Chapter 13
"A man's mind plans his way,
but the Lord directs his steps."
Proverbs 16:9
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 asking 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.
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 the 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.
Alzheimer’s disease, that silent, invisible, and insidious final earthly antagonist claimed my grandfather in June, a month short of his 89th 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 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, 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..."
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.
In three and a half years much had changed in the West Island, and most irksome was learning about the migration elsewhere of almost every friend I'd had and acquaintance I'd known. Eventually I crossed trails with one high school good friend who hadn't made that one-way westward journey down Highway 401 to English Canada like most others had done following graduation.
Thus I was looking forward to getting together with Jim for an evening out to unwind and talk over old times, but sometimes events don't unfold anything like as anticipated, because people change over time... all of us do.
“Look around this place!” Jim exclaimed as he surveyed the surrounding tables, meaning the attractive young ladies seated at those nearest tables.
“Yeah, I did, but what about it? I responded with disinterest while fixated on the rising minuscule bubble-streams in my half-empty glass of beer.
This brasserie, watering hole, pick-up joint, or whatever people choose to call it now, was well known throughout L’Isle de l’Ouest... or West Island as I'd always known it.
This brasserie, watering hole, pick-up joint, or whatever people choose to call it now, was well known throughout L’Isle de l’Ouest... or West Island as I'd always known it.
“I’m not talking about décor, muh boy, I’m talking decorations.” Jim drooling like a kid in a candy store.
“What decorations?”
“The women! Look at ‘em! This place is full of beautiful young women…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 mainly out of curiosity, I'd already stolen quite a few glances to see who was around us.
“Forget about all that religious stuff of yours for a minute and look.” sounding like he'd heard it all before.
“Please don’t drag religion into this” I implored.
“Why not?”
”Religion without belief doesn’t mean anything.”
“So?”
“I’m a Christian.”
“What’s the difference?”
In the past I'd shared about my faith in Jesus, and Jim and I had discussed the subject at length a few times too, 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.
Jim 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.” I admitted, 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 those 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 hand wave, but she turned her head to look the other way. Even I understood this much female body language.
“She may be why you’re here but I have no idea why I’m here.” I countered, and knowing too 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 with what I believed to be true, but the 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.” Jim dismissed.
“Well I suppose you’re in the right place if you want to look at women that way.” accepting Jim's answer as genuine 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 an intimidating sea of unknown faces. In spite of this, I'll admit on a human level my friend was right in what he said, because this place was filled with beautiful women... yet all seemed like intimidating and unapproachable 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; which meant 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 but then added, “Surely your religion allows you to talk to a woman.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Jim challenged but then added, “Surely your religion allows you to talk to a woman.”
“Jim, this place really isn’t my style.”
“Style? Forget style. All you gotta do is connect with someone. And that’s it!” Jim said, sounding like a pro offering advice to a rookie.
“I meant coming to a place like this... it's not for me.” because I'd realized 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.” Jim said, sounding a bit more sincere.
“I've always envied you." I revealed.
"Me?"
"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 for it.”
"I've always considered you one of those happy-go-lucky people who have everything handed to them without ever having to ask for it.”
“Really?” and his astonishment seemed genuine.
“Yes. Really! What happened between you and Janet?” I questioned, trying to change the subject and hoping that Jim would 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.” He admitted, but sounding like their break-up had been no big deal.
“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, Women are funny that way, you know.” He answered slowly, and for an instant sounded philosophical.
“No, I don’t know.” I confessed.
“Women have different needs.”
“What needs?”
“They want to run your life. They want you home all the time. All they think about is settling down, buying a house and then having children. I couldn’t take the pressure any more. I’m only twenty-four and I’m not ready for that scene.” Jim detailed.
“Then why did you get mixed up with Janet in the first place?” questioning out of genuine curiosity.
“Older woman. You know how it is.”
“No, I really don’t know.”
“Jan was twenty-seven, divorced and had a six year old daughter when we met.” Jim revealed.
“Why on earth would you want anything to do with a divorced older woman with a child if you didn’t want the responsibilities? I pushed, and truly wanting to understand his reason if there was one.
“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 it a try.” he admitted.
“Did you meet Janet at this place?” I asked on a hunch.
“Yeah. How’d you guess?” Jim wondered aloud.
“A lucky guess, I suppose.” thinking it simplest to leave my explanation at that.
“Yeah, I guess it was a lucky night for me back then.” Jim sounding wistful.
