyboard as she wanted, she pulled the Moonlight Sonata music from my folder.
After placing the Schirmer score on the Steinway's music desk, and opening the thin music booklet to somewhere in the middle, she pointed at page 14 and demanded, "Play this for me."
Had she opened the Beethoven Sonata at its beginning, I may have played the well-known Adagio first movement for her, but I wasn't about to tackle the final movement from somewhere in the middle. Besides, I was unable to play the much more difficult but less familiar finale, although that music might've made a much better sound-setting for the present mood.
Instead, I began by playing the Adagio Molto introduction of the second movement of my F minor sonata, and in departing from it, made an improvised a transition into "Sketches" just for her. As soon as I finished playing, Phi Bang right away insisted we return to the other hall where the dancing and other activities were going on. I could've played chopsticks for her and it wouldn't have made any difference with her indifference.
I didn't want to go back there, so I spoke out, "I'd rather stay here so we can talk."
"Now we go to have dance together and talk later."
"When is later?"
"After time for dance."
I recognized the circle in progress, thus as her guest here, I acquiesced and went with her. The large hall was hotter, more humid and no less stifling uncomfortable, because the choking still air was foggy from cigarette smoke. Nonetheless most people were dancing anyway, and seemingly oblivious to the discomforts.
After several minutes of sitting and sweating at the table, listening to individuals who grabbed the mike to sing, and watching other energetic couples dance, a tango number came up. Last year Phi Bang had mentioned she liked tango music, and no doubt she'd been waiting for a tango to be selected. Right on cue she insisted we get up and join the others on the dance floor. Out of common sense I declined. Undeterred nonetheless, and unwilling to believe I really didn't know how to dance at all, she kept badgering me to get up and accompany her to dance floor. In spite of my protestations she persisted non-stop, until I finally gave in... perhaps to prove my point.
Try as I did, I was unable to lead, or unable to follow Phi Bang's lead, because I repeatedly moved the wrong way at the wrong second, or bumped into her and stepped on her toes. Had her áo dài been touching the floor, I'm sure I'd have stepped on that too. Out of frustration Phi Bang stopped before the music did, and asked me to sit down. Attempting to dance the tango was an embarrassing disaster, for both us I suppose, and I felt sorry for her.
Soon afterward she stopped flitting around everywhere, and arranged transportation for us back to her home. Hopeful that we were finally going to have some time alone for some serious late evening talk, I was in for another surprise.
As Mr. Vu was driving us back to Lloyd Street, Phi Bang informed me they'd be heading off somewhere else to attend another meeting after dropping off her two brothers and me. That was okay with me. If she wanted to go back to the dance and find someone else to tango with, that was okay with me too, because I'd reached the limit of my endurance for being a hot potato for one day.
Later, as I lay awake on the bed in the post-midnight darkness and wishing sleep would come, I puzzled over Phi Bang's real purpose in having begged me to come to Pittsburgh. All day I'd been ferried from place to place and feeling like an inconvenience to be tolerated. I knew I didn't fit in with this Vietnamese community or their activities, but today's unique experiences had provided me with truly valuable insight I'd otherwise never have understood or learned. Today I'd been the lone visible minority within the close-knit community that was an actual visible minority in North America.
Not long after falling into a deep sleep I was awakened by the sound of someone banging on the front door. No one had responded.
Half asleep and groggy, I wondered, "Am I the only one here?"
The pounding persisted, so I got out of bed and peeked out the window overlooking the street below. Whomever the late-night caller might've been drove off in a car, so I returned to bed.
A ringing telephone awakened me a while later. I waited for someone to answer the noisy nuisance, but no one did. Regardless, it kept ringing, so I finally I got up, descended the two flights of stairs to the living room and answered the phone. The caller was Phi Bang. Locked out of the house, she wanted me to open the front door when she returned. I didn't know why she hadn't carried a key or why a family member hadn't been awakened by the disturbance, because the telephone must've rung twenty-five times or more from the time I heard it until I picked it up.
