Numbered Love by Maysam Yabandeh - HTML preview

Once Upon a Time, Love

Stroking his patchy beard, Professor Nam Nguyen nervously paces on the Story Bridge. This is a low-maintenance beard that says, ‘I don’t give a damn about my looks.’ Why would he? Messing with your looks is for frivolous people who waste their time chasing girls: spending three hours a week waiting in line at the barbershop for a Ryan Gosling haircut, two hours a day lifting weights so that the dating muscles pop out, and chugging down daily doses of poisonous protein shakes that sooner or later will give you constipation—if not man boobs. Everybody knows this, yet everybody wastes his life with the same pointless routine. Everybody except for Nam. He didn’t have to. When your destiny is to end up with the most perfect girl in the world, who in their right mind would waste their time on random girls? And when love is as pure and platonic as what awaits Nam, the least important factor is looks.

Nam takes another look at his watch: 11:50 p.m. Where is she? Perhaps his watch is running fast. He turns around and finds the big clock on the tower overlooking the bridge. 11:50 too. The time is right. The date is right too. Monday, April 10. Thirty years ago, on this day, that bald Buddhist monk in Eden Park promised Nam and Livia that they would meet again here on this bridge, and when at midnight the second-hand jumps from 59 to 0 they would fall in love all over again. And this time, they will never be separated. This time, their love will last forever.

They believed the monk back then. From the bottom of their hearts, they believed that their wish for unification would come true. They actually thought the Buddhist monk was a genie robed in saffron. Ha. What did they know? They were only five, after all. True or false, that belief made Nam’s unbearable separation from Livia less painful. After all, isn’t that the main objective of faith? When his family was deported back to Vietnam, Nam didn’t cry. Because he believed with all his heart that thirty years later he would return to the United States of America to be reunited with his American crush. And this time, their love would last forever.

Nam puts another piece of mint gum into his mouth, partly to calm his nerves and partly to freshen his breath for the romantic kiss if when Livia shows up. This is perhaps the coldest April Nam has experienced. The calendar promises spring, but the climate dictates winter. Nam blows his warm breath into his cold hands and then slips his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He feels the comb in his pocket. Has he combed his hair? He has, perhaps more than a hundred times. But it couldn’t hurt to be sure. He takes out the comb and runs it through his comb-over. Not that it matters, but it’s nice to look nice for your eternal love.

His late dad had also carried one of these cheap plastic combs and used to run it through his hair before Sunday Mass began. “Uncle Jesus sees us from above,” he would tell baby Nam, pointing to the decorated ceiling of the chapel. His hardcore Christian parents later became Buddhists on the first week they arrived in Hue and afterwards devout Taoists when they moved to Hanoi. Nam didn’t mind their flip-flopping in religion though. All he needed was a vessel of faith to pray and remember Livia’s mint scent when they would hold hands and pray together in their favorite spot—the middle of the third row of the Chapel of Holy Cross. With his eyes shut, Nam would see nothing but Livia’s face, her wavy hair, and her furrowed eyebrows in that timeless moment when she stood up to Jack, the racist, good-for-nothing jackass who had shoved Nam to the ground and sneered, ‘Go home, monkey.’ Then, her kind, welcoming smile as she extended her hand to Nam, and her brown face filling the blue sky with its missing color. Churches, pagodas, wats, miaos, and palaces were all the same to little Nam as long as he could find a quiet moment to practice his own unvarying liturgy: drifting away from the earthly world, eyes shut, mind filled with Livia. Who cared how the temple looked or what color the priests or monks wore? Brown, black, or blue—they were all pretty.

As little Nam grew older, and as the color gradually faded away from the magical world he once knew, unveiling the harsh, ugly reality behind it, he learned that Santa is not real, rainbows don’t end in heaven, and worst of all, genies don’t exist. He didn’t give up on his faith, though. How could he? The belief that he would meet Livia again was the only light in his otherwise dark world. First, he thought that perhaps the bald guy in the park was an angel, foretelling Nam and Livia’s destiny. That perception didn’t last long when Nam grew older, read many books, and learned that scientists had already proven that God didn’t exist, nor did his army of angels; and that his Christian Taoist parents were just too stubborn to listen to the scientists. Religious faith was out the window, and so was Nam’s belief in miracles. Yet, Nam still had faith—this time, faith in love; that Livia would not forget him through the thirty years of separation. That Livia would remember their rendezvous on the Story Bridge. That every time a handsome man asked her out for a drink, she would turn him down, saying, “Go away. My heart belongs to Nam.” That Livia would come to find Nam here on April 10. And then, neither the brutal icy weather, nor the heartless ICE agency, nor any other force in the world could stop a love that endured for three decades. Nam lets that thought linger and puts another mint tablet into his mouth— the heavenly taste money can buy. He runs the comb through his hair once more, just in case.