“So now you’re back here again looking for someone else?” I asked, 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.
“Jim, this place really isn’t for me.” I muttered and glanced around the room again.
Some faces I thought I recognized from high school, except now, those kids in the lower grades were 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.
Some faces I thought I recognized from high school, except now, those kids in the lower grades were 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 half empty beer glass I was holding and fiddling with.
I felt as if I had somehow missed a turn some place along the highway of life because I just could not 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 of Phi Bang. Confusion and despair overwhelmed me as I tried in my mind to reconcile the contradiction. I didn't seem to fit into my world but I definitely did not belong in Phi Bang’s world.
“Jim, I gotta get out of here.” I stated resolutely.
The disco bar scene was certainly not what I wanted nor could it ever offer me what I was searching for.
I felt as if I had somehow missed a turn some place along the highway of life because I just could not 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 of Phi Bang. Confusion and despair overwhelmed me as I tried in my mind to reconcile the contradiction. I didn't seem to fit into my world but I definitely did not belong in Phi Bang’s world.
“Jim, I gotta get out of here.” I stated resolutely.
The disco bar scene was certainly not what I wanted nor could it ever offer me what I was searching for.
“What? We just got here!” he exclaimed, then suggested, “Stay a while. The night’s still young. Besides, 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 south from North Hatley?
“Yeah, we sure walked far that day.” Jim sounding a bit nostalgic.
“Well it’s my turn to do some serious walking to sort things out and I need to do it now.” I answered.
“Yeah. I understand. We’ll have to get together and do this again sometime.” Jim suggested with a tone of forced sincerity.
“Sure.” I remarked meaninglessly but thought to myself, “Yeah. Sure. Not a chance!”
Stepping outside was a relief. I hated disco music and the constant loud thumping that went with it. Theabruotr silence and cool late night air were soothing, 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. A few years earlier in high school and then CEGEP, Jim I had been close friends yet we were so different. Maybe that was the reason we once got along so well but seemed to be like strangers to each other now. 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 she became?
To me, life and people relationships always seemed to be strange mysteries that were most often unfathomable, and some unsolvable. A few years earlier in high school and then CEGEP, Jim I had been close friends yet we were so different. Maybe that was the reason we once got along so well but seemed to be like strangers to each other now. 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 she became?
To be honest I didn't know the answers, and I felt that my faith was being tested to the breaking point.
Phi Bang hadn't written for nearly two months, and I had no idea if she'd remained in Pittsburgh, returned to Cleveland or went somewhere else. I thought about calling, but calling her usually left me feeling even more depressed afterward. My fear was facing reality and hearing the truth in her words.
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. Only when stopping to look back do we 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 wrote once in a while, but when her classes resumed in September, her letters stopped again. In my head I understood the reason, but undeterred, I kept writing to her so she'd know she was in my thoughts.
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. Only when stopping to look back do we 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 wrote once in a while, but when her classes resumed in September, her letters stopped again. In my head I understood the reason, 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 from what was available on the calendar.
CNR was offering a special deal to entice would be travellers to visit Toronto by train to see the 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 had returned to Montreal from Vancouver on CP Rail’s Canadian, and a visit to Toronto would be my first real train trip since then.
CNR was offering a special deal to entice would be travellers to visit Toronto by train to see the 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 had 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, 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 certainly was fast, 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 shaded Vancouver gray with a very low misty cloud ceiling. Toronto possessed a genuine drab gray November appearance. Streets were wet but at least the rain had stopped. This was my first visit to Toronto and I was not at all impressed. Toronto was definitely not a city I could fall in love with and ever want to call home.
Nonetheless, Toronto was becoming a less-reviled and better-known destination name in English Quebec, because thousands of ex-Montrealers were now calling this city home, and thousands more were on the fence about selling-out joining the exodus
Nonetheless, Toronto was becoming a less-reviled and better-known destination name in English Quebec, because thousands of ex-Montrealers were now calling this city home, and thousands more were on the fence about selling-out joining 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 best reflected English sentiment in Montreal: FUPQ. In spite of my intense dislike for the separatist government, I was already glancing at my watch. I hadn't been in Toronto 30 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 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 that seemed 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 with nothing else to do until 3:45 p.m., I wrote a letter to Phi Bang on the backs of several postcards that 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 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.
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 downtown Toronto and thinking about Phi Bang.
"Seems so much like Seattle." I thought as I waited out the remaining hour until train time in Union Station.