Minutes later Phi Bang stepped through the doorway, glared at me and angrily whispered, "Why you didn't open the door before?"
"I didn't hear anything." I lied, because I was weary and didn't want to start anything now.
"We must talk later. Now is too late."
"Okay. Later." I whispered in agreement.
I didn't know whether or not she believed me, but she accepted my answer. Right away she disappeared into the kitchen, and I climbed the two flights of stairs to return to the room where I'd been billeted. As far as I was able to determine, no one else had been awakened, not even Grandmother to check on us.
Morning is broken
By daybreak I was awake and the Vinh home was silent. Not wanting to disturb anyone too early, I rested face-up on the bed and stared at the ceiling while pondering why I'd been foolish enough to accept Phi Bang's invitation, in spite of that promise to return I'd given her last year in Tennessee. This time I came without any expectations whatsoever, because I didn't harbour a buried secret desire to revive our failed relationship; as far as I was concerned that was finished. Present here nonetheless, I hadn't anticipated being shuffled around like a piece of baggage getting in the way of someone's very busy schedule.
Strange as it seemed, in this post-dawn silence I began thinking about Kiem Kie in Indonesia. Already I was planning to write to her after I returned home tonight, and tell her a little bit about this crazy visit in Pittsburgh. I was wondering too what she might think, because from reading her recent longer and more informative letters that spoke to me rather than talk at me, I knew she wasn't at all like Phi Bang. In fact, the more I thought about Kiem Kie, the more I realized she possessed those gentle caring qualities I'd wanted and hoped to find in Phi Bang but weren't there. Perhaps she never possessed those traits, and only up until now I'd been too naive or blind to perceive reality.
Of course Phi Bang had changed since she first came to America, and I realized too she'd changed all the more since I'd visited her last year. This said though, I couldn't quite place my finger on exactly what was different about her. Maybe it was nothing more than the change from being a confused late teen who'd gone through hell getting here, and into a promising young adult who discovered a strong vision of what she wanted in life and was determined to achieve it. In this light I couldn't fault her for jettisoning me as an unnecessary dragging weight she thought might hold her back, and I didn't want to be that.
Recalling too, a long conversation that I had with Matthew a few years back, he'd questioned me about why I never dated anyone, and why I never seemed to be involved with anyone. I'd tried to explain that I knew only too well what personality and traits I didn't want in a woman I desired to become involved with, but on the other hand, I didn't know what I wanted or hoped to find in her whoever she was. Nonetheless, I was convinced I'd know her, if and when that day came when I did find that one special right person for me.
As the frigid days of this past winter dragged by, reality had compelled me to come to terms with the fact Phi Bang wasn't the right person for me to want to spend the rest of my life with, and thus far, everything about this visit to Pittsburgh had been removing one-by-one every possible remaining doubt. Although never anticipated, yesterday also provided me with a remarkable opportunity to make a live comparison between Phi Bang and what I knew about Kiem Kie in Indonesia. This morning I knew without a doubt who the right person for me was, and she wasn't Phi Bang. I never envisioned such a revelation might occur here in Phi Bang's home.
Eventually I heard stirring from downstairs and then talking, so that was my cue to get up. While making the bed, by accident my foot bumped something beneath the bed and scattered the contents across the floor. I'd struck a folder stuffed with hundreds of hand-written pages together with various photographs. The writing was entirely Vietnamese, but of course I recognized the handwriting. I had no idea what Phi Bang had written on those pages, but I was certain enough they weren't course materials.
Believing I may have upset a diary, and not wanting to intrude into her privacy, I quickly gathered up the contents. In the process, more photographs spilled out of the folder. Yes, I looked at a few, and all were pictures of Phi Bang with someone else. I had no idea who the other person may have been, because the other person's images had been clipped out of every single photo. The only thing I was certain of is that I wasn't the person clipped from those photos. I fixed everything as best I could and returned the stuffed folder beneath the bed. I'd been surprised though. For someone who'd been telling me she was too busy to write to me, reams of writing had been done.