None of the girls who made a move on Nam came anywhere close to Livia’s perfection. With each girl Nam turned away, the image of Livia in his mind grew more vivid and distinct. While the other young men were playing around with the beautiful women of Hanoi, studying them thoroughly, inside and out, Nam dedicated his life to studying history, seeking answers to the endless train of questions that ran through his mind ever since the traumatic deportation. He needed to understand the people of the West who once kicked him and his family back to the East. They were as alien to Nam as women were. Although his thesis on the Indochina Wars was received with the highest praise and admiration and guaranteed a tenure position at the prestigious Vietnam National University, to Nam, the West is still as mysterious as the enigma of women. He still doesn’t know what the kind-hearted French women were thinking while their men waged the death of hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese women and children. Were they thinking it was probably for a good cause? Were they thinking, ‘Better them than us’? Were they thinking the lives of Vietnamese children are worth less than those of their own kids? Or perhaps the crusader mindset still lingered in the collective subconscious of French women, condoning the taking of lives, as long as those lives belonged to godless communists who didn’t have faith in Jesus Christ.

And what did the American women think during the Vietnam War?

Livia, Nam remembers and immediately calms, as always. Every time life shows too much cruelty, Nam remembers Livia’s smile and life becomes bearable again. Livia has always been the only woman in his mind—a dream living on another continent. A dream that gave his life a sense of purpose as well as a direction: ‘Go West, young Nam.’ But, it turns out the West is not as eager as it should be to welcome the honor of the East. After many failed attempts to obtain a US visitor visa, Professor Nam Nguyen eventually found his way back to the land of dreams through a guest lecturer position at a small community college not too far from where he and his family had lived before being deported. It was a demotion that Nam accepted with love and enthusiasm. His search for Livia, however, proved fruitless; after all, how could you find a woman when the only thing you know is her first name and that she has the cutest smile and a scent as refreshing as mint? Eventually, all of his hope vanished, except for one last chance. That Livia would remember April 10, their rendezvous on the Story Bridge.

He looks at his watch: 11:52 p.m. Where the hell is she? Nam turns his gaze to both sides of the bridge. Except for an old homeless man staggering from the right, there is not a soul in sight. It is Monday after all, and it is freezing cold. What if Livia has forgotten? Impossible. Impossible. Nam doesn’t want to live in a world where that is possible. He would rather end it right here and right now, in the freezing cold water that roars beneath the Story Bridge, waiting to claim his life. Nope. Impossible. If Livia is alive, she will certainly come. But what if Livia is dead? Nam tightens his jacket as April’s cold creeps under his skin, a chill no longer eased by his faith in meeting Livia. He looks at the clock tower, which is witnessing his most melancholy moments. 11:53 p.m. His faith gradually fades, taking with it the illusion of spring, leaving the burning cold of winter that will last forever if Livia doesn’t come.

With his hand on the bridge railing, the bald, homeless man trudges along step by step. What is his story? Perhaps many years ago, when he was still young, the homeless man also had a rendezvous with his eternal love on this bridge. Perhaps the love never showed up, making the homeless man the eternal resident of this bridge. Perhaps the homeless man has lost a hair for every night he’s been coming here, battling the reality that his once unforgettable love has forgotten all about him. How far into the void can hope take a man with it? Pathetic. He and the homeless man have one thing in common: they both live in a cruel world that just doesn’t make any sense. The Honorable Professor Nam Nguyen sighs, feeling as small as the homeless man. For thirty years, he waited for a love that never waited for him.

His mind tricks him into hearing a muffled sound calling his name, “Nam.” A soft breeze from behind carries the floral notes of perfume, underscored by an unmistakable mint base. As the heavenly scent sharpens his senses, he begins to believe his ears. “Nam,” he hears a female voice from behind and cautiously turns around, his heart racing. “It’s me,” says the lady in her full grace, her loving smile a perfect echo of Livia’s. She’s dressed in a brown fur coat, a gold cross necklace, and a dark skirt that flows all the way down to her ankles.

Rendered speechless, Nam gulps.

“You’re Nam…from Vietnam, right?” she asks, peering at him.

Nam nods, tears clogging his throat. “Livia,” he croaks and opens his arms.

Livia leaps into his arms, her body melding with his as if they had never been apart, her warmth filling the void of years gone by.

Nam takes a deep inhale, soaking in the heavenly scent of mint. “I knew you would come,” he says, fighting tears of joy. “I knew it. I love you. I always have. I love you from the bottom of my heart.”

