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 assortment of wild flowers that she'd gathered. Mr. Vu sped off before she 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 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 the 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 a busy 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?"
"We discuss here with Vietnamese Association about tonight now." 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 nothing in it 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 large imposing 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 whatever it was that was going on. 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 a different long corridor. This smaller hall 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 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 that 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, looked up 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 piano 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 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 Phi Bang's family. Phi Bang's father was out of town; Mr. Vinh had enrolled in a university in Oklahoma and he was busy with studies. Mai Lien was in New York. Phi Bang was rather vague about the reason when I asked her why Mai Lien was in New York so I did not press further. Phi Bang's younger sister and eldest brother were also absent. Anyway, Grandmother was at home and she remembered me from the last visit, but as far as I could determine, Grandmother still could not speak a word of English. Phi Bang's three youngest brothers had grown and now spoke flawless unaccented English, sounding as if they had always lived in America. Two older brothers were young men rather than boys. I finally recognized that much had changed in the three years between visits.
Phi Bang's grandmother had already prepared our dinner, Vietnamese food that tasted as good as I remembered. Phi Bang reminded me that Grandmother never cooks American style foods. Well at least one thing hadn't changed in the three years since my previous visit.
Following what had seemed to me was a lengthy wait, Phi Bang finally descended the stairway and stepped into the living room. Her black untied 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, perhaps because I'd never seen her dressed in an ao dai before, Regardless, the áo dài made her seem very petite.
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. Regardless 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, the last traces of daylight were waning, and with all of us, including two of Phi Bang's brothers, were squeezed into in the Beetle as we hurried back to the university campus to attend the event that everyone had seemed to be anticipating, that is everyone except me.
Immediately upon entering the building, someone pulled Phi Bang aside, whispered to her and pointed in my direction. Following the brief, whispered discussion, Phi Bang returned. From the expression on her face I could tell that something was wrong. Using her not quite right English, Phi Bang started to talk in circles about the piano but never getting to the point.
"There are two pianos inside but one is broken." she announced.
"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." she continued, "So you cannot play the broken piano"
"What about the other piano? You said there were two."
"Yes another one, but the university will not allow us to move." assuming she'd given me enough clues to figure out the problem.
When Phi Bang wanted to be, she could be very direct and to the point, but at other times she could be strangely vague; now she was being very vague. This evening was not the first occasion when Phi Bang compelled me to try and figure out a situation by having me ask questions and then put her short answers together like pieces of a puzzle. So far, I was able to conclude one piano had a broken leg and was being held up by a chair. Somewhere else was another piano but the university would not allow the other piano to be moved to replace the damaged one. Finally, as if a light had just been turned on, I asked Phi Bang, "Are you trying to tell me that after all this, there won't be a piano for me to perform on?"
"Yes, no piano. Yes, another piano and yes the university will not allow to move so yes you cannot be able to play." Phi Bang explained quickly in her confusing manner of mixing yes and no when she wanted to say no but said yes anyway, and then she added "Yes I don't know how to say to you but I’m so sorry."
Shaking my head, I found it difficult to believe I heard what I just heard. Not the news about the broken piano, rather the manner in which Phi Bang had explained the news to me. Phi Bang’s method had been a game of verbal charades if such a thing was possible.
"It doesn't really matter." I reassured her.
While I felt as if I had travelled here to Pittsburgh for nothing, I was also feeling relieved because I was not going to have the opportunity to make a fool of myself in front of an audience.
The large hall was dark and at one end were numerous round tables where most people were seated. Loud music was blaring and a few energetic people oblivious to the stifling heat, were already dancing. This event did not appear to me to be any different from a North American style high school graduation dance, except that everyone here was Vietnamese.
Phi Bang selected a table and introduced me to the other people already seated there. After exchanging introductions and greetings I was then politely ignored as conversations continued in Vietnamese. She soon left the table without a word.
She spent much of her time flitting around from table to table constantly talking to people. I had been abandoned at the table with everyone speaking Vietnamese; I felt very awkwardly out of place. Finally noticing the damaged piano that had been unceremoniously pushed out of the way into a corner, the injured instrument, strangely enough, did not look all that much different from how I was feeling. With a broken leg and pedals badly bent askew, no one would perform on that forlorn piano this evening.
Having endured more than enough loud music and weary of being ignored I slipped outside and wandered off. I wanted a quiet refuge and soon located that spacious hall where I'd spent much of my afternoon.
Alone in the hall but at the end opposite from the piano were two of Phi Bang's brothers. Both seemed glued to whatever they were watching on the TV, and seemed oblivious to my appearance. Not wishing to attract attention, I ambled over to the ready-looking grand piano, sat on the bench, and while staring at the keyboard, wondered why I was sitting here by myself. Still holding the music I'd brought with me, I readied it in front of me.