A while later and following breakfast, Phi Bang and I moved into the living room, and I was really hoping we could now have a serious tête-à-tête. Before she sat however, she picked up a cassette I recognized, the one I'd sent her last summer with the recording I'd made of my F Minor piano sonata.
While displaying the cassette, she stated, "I don't understand your music or the thought. It's not me."
I didn't respond to her comment, because I hadn't anticipated it.
I never expected Phi Bang would ever understand my music, nonetheless she was right. The music wasn't her nor was it ever intended to be her. The music was my thoughts about her, expressions of my old feelings for her, and my unspoken words to her. Yes, here, and all diligently set down in music notation to represent what I'd foolishly not said in words too long ago. The music was irrelevant now, because the work no longer reflected my thoughts or feelings.
"You are so cold!" she stated.
A few times she'd written these same words in her letters, but I'd been too dense to figure out what she wanted me to understand, but now I knew this was her way of telling me I wasn't communicating my true thoughts and feelings to her.
She cast me a quizzical look first, inserted the cassette into the tape player, and pressed play. For a moment or two I listened, arose, turned off the player, removed the cassette, handed it back to her, saying, "There’s nothing in here to understand now."
Tossing that cassette aside, she selected another, inserted it into the player, and pressed play before insisting, "We must talk now."
"That's all I've wanted to do ever since I've arrived here."
"Yes, I know."
"You also know we haven't had a single moment alone together."
Seconds after saying that, 'A Time For Us' from Romeo and Juliet began playing, and the irony of the timing unbelievable. I knew from before that Phi Bang liked listening to music when we talked, but I wondered why she'd selected a cassette with love songs.
"This weekend too busy with activities."
"I don’t even understand what my being here this weekend has to do with anything."
"For help to Vietnamese community in Pittsburgh."
"Well I guess in the end I didn't help very much."
"Last night we try to raise enough money for our association for travel to activities in other cities."
"You don't need to explain."
"When you tell me you will come here I'm hoping we can find as before... but I can't feel what has passed. It’s gone." Phi Bang admitted.
I looked at her and nodded, but remained silent.
"I can't feel for you as before. The love has gone." pointing at herself in the same manner Mai Lien had done once before.
"I know."
Her words didn't surprise me nor did they hurt, nonetheless I felt awkward listening to her tell me she no longer loved me. Unlike in a letter where words of rejection can be read and reread many times like salt in a wound, hearing the same only once in a conversation was much kinder.
"I'm so sorry." sounding contrite, "I never want to say these words to you but I say it anyway."
"You're not telling me anything I don't already know."
"I try to find past feeling in my heart... I really try but I cannot find." sounding all the more apologetic.
"What do you want me to say now?" feeling nothing more needed to be said.
"I not want you be sad and sorrowful." and in that instant her face displayed a genuine concern.
"I'm not."
"I know you not talk from feeling in heart but talk only from thoughts in head."
"As far as I'm concerned my time for sadness has already passed." and having said it without a trace of emotion.
Seeming to be irked by what she'd heard, she persisted, "You talk like such cold person... without feeling... and not any sorrow about the end for love."
On any previous occasion Phi Bang would've been dead-on right in her assumption about me, but today she was wrong. She knew nothing about my tears (Which I'd never admit to) and my anguish of last winter, but I'd already come to terms with the end of our relationship.
Around 11:30 the doorbell rang, and that interruption ended whatever chance we might've had for further discussion. Mr. Vu had arrived, and as I was about to find out, he was here to pick us up and drive us over to Frick Park to join the local Vietnamese community's picnic. Phi Bang hadn't let-slip a word about a picnic, in spite of the fact minutes earlier she'd been expressing regret we hadn't had time alone to talk.
I didn't feel like attending a picnic in the nearby park, but as a guest here, I acquiesced to their plan without objection.
"Mais, ainsi va lai vie." came to mind as we exited her home.