Livia separates herself from Nam’s embrace. “A few minutes more, and we will be in love forever.”

“What?!”

“It’s 11:56,” she says, showing her gold wristwatch.

“Come on,” Nam says with a bitter chuckle. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?” He squints, trying to decipher her expression.

“What’s not to believe? Destiny brought you here.”

“Actually, it was Bus 16W that brought me here,” Nam chuckles, but his humor fails to ease the seriousness on Livia’s face.

Livia takes a step back, pulling her fur coat tighter around herself. “You’re Nam from Vietnam, right?”

“Yes, Livia. Yes. I’m Nam. The third row in the Chapel of Holy Cross, the playground in Eden Park where we were inseparable, and the funny, bald monk who joked about us magically falling in love tonight on this bridge.”

“Joke?!” she says, her hopeful expression slipping into disappointment. “Then, why are you here?”

“I’m here because you’re here—because I knew you’d come. Because of my faith in our love, not in some voodoo magic.”

“Oh, Lord. You’ve changed,” Livia takes another step back, holding up her left palm as a stop sign.

“Well, I’ve grown up. Just like you did.” He catches the sparkle of the ring on Livia’s engagement finger. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That. That. Are you freaking engaged? I cannot believe this.”

“Yeah, I am. But only for like the next four minutes,” Livia says, showing her gold wristwatch again.

“Oh, for crying out loud, stop showing the time. How could you do this to me?” Nam asks as if Livia has broken a legal contract.

“Nam, it doesn’t matter. In four minutes, we will fall in love, and then—”

“And then you cheat on your fiancé?”

“No,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Of course not. I’ll break up with him first, or otherwise, it would be… What do you take me for? I’m a good Christian.”

“OK, let me get this straight. You actually believed what the monk said. You actually believed that we’d fall in love at midnight. And yet, you got engaged anyway—just in case?”

“Well, did you not?”

“No, I did not. How could I? You were always the only one in my mind.”

“You’re thirty-five now.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Are you telling me that over the past twenty years, there hasn’t been a single girl in your life?”

“No.”

“Oh, poor thing! Boy?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I always loved you. I thought you did too. Oh, God, I’m such a fool.”

“I did love you. I mean, we were only five back then, but I did want to end up falling in love with you. I’ve been waiting for this moment for thirty years. Can’t you just appreciate that?”

Yes, Nam can—and yes, he should. He has invested thirty years of his life on this romance. He cannot just throw all that away over a fleeting fiancé. Nam loves Livia too much not to forgive her for her momentary lapse. “I guess,” he responds, realizing that he is breathing calmly now.

Livia takes a step closer, flashing a warm smile that could melt a stone, let alone Nam’s tender heart. Holding Nam’s hand, she says, “Our fate clearly foretold we would fall in love at midnight, and not a minute earlier. This will be the true love, the real deal. Who cares that I got married before? It’ll be all water under the bridge.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. Did you say, ‘married’?” Nam asks, panting again.

“His name is Jacob, and he plays the quarterback at—”

“For how long?”

“You mean, my marriage? It’s been fifteen years now,” she says under her breath.

“You’ve been sleeping with this quarter-pounder of a dude for fifteen years! Oh, my God. I cannot freaking believe this,” Nam cries, pulling out his hair.

“Why are you so hung up on the past? The future is all that matters. Look, I’m already in a loving, committed relationship, and yet I’m willing to throw it all away just for you.”

“Lucky Jacob!”

“Jacob will be fine. Trust me on that. The point is I’m here to choose you over him—in about four minutes. If this doesn’t say love, I honestly don’t know what does?”

“That is a freaking messed-up definition of love you’ve got there.”

“Is it? Between the two of us, I’m the one who’s got something to lose, and you’re the one who’s lonely. For all we know, you’ve come back to me since you’ve got no one else in your life.”

Nam racks his brain for something sharp to throw back at Livia. Something that would sting. Who the hell does she think she’s talking to, anyway? Nam isn’t some three-legged puppy begging for her pity love. This is the Honorable Professor Nam Nguyen, whose article The New East-West Relationship might grace the pages of The New Yorker one day. “Ah…” The moment he opens his mouth, the brilliant retort slips away. He waits a second. Then another. Damn, what was that clever comeback?

“Got a few bucks to spare for a broken heart?” the stinky homeless man says, breaking the awkward silence. He stretches out his left hand, his right holding an open can of beer.

“No, move on, please,” Nam says, trying to hold his breath to avoid the stench of the homeless man.

“Got a few bucks to spare for a broken heart?” the homeless man repeats his oddly phrased line.