"I don't need this." I sighed while closing the folder, and unsure if I meant the memorized music or Phi Bang being everywhere else except here so we could talk.
"I came here to play this and play I shall." I muttered.
I played through the composition I'd written for Phi Bang, and as soon as I finished, the lady who'd been practicing Liszt earlier in the afternoon seemed out of nowhere to materialize off to my right.
"I was listening to you play... it's very good." she commented after walking from the doorway to stand beside the piano.
"Thank you, but really, I’m not very good at performance. My interest in music is analytical rather than interpretive." I answered.
"Are you studying music here?" she questioned.
"No, I'm only a visitor." I admitted.
"Oh. I thought you were involved with the Vietnamese group over there." she said while pointing in the general direction.
"I should be over there, but I had to get away from that awful music." I admitted.
"Don't you like Vietnamese music?"
"It's not that. I just don't like too loud of anything."
"You really don't like loud music?" she questioned further.
"No." I confirmed emphatically.
"Neither do I." she admitted, and finally smiled.
"Are you a music student here?"
"No. I’m studying astronomy." she replied.
"Outer Space! Now that's quiet." I commented.
"No. Out there's not quiet." she corrected while pointing skyward.
"Perhaps you should be studying music. Your interpretation of Liszt's Concert Etude is quite good." I commented.
"Thank you. I’m surprised you know the work." she replied.
"I can even tell you that it’s the D flat Etude, the third of a group of three concert etudes that Liszt composed. The other two are not well known and are rarely heard today." I added.
"You seem to know more about the work than I do." she remarked, sounding somewhat surprised.
"Not really, but at least you can play the work. I can’t." I admitted.
"I can play it but I know it’s too difficult for me to play properly." she conceded.
"Practice. It’s always the same story. Practice." I commented, almost sounding like a music teacher.
"Only up to a point. After that, a performer has to be gifted." she remarked.
"You’re probably right." I concur5red with a laugh and then added, "I can only improve my playing of a musical work up to a certain point, but never technically perfect."
"What piece were you just playing? she asked.
"Sketches of a Vietnamese Girl in America." I answered.
"I don't know that piece." she stated.
"I'd have been surprised if you did." I commented with a laugh.
"Why?" she questioned.
"It was one of my own compositions." I revealed.
"Really?" she remarked with surprise.
"I wrote it for that lady you may have seen me with earlier today." I detailed.
"Is she your wife?" she asked.
"No. Just a friend." I stated.
"She must be a special friend." she commented.
"No. Just a friend I’ve known for several years." I replied.
"Would you play your work again so I can hear all of it?" she requested, sounding as if she was genuinely interested.
"Alright, I will. Actually I came here to Pittsburgh to perform for that Vietnamese event, but the piano was damaged when it was being moved." I said, and then proceeded to play the work.
"It's definitely not Liszt." she commented after I removed my hands from the keyboard.
"Is that good or bad?" I probed.
"It's good. I clearly hear the Asian influence in your music but it sounds so unhappy." she critiqued honestly.
"That's the feeling I wanted to convey in the music." I confirmed.
"But why sadness?" she questioned.
"1975 was a difficult time for her... fleeing from Vietnam and all that." I explained.
"And what about now?" she prodded.
"I would have to say neutral." I replied and then stood to vacate the piano bench and change the subject,
I gestured toward the unoccupied bench and then said, "Now I'd like to hear you play the Liszt etude again."
"Fair enough." she said, took possession of the piano, moved her hair behind her ears and then jumped into the Etude.
Her performance wasn't flawless but I found her interpretation satisfying to listen to; a genuine rendition rather than a pretentious familiar manner that some well-known performers seem to toss off the work with.
"Wow!" I said 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 didn't need to worry. I'm not Vietnamese.
“Are you Chinese?” I asked, because I was curious, thinking that she was Vietnamese.
"Yes, but I'm from the Philippines." She answered.
"You mentioned earlier that you were studying astronomy." I commented.
"I'm in my last year here." she said, sounding slightly negative about it.
"You don't sound very enthusiastic about it." I noted.
"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?" I questioned.
"What can I do there with a degree in Physics?" she asked rhetorically.
"I don't really know." I said just to say something.
"It's late. I must get back to the dorm." she announced after glancing at her watch.
"Here!" I said, and handed her the copy of my composition.
"No. You don't need to do this." she replied.
"I insist and besides, I have the original and more copies at home. If I don't hand these out, no one else will do it for me." I pointed out then suggested, "One day when you've had enough of Liszt, you can try this one."
"Thank you for your kindness." she said.
"No. I should thank you." I countered, grateful to have had someone to talk to for a while.
The lady from the Philippines said good-bye and departed. A quick check of my watch confirmed I had been missing from the other hall for more than an hour. Seconds later I noticed another of Phi Bang's brothers peek into the room from the doorway and then immediately disappear. Perhaps my absence had finally been noticed.
