The Beauty of Humanity Movement (54 page)

“He won’t talk to any of us,” she says. “He won’t even come down for dinner. You talk to him. It’s probably some stupid thing about a girl.”

T
pushes open his friend’s bedroom door. He finds Ph
ng lying on his mattress, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts covered in red hearts—a birthday gift from his last girlfriend. Ph
ng has had many admirers and many dates, but not actually many girlfriends, none he’s ever introduced to his family, in any case.

The fan creaks each time it reverses direction, pushing perfumed waves of incense in Ph
ng’s direction. He doesn’t seem to hear T
come in; he’s wearing his headphones and T
can hear the tinny treble all the way from the doorway. Ph
ng is staring at the ceiling, a bottle of
r
u
, rice whiskey, a small jug of
and a bowl of hardened rice on the floor within reach of him on the mattress.

T
has never seen his friend like this, even over a girl; Ph
ng dismisses girls after the initial flirtation, using American expressions like she was “dirt cheap” and “crumpling my style.” Music will always come first in his life, which worries his parents and sometimes T
as well. Family is always first in Vietnam; why does Ph
ng have to be so contrary?