We spent a few hours in beautiful Frick Park, and as expected, I was sole differing one within the large gathering, but I expected this. I was introduced to Mr. Hien who seemed to be in charge, and he thanked me for coming to Pittsburgh. Almost right away Phi Bang and Mr. Vu vanished, leaving me with Mr. Hien. In the shade of a large maple tree we sat on the grass, and during the course of our discussion, he spoke about the Vietnamese community, and was candid about both their struggles and determination to succeed in America.
As we parted, Mr. Hien again thanked me, and said he was grateful someone not Vietnamese would come from Canada to participate in their fundraising endeavour this weekend. I was surprised having heard grateful said, especially because last evening's wrinkle had scuttled my participation.
What I'd also failed to perceive much earlier were our differing cultures and values, which of course influenced our differing personalities. Phi Bang was a recent arrival in the United States, and feeling adrift while struggling in her way to adapt within this differing world, yet at the same time wanting and needing the social anchoring she would find in others from Vietnam struggling through common challenges.
Several hours later...
Mr. Vu was going to drive us to the airport, but he arrived an hour early. His appearance this time was when I realized that maybe his interest in Phi Bang might've been more than that of just a friend. She didn't seem to respond to him that way at all, but I said nothing. Nonetheless, and for the first time, I felt uncomfortable being present here, so I excused myself to go upstairs and get ready.
Departure time had come, however before leaving the bedroom and descending the two stairways in the Vinh home for the last time, I removed from my billfold my half of the dollar bill I'd always kept with me since my previous visit to see Phi Bang.
"Will you remember this?" I pondered a few seconds, but I had no idea whether or not she'd kept her half.
Stepping over to the little table beside the bed, I placed the torn banknote right in the center. Being the only item on the table ensured me she'd discover the half-dollar after returning home.
I turned away, picked up my bag and exited the room feeling satisfied, because I'd kept my promise to return. If perchance Phi Bang still possessed her half of the bank note, then I felt sure she'd know I'd never return again.
Upon getting dropped-off at the airport's Departures entrance, Phi Bang and I made our way into the bustling terminal while Mr. Vu drove away to park his Beetle, and after my check-in was accomplished, we sat adjacent to the gate to wait. Phi Bang and I chatted away, but not about the weather or anything else more profound, just idle talk to fill our remaining fleeting minutes together. In some way, sitting here was an ironic reminder of waiting for a late train in this same city three years earlier, but our circumstances were far different. This evening, heartache wasn't possessing me because I was ready to leave, and anxious to have this crazy weekend over with.
As soon as Mr. Vu caught up to us, Phi Bang said a few words in Vietnamese to him, and right away he wandered off.
She turned to make eye contact with me and questioned, "Are you sad?"
Her question was unexpected, and I may have hesitated while carefully choosing my words, but I spoke from my heart when I answered, "No... I’m not sad."
Perhaps my answer surprised her, but then again maybe not. I didn't know.
Once more in her accented and not quite right phrasing of English, she persisted, "Are you sad that I can't feel any more in my heart for you as in long time ago?"
I looked into her eyes but didn't answer.
She then prodded, "Are you angry?"
"No." shaking my head, "I’m not angry... and I'm not unhappy either."
“Why no feeling?” and now she seemed bothered by my placid response.
“Too much changed between us over too long a time.” attempting to sound philosophical in revealing what I'd only reconfirmed all weekend.
“I worry you speak from thought but not from heart to hide your feeling inside.” and a genuine concern was in her voice.
I gave a brief chuckle in response and then recounted, “I still remember that time at Lee College when Mai Lien told me about someone she'd loved back in Vietnam..."
"Yes I remember Mai Lien tell me when she have long talk with you in library, but not talk about books."
"She told me she couldn't feel anything inside herself after he left her... because she had no more tears to cry for him... but I didn't understand what she was telling me."
"Why you talk of that now?
"Because now I understand what she meant."
"He died in war."
"That's what I thought." because nothing remained within me now to want to fight for and hold on to.
Phi Bang then questioned, "Do you have someone else?"
"No."
"Is another person waiting when you go back?"
"One of my parents will be waiting at the airport to pick me up."