Phi Bang rushed in and was very apologetic about all her flitting around. She then asked me to play the piano work that I had composed for her. “Sketches” was also the work I had chosen to perform, had there been a performance. When I finished playing, Phi Bang insisted we return to the other hall where the dancing and other activities were going on.
The large hall was hot, humid and stifling uncomfortable because the still air was fogged from cigarette smoke, however most people were dancing anyway and seemingly oblivious to the discomforts. After several minutes of sitting at the table, listening to the singing and watching other couples dance the tango, Phi Bang suggested we get up and dance too; I recalled she had once mentioned that she liked tango music. I declined.
Undeterred and unwilling to believe that I really didn't know how to dance, she kept asking me to get up and accompany her to dance floor. In spite of my protestations she badgered me non-stop until I finally gave in to her just to prove my point.
Attempting to dance the tango was a disaster. Unable to lead and unable to follow Phi Bang's lead I repeatedly stepped on her toes. Frustrated, Phi Bang gave up and asked me to sit down. She finally acknowledged that I really could not dance.
She had 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 talk, I was in for another surprise. Phi Bang and Mr. Vu were simply dropping me off. She was going somewhere else, supposedly attend another meeting, but that was okay with me. If she wanted to go back and find someone else to tango with, that was okay with me too; I had endured enough of being the hot potato.
As I lay awake in the dark waiting for sleep to come, I puzzled over Phi Bang's real purpose in begging me to come to Pittsburgh. Since my arrival I'd been ferried from place to place, and all the while feeling like an inconvenience that had to be tolerated. Clearly I didn't fit in with the Vietnamese community or their activities, but this new experience did provide me with an interesting perspective that I'd otherwise never have learned. I was the lone visible minority within a close-knit community that really was a visible minority in North America.
No long after falling asleep I was awakened by the sound of someone knocking and banging on the front door. No one answered.
Half asleep, I wondered, "Am I alone 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 the car, so I returned to bed.
A ringing telephone awakened me a while later. I waited for someone to answer it but no one did. The noisy nuisance kept ringing so I finally I got up, went down the two flights of stairs to the living room and answered it. The caller was Phi Bang. She was locked out of the house and she wanted me to open the front door when she returned. I did not know why a family member had not been awakened by the disturbance because the telephone must have rung twenty-five times from the time I heard it until I picked it up.
Phi Bang came through the door, glared at me and then angrily whispered, "Why you did not open the door before?"
"I didn't hear anything." I lied because I did not want to say anything more.
"We must talk later. Now is too late." she replied.
"Okay. Later." I whispered simply to be agreeable.
I did not know whether or not she believed me but she quietly accepted my answer. She disappeared into the kitchen and I climbed the two flights of stairs to return to the room where I had been billeted. As far as I was able to determine, no one else had awakened.
By daybreak I was awake for the day. The house was silent so I lay on the bed, stared at the ceiling, and again questioned why I had been foolish enough to come to Pittsburgh. No, I did not harbour any secret desires to try to re-establish our former relationship; that was finished. When I arrived here I did not know what to expect but I certainly did not anticipate being shuffled around like a piece of baggage getting in the way of someone's very busy schedule. In spite of the questions I had asked and the answers she gave, I could not figure out the purpose of the Vietnamese association. Whatever the organization was, Phi Bang was very actively involved in it.
Strangely enough, I was also thinking about Theresia in Indonesia. I was planning to write later and tell her about this crazy visit in Pittsburgh. I was also wondering what she would think. From reading her letters, I knew that she was not at all like Phi Bang. In fact, the more I thought about Theresia, the more I realized that she had those gentle caring qualities I had wanted and hoped to find in Phi Bang but were not there. Perhaps Phi Bang never possessed those traits, that only up until now I had been too foolishly naive to see differently.
Phi Bang had changed since she first came to America and she had changed all the more since the last time I had seen her. This said, I could not quite place my finger on exactly what was different about her. Maybe the difference was nothing more than a change from being a late teen into a young adult.
Recalling a long conversation that I had with Matthew a few years back, he questioned me about why I never dated anyone and never seemed to be involved with anyone. I had tried to explain that I knew only too well what personality and traits I did not want in a woman I would desire to be involved with, but on the other hand, I did not know what I wanted or hoped to find. Nonetheless, I felt optimistically certain I would know if and when I did find the right person.
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 everything about this visit to Pittsburgh had removed every possible doubt. Although unexpected, this visit also provided me with a remarkable opportunity to make a comparison between Phi Bang and my friend in Indonesia. In an instant I knew without a doubt who the right person for me was, and she wasn't Phi Bang.
