Beauty Rising (24 page)

“Martin, don’t. You don’t know the things I’ve done. You don’t know.”

“I don’t care what you’ve done.”

“Martin. I’ve been bad. Really bad. When I left Ban Me Thuot, I was angry at the world and I would do anything to survive. I lied; I stole; I became a Karaoke girl. I am not a clean person Martin. You don’t know how bad I’ve been.”

“I don’t care about what you’ve done in the past. I really don’t care. I don’t care.”

“But Martin . . .”

“My Phuong, I don’t have anything to offer you. I don’t have any money, I don’t have a house, I don’t have a good job, and I’m fat and ugly. That’s all I have to offer you. But My Phuong, I love you. I love you so much it hurts, and I would treat you so well. And . . .”

“Oh, Martin. You are the sweetest man in the world.”

She put her hands on each of my cheeks and rubbed my scraggly whiskers just staring at me for a minute. Then she smiled at me. She leaned over and put her hands around my neck and kissed me on the lips. I felt like our lips were connected for an eternity. Then she pulled back from me and smiled again.

“Martin, it’s okay. You can go back to work tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere. China Buffet called this morning, and I start work there tomorrow afternoon.”

I leaned back and just realized that the girl under the banana tree truly smiled at me. I didn’t know why she smiled, and I didn’t know how long she would continue smiling, but I just knew that you didn’t second guess instances like this – not in the hell-hole named Lyndora.

My Girl and My Mom

My Phuong continued to live in Reverend Fox’s apartment. I continued to work at K-Mart but I had a new place I loved to stop for lunch – China Buffet. My Phuong wore the cutest blue uniform and would come around to fill up my cup and smile at me. Nothing else needed to be said. She was my girl. I had a girl. I had a hard time convincing myself that I had a girl, but there she was filling my tea cup at lunch and hanging out with me every evening.

Mom constantly harassed me about everything those days, and I kept planning to find a way to get my own place, but it just hadn’t happened yet. Every evening I went over to My Phuong’s place and we played games like little kids. She loved Uno, and we would play cut-throat for hours. Sometimes Reverend Fox would join us as well, and we would’ve woken up the neighbors with our hooting and hollering if it had been much later in the evening. We also watched a lot of TV. My Phuong loved to watch cooking shows and scratched down every recipe telling me over and over that she was going to make it for me. She would sit on my right with a beer in her hand. I would sit drinking my glass of milk constantly edging over to put my arm around her. Other days we just sat out on Reverend Fox’s wooden picnic table and talked. On Wednesday evenings, we could hear the faint voices of the few church members singing hymns before their prayer meeting. I always wondered if those songs took her back to her childhood. I could never imagine how much her life had changed since the time when her father was a pastor and she sat in the church service singing hymns like that.

I left her about nine each evening, but before I did, she would kiss me – a cute peck on the lips. We hadn’t quite figured out how to be physical with each other at that point, or at least I hadn’t figured it out. I just didn’t want to move too quickly and make a wrong move.

By the time summer officially commenced, we had been in this routine for about three weeks. Mom would typically be sitting on the porch when I came home. We didn’t say much to each other those days other than about the trivial matters concerning living in the same house. I never told Mom where My Phuong lived. I don’t know how she would have reacted to having My Phuong and me in that same apartment where the young Reverend and my Mom kindled their youthful passion.

One night after I pulled into the driveway and came up the front steps, Mom was waiting on the porch swing ready to ask me an unexpected question.

“Well, Martin? Are you ever going to let me meet this girl of yours?”

I hesitated. I never wanted my Mom near My Phuong, but I didn’t want to tell her that.

“I didn’t think you wanted to meet her.”

“I do. I would like to meet her,” she said, taking a drag on her cigarette.

“Mom, honestly, I don’t know if that is a good idea,” I said going back on my reservations about being frank.

“And why is that?”

“What are you going to say to her?”

“I just want to meet her.”

“Don’t do any of your silly business. Okay?” I warned her. “I don’t want you to make her feel uncomfortable or unwanted. Will you treat her as a guest?”

“Martin, you have my word. I’ll be a lady. Bring her for dinner tomorrow. We haven’t eaten together for a while. I’ll make a casserole.”

“Okay. I’ll bring her.”

I dreaded the thought of bringing My Phuong home to meet my Mom, but it was about time. At lunch I informed My Phuong, and she seemed pleased that my Mom wanted to have her come. I wasn’t so sure. I warned her that she would probably be offended, but My Phuong assured me that she could take it all. I had no reason to doubt her in the slightest. I believed she was the strongest woman in the world, and she would need ever last fiber of that strength to withstand the hurricane that had the capability to attack at any moment.

My Phuong arrived at the house on foot around 7 PM. She wore black dress pants and a pretty pink sleeveless blouse. I loved looking at her walking towards me.

