Well, I've just finished
putting my first letter to Stacey into the envelope. She
lives in Houston now and calls every once in a while. Things
did not go too well during our last couple of phone
conversations.
She would call her
sister, Trisha, and her mom first. And if asked about me,
they would simply tell her that I had been late coming in to
work at their dry cleaners that day, or the previous day, or
whatever day that they would come up with. If I was only 5
minutes late, they would make it sound as though it were
hours. If I wasn't late, they'd create some other type of
situation.
So, by the time she
would get around to calling me, I of course could not tell my
side of the story. In her mind, the fact was indisputable
that I was unreliable. And so our conversation on the phone
would be based around this idea and that her parents were
probably going to kick me out of the house and/or fire me. No
more underpaid job at the Dry Cleaners, no more living in my
ex-girlfriend's parent's basement, no more false accusations?
Oh, please no.
But, I do have to admit
though, that I was so happy and excited to hear her voice on
the other end of the phone, because I did miss her; but the
end of the conversation always would go something like this:
"Well, I gotta go now.' `O.K. Talk to you later.' `Bye.'
CLICK.... And that shit hurts after a time. But then again,
we had that type of relationship - we loved, we hurt, we
loved, we hurt.
We dated for 7 & 1/2
years. Not all in a row, mind you. For her, there was Ronald,
the official other. Not to mention of all of the other ones
that "Didn't Count" she would say. But then
again... I did have Sun-Hee and Jacky; the ones that
"Did Count."
In these days of lost
confusion & loneliness, I often wonder whatever happened
to Cecilia Burrows, my first love...
We were both seniors in
high school.
I saw her on the first day
of the Winter Quarter.
At about nine in the
morning on a Monday, "home-room" had just let out,
and I was walking in the midst of students down the hallway,
heading to my locker to get my notebook. I bought a new
spiral notebook on the day beforehand, because I knew that I
would need one for Algebra. I never was too good in Math.
Although my head was
clouded with worries and feelings of dread for the coming
Algebra class, I was not so lost in thought that I could not
notice the beautiful girl who just seemed to float across my
path. Out of the hundreds of annoying classmates that were
milling all around me, this wonderful new stranger in my
little world shone out like a beacon in the night. Though I
had seen thousands of nameless faces in my high school
career, I would have definitely noticed her before.
Clumsily shuffling all my
papers together that had fallen out of my locker from my
momentary distraction, I thought to myself "I will
definitely be on the lookout for her!" Not realizing
that I had found a new purpose, I walked outside to
ramshackle trailer where my Algebra class was being held.
I entered the room very
slowly, of course; I had to gaze over my classmates to see if
there were any pretty girls that I should sit next to, or at
least have good `peep-coverage.' (In college, my friends and
I aptly named this technique as "Strategic
Placement.")
Unfortunately there weren't
really any to speak of. So I just took a seat in the front
row. Yeah, I know. It sounds like I was one of those
"nerdy-guys," but if that were the case, I sure as
hell wish that my grades knew about it! Anyway, as I began to
put my books and stuff under the desk, I glanced up at the
chalkboard to see what the teacher had written as an
introduction to this most difficult class and soon-to-be
nightmare.
And BOOM!!! There she was.
The beautiful girl that I had noticed in the hall. She was
walking right into my classroom! I would have to describe her
as the "a tall drink of water," though she was the
Asian female equivalent of the phrase. She appeared tall, but
maybe it was more of a `regal' appearance. She was slim, but
not too skinny. She had silky long black hair, and smooth
muscular legs that made her gait seem almost angelic.
OOOPPS! Sorry for
interrupting the story here folks, but while I was writing
this chapter for the first time, I was at my job, CJ Cleaners
(yeah, Stacey's parents own it). And I have got to tell you
folks what just happened here at CJ's.
I see a customer pull
up, so I put down my pen and notebook to attend to business.
A familiar-looking lady walks in, I give her a smile, and
cheerfully say "Good Morning!" She doesn't say a
word, but instead hands me her ticket with a look on her face
that says "Die, you murderous little bastard!"
I give her the clothes
and inform her that the total is $19.05. She pulls out a $20
bill and says "I can not believe that you are actually
going to charge me for these." "Huh? - I'm sorry
ma'am, but we did clean them for you."
Then I remember who she
is. The lady with the meeting.
You see, Stacey's
parents were not delivering the clothes to me on a daily
basis anymore because they were short-staffed at the other
location they own. So each night I gathered up all of the
customers' clothes that were dropped off that day, and take
them home. The next morning, Stacey's mom would take them to
their store, forty miles away, clean them, bring them home
that night and then put them in my car the next morning. Then
I would take them back up to CJ's for the customer to pick
them up. So, from the day that someone drops off their
clothes to be cleaned, they get them about two days later.
Well, this lady came
back the very next day after she had dropped them off. And
when I explained to her the reason for the new time delay,
she blew up. She then explained to me that she would be
taking a flight to the west coast the next morning and would
be needing her clothes for a meeting there.
Well, there was nothing
I could do. So she tells me yet once again that she needs
them right then and there. Now, I can understand being upset.
I can even understand blaming it all on me. But come on
folks, let's be practical. I mean, does she believe that I
really do have them, cleaned and ready; but that I am just
keeping them hidden in the back of the store and I am not
about to give them to her until she says the magic word??
Sure, that's it.
Then the strobe lights
come on, the bells go off, and I shout out - "CON - GRAT
- U - LA - TIONS!!! - YOU HAVE JUST WON... YOUR
CLOTHES!!"
J-E-E-E-Z.
Anyway, this morning,
she is fuming at having to pay for them at all... Two pants,
two 2-piece suits, and two jackets.