Eventually I heard stirring from downstairs and then talking, so that was my cue to get up. While making the bed, by accident I kicked something beneath the bed and scattered the contents across the floor. My foot had struck a folder stuffed with hundreds of pages of writing together with various photographs. The content was entirely in Vietnamese and was Phi Bang's handwriting. I had no idea what was written on those pages, but I was certain enough they weren't school material.
Believing I may have upset a diary, and not wanting to intrude into her, or her sister's privacy, I quickly gathered up the contents. In the process, more photographs spilled out of the folder. Yes, I looked, and all were pictures of Phi Bang with someone else, but I had no idea who the other person may have been because the other person's images had been carefully 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 returned the everything as best I could and placed the stuffed folder beneath the bed. I was astonished though. For someone who'd been repeatedly telling me she was far too busy to write to me, reams of writing had been done.
Following breakfast, Phi Bang and I moved into the living room, and I was really hoping we could have a serious tête-à-tête. Before she sat however, Phi Bang 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 looking at the cassette as if she was displaying it also, she stated, "I don't understand your music or the thought. It's not me."
I didn't respond to her comment. I never expected that Phi Bang would ever understand my music, nonetheless she was right. The music wasn't her nor was it ever intended it to be her. The music was me, my thoughts about her, expressions of my old feelings for her and my unspoken words to her; yes, all diligently thought out an set down in music notation to represent what I'd foolishly not said in words too long ago. The music did not matter now because the work no longer reflected my thoughts or feelings.
"You are so cold!"
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. I understood now 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 then pressed play. For a moment or two I listened, then arose, turned off the player, removed the cassette, handed it back to her, saying, "There’s nothing in here to understand now."
Tossing the cassette aside, she insisted, "We must talk now."
"That's all what I've wanted to do ever since I've arrived here."
"Yes, I know."
"But we haven't had a single moment alone together."
"This weekend too busy with activities."
"I still don’t understand what my being here this weekend is all about."
"For Vietnamese community in Pittsburgh."
"Well that much I figured out."
"Last night we try to raise money for our members 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 hesitantly.
"You don’t have to tell me anything."
"I can't feel for you as before. The love has gone." she continued awkwardly, pointing toward herself in the same manner Mai Lien had done once before.
"I know." I acknowledged quietly.
Her words didn't surprise me nor did they hurt, nonetheless I felt awkward listening to her tell me she no longer loved me.
"I'm so sorry. I never want to say to you but I say it anyway." Phi Bang said, sounding contrite.
"You're not telling me anything I don't already know." hoping she'd feel better that I understood her meaning only too well.
"I try to find past feeling in my heart... I really try but I cannot find." Phi Bang revealed, and sounding very apologetic.
"What do you want me to say?" and clueless about what she expected to hear from me.
"I not want you be sad and sorrowful." and in that instant her face displayed a genuine concern.
"I'm not sad."
"I know you not talk from feeling in heart but talk only from thought 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 sorry 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 and anguish of last winter, or that I'd already come to terms with the end of our relationship.
The doorbell rang and that interruption ended whatever chance we might've had for further discussion. Mr. Vu was at the door. He was going to drive us to the airport but he was a few hours early. His arrival now was also the first time I realized that his interest in Phi Bang may have been more than that of just a friend. Suddenly I felt uncomfortable about being here.
Several hours later...
My departure time soon came. Before leaving the bedroom and going downstairs for the last time, I removed from my billfold my half of the dollar note that I'd always kept with me since my visit to Cleveland. I had no idea whether or not Phi Bang had kept her half. Stepping back 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 that Phi Bang would discover the half-dollar after returning home.
"Will you remember this?" I wondered.
I turned away, picked up my bag and walked out of the room feeling satisfied, because I'd kept my promise to return. If Phi Bang still possessed her half of the bank note, then I felt sure she'd know that I'd never return here again.
Upon getting dropped-off at the 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 reconfirmed this 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 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 released her hand.
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 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, looked up at me, but didn't say a word.
Eventually Lady Liszt disappeared, so I took possession of the piano 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 one end were numerous round tables where most people were seated. Loud music was blaring and a few energetic people oblivious to the stifling heat, were already dancing. This event did not appear to me to be any different from a North American style high school graduation dance, except that everyone here was Vietnamese. 
"Fair enough." she said, took possession of the piano, moved her hair behind her ears and then jumped into the Etude.
The large hall was hot, humid and stifling uncomfortable because the still air was fogged from cigarette smoke, however most people were dancing anyway and seemingly oblivious to the discomforts. After several minutes of sitting at the table, listening to the singing and watching other couples dance the tango, Phi Bang suggested we get up and dance too; I recalled she had once mentioned that she liked tango music. I declined.
Phi Bang came through the door, glared at me and then angrily whispered, "Why you did not open the door before?"
"I can't feel for you as before. The love has gone." she continued awkwardly, pointing toward herself in the same manner Mai Lien had done once before.
Several hours later...