“Hi, My Phuong. Dinner is ready.”

“Hi, Martin.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. I’m ready,” she said conveying a positive attitude.

I smiled at her and opened the screen door leading her into the house. Mom was putting the finishing touches on the meal. A loaf of freshly baked bread sat on the table alongside a chicken and rice casserole. My Phuong’s ethnicity no doubt had something to do with the rice.

“Mom,” I said as we entered the kitchen. Mom stopped setting the table, quickly took off her apron and slightly grinned out of the side of her mouth. “This is My Phuong. My Phuong, this is my Mom. Mrs. Kinney.”

“Martin, don’t be so formal. She can call me Jane. Nice to meet you My Phuong – I’m sure I didn’t say your name right.”

They reached out to shake each other’s hands.

“I am honored to meet you Jane.”

“Here, My Phuong you sit here by me, and Martin sit on the end. Now what would you like to drink?”

“Oh, I’m not thirsty.”

“Nonsense. Do you drink alcohol? Beer. How about beer? Do you like beer?”

“Yes, I do,” My Phuong replied in the dainty polite way she had about her.

“Martin, get her a beer from the fridge.”

“We don’t have any beer in the fridge.”

“Yes we do. Look in the back left. There’s some in there.”

“I don’t need to have a beer,” My Phuong said.

“Sure you do. Martin, get her one.”

I reached into the fridge and found a cold one in the back, and set it down beside My Phuong.

“Martin, don’t be so barbaric. Get her a glass and open it for her.

I went to the utensil drawer to find a bottle opener.

“I sometimes wish Martin would just have a beer so he would relax a little bit and not be so uptight about everything. Don’t you find Martin to be a little uptight sometimes?”

“I think Martin is very sweet,” she looked at me and made me blush.

“Yes, of course, he’s sweet,” my mother said with a hint of sarcasm.

My Mom served us each a heaping spoonful of the casserole and passed around the bread and butter. She was a good cook when she took the time. She kept encouraging My Phuong to drink her beer and eat more of the casserole, but My Phuong remained very measured on both accounts.

“So, Martin says that you were a friend of a friend in Vietnam, is that true?”

My Phuong looked over at me as if to acknowledge the slight fudging I was doing to the truth.

“Yes, that’s right. I came to visit a relative in America, and when I had a chance to come east, I thought I would look up Martin,” she lied.

“And you just decided to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Mom, do you have to ask so many questions?”

“Martin, you said I should try to get to know her. Well, I’m trying.”

“It’s okay,” replied My Phuong. “I found that Lyndora is a nice place.”

“Ha. That’s a bunch of baloney. No one ever stays in this crummy place. Except Martin, of course.”

“Mom!”

“Now don’t misunderstand me. If someone likes Lyndora and wants to stay, that’s fine with me. It’s just not very ordinary.”

“The people are nice. And now that I have a job. . .”

“Yes, you are at the China Buffet, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you must fit in real well there. I mean, you have the same language, don’t you?”

“No, I speak Vietnamese, and they speak Chinese.”

“I know that, but they are basically the same, right? It’s all that choppy back and forth sounds. I can’t make heads nor tails out of it. You can at least understand each other, right?”

“No. They are completely different. When my boss speaks Chinese, I can’t understand anything.”

“Is that right? Huh. Drink your beer.”

“The food is very good,” My Phuong replies.

“Oh, no, I’m sure you don’t like it very well.”

“No, I do, really.”

“Yes, Mom. I like the bread.”

She rolled her eyes at me.

“So where is it that you are staying?”

We were finally hitting dangerous waters.

“She’s just rented an apartment not far from here,” I quickly butted in.

“It’s at the Methodist church. I rent an apartment from Reverend Fox.”

“Reverend Fox?” she replied with a disgusted look on her face. She glared at me, and I could nearly feel the venom from her fangs.

“Yes, the one above his garage.”

“Martin.”

“Mom.”

She stood up and went to the sink standing there for a moment.

“I’m okay. I just need a drink.”

She poured herself a glass of bourbon, and then turned back around.

“Martin, get your guest another beer.”

“No, ma’am. That’s enough.”

My Mom took another sip and then took a deep breath as if to compose herself.

“Well, I personally have never cared much for that Reverend Fox.”

“He’s been very nice to me.”

“Perhaps he has. I just don’t think he’s the most sincere man in the world.”

“Mom, can we just not do this?”

“Do what, Martin?”

My Phuong just looked straight ahead most likely wondering what was going on. I had purposely not told Mom about My Phuong’s apartment because I knew it would bring up too many unnecessary memories. I also hadn’t felt the need to tell My Phuong about my Mom’s old fling with Reverend Fox. Mom finished her bourbon and poured herself another. We all sat quietly just eating for a few minutes. We finally got onto the topic of TV, and My Phuong relayed to my Mom her favorite shows none of which were favorites of my Mom.