"I will never come
here again! -I will tell everyone I know about this You
are all going down!"
Now, one option would
have been to pick up one of the metal poles lying behind the
counter and to give her a good thrashing, bellowing out
"Who's going down now, bitch?"
But, instead, I slowly
slid the $20 bill back across the counter towards her.
"Here then, ma'am, it's on us, I'm sorry, pl..."
Before I could even finish, she was already in her car; $20
in hand, no doubt. You know, I don't think I have ever ripped
up a piece of paper so indistinguishable as I did to her
ticket.
They say "No Ticket
- No Clothes." Well, guess who had to pay for the tab?
And do you think that Stacey's parents would have understood
that not only did I make an excellent customer-service
decision, but I also honorably paid for the shit myself? Of
course not.
Anyway, back to Cecilia...
She was beautiful. To me,
she was much more than just that. But first loves always are.
At the moment that I had
gotten my first good look at her, I said to myself
"Craig, my boy, your days of shyness are gonna have to
stop right now. You must have her."
And I don't mean in the
sexual sense.
Nor in that power-hungry
way either.
I mean, more in that
goo-goo eyed, "You are the reason for my existence"
kind of way.
Unfortunately, though, she
was sitting in a desk that was on way on the other side of
the room. But fortune seemed to smile on me that day. Towards
the end of the class, the teacher announced that
"Tommorrow you should sit where you would like to be for
the rest of the quarter," because the next day we would
be assigned seats.
Before that day, I really
hated `assigned seats,' as it would interfere with strategic
placement. This day, I didn't mind so much.
The next day I hung out
outside the trailer before class, waiting for Cecilia to go
in first. And then after a few very long seconds, I casually
strode in. My eyes quickly scanned the room and then I made
my way over to the desk right next to hers. The funny thing
is that it was the same damn desk as the one I sat in the day
before.
HMMM... Coincedence? Or was
there more to it than that? Did she notice me too? And more
importantly was she applying strategic placement?
I do still have most of the
little notes that she would leave under the windshield wiper
of my old yellow 1971 Volkswagen Bug.
She was a model, an
actress, and a gymnast. She even did "The King and
I" in a big city theater.
She came to my kung fu
school's "Chinese New Year" celebration that year.
I will never forget how she stole her first kiss from me -
Sifu (kung fu teacher) wasn't looking in my direction and we
had just finished our demonstration. She leaned over, kissed
me ever so gently on my cheek, and whispered into my ear
"You looked so wonderful out there." I must admit
that I had done the Northern Shaolin form, Tun Dah, pretty
well that day. But did I care if it was the high & flashy
tornado kicks that drew her attention and not the intricate
joint-locking techniques?
HELL NO!
She was a Vietnamese girl
who was early on adopted by an American family. And they had
also adopted her little `acne-faced' sister. So...there were
obviously some difficulties to our relationship.
Her American foster-parents
wanted her to date Vietnamese guys.
Vietnamese guys that were
middle to upper class.
And not some poor white
boy.
So, the scrawny little
`acne-faced' sister became their inside spy.
After two months of our
little Romeo & Juliet charade, her folks sent her out to
the West Coast.
I never really cared much
for her little sister.
Four years later, and 98
miles north of Atlanta, I somehow bumped into that scrawny
little `acne-face' again.
One Autumn day, at nine
a.m. in the morning, I was standing before a class of Chinese
language students - about 30 of them, I guess. It was
exciting to give a demonstration and a lecture to those young
freshmen studying at the University of Georgia, because by
that time I already knew most of the Chinese Language fans on
campus. I began to introduce my lesson, "To understand
Chinese language thoroughly, you must know something of her
culture..."
I was in the middle of
performing some Chen style Taijiquan (Tai-Chi), when I came
to the famous posture "Buddha's warrior assistant
pounds mortar." It's a nice little movement where
you stomp your foot on the ground, with your knees bent, and
at the same time the back of one fist pounds the palm of the
other. Together, with all of the stomping and pounding going
on, it makes for a very startling noise. It was pretty damn
funny though, to be see the faces of the on-lookers at this
time, because up to that move, I had been going really,
really slow & smooth, and all of the students were
looking sleepy. And then wwsshh-POW!
They woke up.
So there I was, pounding
the mortar, and as I was looking out into the crowd, these
beautiful eyes strike me. I think to myself...
"Cecilia???"
Nope. It was `acne-face.'
Only I couldn't really
think of her as that; for all of the acne was gone and she
had turned into a very pretty young woman.
Trying to regain my
composure... I decided that I could never call her
'acne-face' again.
Nothing more than a simple
wave to each other from across the campus ever ensued after
that.
She did tell me once
though, that Cecilia was still in L.A. and doing "just
fine."
She told me something else,
too.
And she mentioned that she
thought it was very funny.
You see, Cecilia and I had
our first date in a nice little Chinese restaraunt in
Roswell, near our high school.
And for a six months after
Cecilia was gone, I would visit that certain Chinese
restaurant every Friday night.
I would always sat at the
same table; the same one that Cecilia & I sat in.
I would not look up, or
look around. I just ordered the food, ate my meal, and drank
my hot tea, without ever looking up; always lost in
memories...
But Cecilia's little sister
told me that If I had ever had looked up... I would have
noticed that she, `acne-face' was my waitress.
Every time...
Was she enjoying my misery?
Was she gloating over her hand in the part?
Whatever.
I guess you could
call that ironic,
like when it rains on your wedding day or
when there's a no-smoking sign on your cigarrette break...
OK, OK... You're right.
It just plain sucks.
And I'll tell you something
else. I did not agree with `acne-face' - it's not that funny.