"Only parent?"
"Yes."
"Is no other lady there for you to love?" Phi Bang probed.
"No. There’s no one." because present reality was I was no longer tied to anyone, and no one was committed to me.
The announcement for boarding my flight signalled our time together was over. We left our seats and moved toward the gate. For a moment I stood and faced Phi Bang but said nothing. As people rushed around us and made their way through the boarding gate, I put out my hand to shake hands and say good-bye to her. An open hand was all that I could offer her, and she took my hand in hers.
The concern on Phi Bang's face was obvious when she implored, "Please don’t be sad."
I smiled at her and replied, "I’m not sad. Really I'm not."
"But I worry for you."
"Well don’t worry. I'm okay." I assuaged and then slipped my hand free from hers.
Now was one of those rare moments when I was speaking to Phi Bang in unison from both my head and my heart rather than empty talking about one thing while wishing to tell her what was really on my mind. Maybe I should've been this vulnerable with her a couple of years earlier, but any should'ves now were waters under the Seventh Street Bridge, or any bridge. After passing through the passengers-only checkpoint, I gave her a last wave, turned, and never looked back.
I shall never really know for sure, but in the brevity of those remaining moments I believe Phi Bang had finally asked me the questions she'd wanted all weekend to ask. As I waited for my turn to board, I didn't feel twinges of sadness and aching within me knowing that minutes earlier I'd said good-bye to her for always, and we'd never meet again. My heart truly was at peace knowing this, because I felt no more sadness, nor bitterness, nor anger, nor even hatred as so often and so tragically a love lost can descend into.
Our relationship was over, and we parted as two friends who realized that our respective personal journeys through life must diverge and continue on in different directions. I believe this was the way Phi Bang wanted to say good-bye to me.
With my carry-on stowed out of the way, I reclined the seat and closed my eyes, hoping to catch a few moments of rest while waiting for the plane to taxi over to the runway. I wondered too if all the activities that had been crammed into the too little time of yesterday and today truly had occurred. They did. Regardless of perceptions, early tomorrow morning I'd rise, commute to the office as usual, and within an hour feel like this weekend had never been.
Too, I was also hoping that tomorrow morning would see me finding another letter from Indonesia waiting in my mailbox. My caring friend in Indonesia was now writing to me frequently, and I too was writing to her more often. Over the last two months I'd shared with her some details about the despair and grief I'd gone through over the failure of my relationship with Phi Bang. At this crossroads in life I was grateful to have a friend with whom I could be more open and bare my thoughts, regardless that she lived on the opposite side of the world. More so, I was eager to get home and write to her about my crazy weekend in Pittsburgh, so she would know I was now free.
Perhaps in the end this visit to Pittsburgh was more for me than for Phi Bang, and to lay to rest any possible clinging feelings I might've been harbouring. This unforgettable, bizarre weekend was a gift, because now I was truly free. Free from any hidden doubts, free from any nagging "what ifs" and free to move on.
When the aircraft lifted skyward, I whispered, "Good-bye Phi Bang. Vins biet.”
end
The Oddblock Station Agent
___________________________________________________________________________________________
“The words good-bye or vins biet or sayonara or adieu or adios is so short but it makes people feel so long."
She stopped playing lifted her hands from the keyboard, scowled at me, but didn't say a word.
Eventually Lady Liszt disappeared, so I took possession of the Steinway and prepared for later. The high-ceiling hall had become stiflingly warm, and perspiration from my fingers was now making the surfaces of some of the white keys slippery.
The large hall was dark, and at the far end from the entrance were several round tables ringed by chairs, where the few people present were seated. Loud music was blaring and an energetic couple who seemed oblivious to the stifling heat, was on the dance floor. This event didn't appear to be any different from a North American style high school graduation dance, except everyone less one was Vietnamese.
Departure time had come, however before leaving the bedroom and descending the two stairways in the Vinh home for the last time, I removed from my billfold my half of the dollar bill I'd always kept with me since my previous visit to see Phi Bang.