Hours later, and arriving on time in Montreal’s Central Station on CN's turbo train felt no different than 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 arrive and 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 was unbearable, but I refused to abandon hope in him and disbelieve.
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 react and deal with the idiosyncrasies of human nature, and in 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 hadn't 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 had ever really been one, 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 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 have been had I only dared to ask.
January 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 had 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 events had painfully taught me that they weren't the right questions to have been asking. Knowing the answers to what went wrong didn't matter anyway, because the answers would not and could not have changed anything. Only God can change the human heart.
Of greater concern now were these questions, "Now what? Where to from here?"
The questions no longer sounded relevant, because the passing of time and changing events had painfully taught me that they weren't the right questions to have been asking. Knowing the answers to what went wrong didn't matter anyway, because the answers would not and could not have changed anything. Only God can change the human heart.
Of greater concern now were these questions, "Now what? Where to from here?"
Keeping reminders of the past visible doesn't help in letting go. By the end of April I had removed all the photos of Phi Bang from the top of my piano as well as my desk at work. Another chapter in my life was closing, and I felt a similar sadness as on the day I departed from Vancouver for the last time.
Opening up the mailbox every morning was no longer an erratic emotional elevator of anticipation then disappointment. I no longer felt distraught to find that Phi Bang's letters weren't there waiting for me. I'd learned to stop expecting them. Instead and unexpected, I began to welcome the unsolicited letters from the 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.
Opening up the mailbox every morning was no longer an erratic emotional elevator of anticipation then disappointment. I no longer felt distraught to find that Phi Bang's letters weren't there waiting for me. I'd learned to stop expecting them. Instead and unexpected, I began to welcome the unsolicited letters from the 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.
During these last few months I also noticed that I was receiving letters more frequently from one penfriend in Indonesia. Kiem Kie's writing style was completely different from Phi Bang's. Recalling Phi Bang's acerbate comments about the two Indonesian Chinese students at Lee College, I realized she must've been wrong. Her comments contradicted the impressions I'd formed from reading Kiem Kie's letters, and she was an Indonesian Chinese.
My new friend in Indonesia wrote from her feelings as well as her thoughts. While reading her letters I felt like she was genuinely talking to me. She certainly didn't leave me guessing about what she intended for me to understand. While I didn't want to admit something had changed, 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 bothered by this realization.
My new friend in Indonesia wrote from her feelings as well as her thoughts. While reading her letters I felt like she was genuinely talking to me. She certainly didn't leave me guessing about what she intended for me to understand. While I didn't want to admit something had changed, 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 bothered by this realization.
One morning in June following months of unwritten silence from the United States, a letter with familiar handwriting was waiting in the mailbox. My heart jumped, because I now had a letter from Phi Bang. Having already come to terms with my wounded feelings, I'd begun to believe my emotions had been tempered, but now, I didn't know what to think. Agonizing over what the contents of the envelope were going to contain, I delayed opening her letter until after I had returned home from work.
Phi Bang’s letter was short and to the point. She wanted me to go and visit her in Pittsburgh.
"Why now? Why after all these months of silence? I needed this invitation from you six months ago, not now." trying to make some sense out of this latest surprise.
Seeing Phi Bang once a year and then waiting endlessly for her rare letters to arrive was no longer the relationship I wanted. As far as I was concerned our relationship was over.
Seeing Phi Bang once a year and then waiting endlessly for her rare letters to arrive was no longer the relationship I wanted. As far as I was concerned our relationship was over.
That evening I talked to Ted. He thought that going to Pittsburgh was a great idea. As we talked on I eventually suggested that Ted come along so he could meet Phi Bang. He was interested and we made plans to drive to Pittsburgh.
As our departure date approached I was wondering if Phi Bang was interested in putting our relationship back together again. Even with this latest invitation from her, I was no longer interested in riding that emotional roller coaster again.
As our departure date approached I was wondering if Phi Bang was interested in putting our relationship back together again. Even with this latest invitation from her, I was no longer interested in riding that emotional roller coaster again.
"How many times can the all the King's men and all the King's horses try to put Humpty Dumpty back together?" I wondered, realizing that our relationship had been akin to fractured eggshells.
I wrote to Phi Bang and let her know that I would visit her. I also told her that Ted was going to come with me and detailed our planned highway adventure to Pittsburgh.
Two days before Ted and I were to depart, Phi Bang telephoned me.