“Give him something so he goes away,” Livia says, “or I might pass out from the smell.” Her voice falters slightly as her glance sweeps past the homeless man, narrowing as her gaze sharpens and settles on him.

“Here. A dollar. Now, please walk away.”

The homeless man glances at the dollar, his eyes flicking from the bill to Nam’s face, then back to the dollar. He scoffs, shaking his head, before stumbling back a step. His gaze lingers on them for a moment, scanning Livia with a hungry look, then he mutters and turns away, his heavy steps leaving an unresolved tension in the air.

Livia follows the bald homeless man with her gaze. “Poor soul!” she whispers with compassion. “Doesn’t he have your eyes?”

Nam lets out a bitter chuckle, his teeth clenched. “Do you want to marry him too?” He folds the dollar with care and tucks it into the chest pocket of his jacket.

“Ha, ha, funny,” Livia says. “Be careful with that dollar now. You put it in a high-yield savings account”—she whispers softly—“and in thirty years…”

Nam leans in, squinting.

“Boom,” Livia shoots, snapping her fingers into Nam’s face. “You’ll have two dollars.”

“You know what?” Nam says. “Tonight, you’ve come armed to the teeth with words to hurt me.”

“Never mind,” Livia chuckles. “Look, I’ve come here to fall in love with you. Isn’t that what you need?”

“No, not like this. I’m not some beggar pleading for scraps of your affection.”

Livia sighs. “What do you want me to say? Look, I’m sorry you couldn’t find anyone before—”

“Wow!”

“—but just because you didn’t have a life doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have had a life either.”

“Wow, wow. Wait a minute here. You think I’ve been alone because I couldn’t find anyone?”

“Well, you’re a man. If you could’ve, you would’ve.”

“My loneliness was a choice, not fate. I’ve been saving myself for you, you genius.”

“Why?”

“‘Why’, you ask? Do I even have to explain that to you? Does the word ‘love’ mean anything to you, good people of faith?”

“Of course, it does. How dare you question that? I’m a romantic. Everybody tells me that.”

“Including your husband of fifteen years?”

Livia falters for a moment, her eyes flashing with something sharp before she quickly averts her gaze to the ground. She presses her hand to her mouth, swallowing the catch in her breath.

“Are you okay?” Nam asks, bending slightly to meet her gaze.

Livia clears her throat, straightening with an effort, a look of confidence struggling to return to her face. “Look, in three minutes we will fall in love. And that love will last forever. But, it doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t have a life before. New love comes, old love goes,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “In the end, we all win.”

“It’s easy for you to say. I’m the loser here, waiting thirty years of my life for someone who didn’t wait for me.”

“Sigh! I did wait for you—while still living my life. Just because you are waiting for true love doesn’t mean you have to wait in misery. Look, in two minutes, we’ll fall in love, and none of these will ever matter. Think about that. Just think about that.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

“With all my heart. You know what you need? Faith. After we fall in love, I’ll take you to Father Bonhoeffer. He works miracles.”

“Okay, then. I want a rematch.”

“What?”

“I’m not gonna start our life together as the loser of this romance. You had a life, now it’s my turn. I want a life too. How about that?”

“It’s too late, Nam. Our fate is written.”

“Oh, my God,” Nam sighs, holding his head in his palms. “You people of faith believe anything, don’t you?” He raises his hand in surrender. “All right, fine. Let’s play your game. How about I go back in time, get married, and meet you again here in thirty years? Then we can fall in love—this time, on equal terms.”

“What are you saying?”

“Do-over. That’s what I’m saying.”

“How in the world is that possible?”

“You forgot the magic word. Baz—”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare say that. We’re only one minute away from true romance.”

“Ba-a-a-a-az—,” Nam says, his evil side delighting in the sight of Livia’s once-unshakable, faith-driven confidence melting away.

“Nam,” Livia pleads, her voice trembling. “There’s something I should tell you about Jacob—”

“Bazinga,” Nam says just to tease Livia, and the unjust world around him, built on hollow foundations of soulless bricks, starts to crumble. “Holy Mother of God, this magic thing actually works.” He smiles at Livia’s scornful expression before both are drawn into a swirling time tunnel.

“But we have to rub your head first,” baby Livia said, almost screeching.

“Or our wish won’t come true,” baby Nam added, backing her up.

“All right, all right. Let’s make it quick.” I leaned in and felt their sticky hands rubbing my head, as if they were trying to summon a genie from a magic lamp. “OK, that’s enough.”

“Thank you, Mr. Genie,” the boy and girl said in unison. As they climbed down the grassy hill, they took turns licking the lollipop.