"I'm so sorry to tell you. I must ask you change your visit time to the next week." Phi Bang informed me.
"What?!" I answered, surprised by her request.
"My plan has changed. You change to the other week after next week." she said.
"Phi Bang, I can't just go and change time off work like that." I replied.
"I must go to New York for meeting. Not at Pittsburgh during week." she indicated.
"I can’t go to Pittsburgh the week after next. I can't just change my vacation." I stated, trying not to sound upset by this last minute change.
"I call you again after I return to Pittsburgh. Then you can make change for plan to visit." Phi Bang suggested.
"No. Don't bother. I won't be able to take the time off." I repeated to Phi Bang.
"I want you visit Pittsburgh." Phi Bang repeated.
"Phi Bang, call me after you return from New York. We'll talk about it then." I said flatly.
I said good-bye and then hung up the telephone.
I said good-bye and then hung up the telephone.
"Who was that?" Ted asked.
He had walked into the room as I was finishing my conversation with Phi Bang.
He had walked into the room as I was finishing my conversation with Phi Bang.
"That famous egg fell off the wall again." I muttered, probably sounding rather annoyed.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ted asked.
"It means we won't be going to Pittsburgh Saturday." I said.
"Why not?" Ted asked, surprised by my news.
"Phi Bang just called and asked us not to go there.” I explained.
“Why?” Ted asked again.
"Her plans changed and she won't be there next week." I recounted to Ted.
"Well I can't just go and change vacation like that." Ted said, sounding somewhat irritated.
"You don't have to change it. I told Phi Bang we weren’t going." I answered.
"What am I supposed to do with my week off?" Ted asked.
"I don't know. I have the same problem too.” I said.
“We should go anyway.” Ted suggested.
"There's no point.” I said.
"We could see the city." Ted suggested.
“What for?" I asked, not expecting an answer.
"You're crazy to put up with her nonsense!" Ted exclaimed, sounding annoyed by my latest news.
"We could see the city." Ted suggested.
“What for?" I asked, not expecting an answer.
"You're crazy to put up with her nonsense!" Ted exclaimed, sounding annoyed by my latest news.
He left the room and I said nothing. Maybe I was crazy; maybe even "Beaucoup dien cai dau" recalling that expression May Lien had used.
A few more times Ted remarked that we should have gone to Pittsburgh anyway. He may have been right, but what would going to Pittsburgh have changed or proven? Probably nothing at all.
A week later I received another telephone call from Pittsburgh. Phi Bang wanted me to visit her the following weekend and she was very forward about her purpose. Seeing me again was not the reason she wanted me to go there.
Phi Bang 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 an event and, for reasons that I shall never know, Phi Bang had 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 an unwanted state of confusion. 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 that I would call her later after thinking things over. I was still annoyed with her but did not want her to know.
The following day I gave in and promised Phi Bang that I would fly down to Pittsburgh early Saturday morning. Phi Bang was pleased with my decision and repeatedly assured me that she would meet me at the airport on time.
Friday evening was spent in the basement practicing the piano and trying to decide what works to perform the following evening in Pittsburgh. I had made numerous markings on the pages of the score to the first movement of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" but had not yet made up my mind about whether or not to play the piece. The first movement of the "Moonlight Sonata", seductively deceptive in its simple 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 was fully qualified.
Once more I stumbled through my own composition "Sketches of a Vietnamese Girl in America". Hurriedly I rewrote 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.
Once more I stumbled through my own composition "Sketches of a Vietnamese Girl in America". Hurriedly I rewrote 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 had decided against any Beethoven and elected to perform only my own works. My intention was not to show any disrespect toward Beethoven, but if I made mistakes in playing my own compositions, who was going to be the wiser? The final movement of the F Minor piano sonata had been completed and I was able to confidently play through the entire work with few fluffs. Deciding that the sonata would be too long a work, I rejected it also.
By midnight my hands were too stiff to effectively continue rehearsing. Worse, I was just as undecided about what work or works to perform. I really did not have any idea what type of audience I was supposed to be performing for. Wearily, I packed all the musical scores into the bag and deferred making my decision until tomorrow.
By midnight my hands were too stiff to effectively continue rehearsing. Worse, I was just as undecided about what work or works to perform. I really did not have any idea what type of audience I was supposed to be performing for. Wearily, I packed all the musical scores into the bag and deferred making my decision until tomorrow.
The Oddblock Station Agent
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