Beauty Rising

by Mark W. Sasse

  “Martin, a diamond. It’s beautiful. Yes, yes, I will still marry you.”

  She jumped out of the swing and into my arms. I stood up, and held her with my arms around her. Her feet dangled off the ground. She felt as light as child. Then we kissed.

  I was now down to the last task I needed to accomplish in preparation of our wedding – informing my mother. On the Saturday prior to the ceremony, I stopped by the house around noon and Mom was in the kitchen.

  “Martin?” she said as I opened the door. “Is that you?”

  I didn’t say anything but walked slowly into the kitchen wearing a rather grim face.

  “Where have you been staying?”

  “I’ve been staying over at Derrick’s house.”

  “Martin, you can live here. You should live here.”

  “No, I think this is for the best.”

  “Are you still seeing that girl? I didn’t ruin anything for you, did I?” she asked with a slight hint of haughtiness. It was her way of getting information.

  “Mom, I have something to tell you. My Phuong and I are getting married.”

  My Mom looked at me but remained surprisingly emotionless and calm.

  “Next Saturday at the Methodist Church. Reverend Fox is performing the ceremony.”

  She nodded as if she understood everything I said, but she didn’t reply.

  “I wanted you to know. I know that we haven’t been in agreement about things, but you are still my mother, and I thought you should know.”

  “So I take it my wishes in this matter are meaningless?”

  “I know you probably wouldn’t feel comfortable coming, but if you want to, you can. I just wanted you to know.”

  “What time is it?”

  “One o-clock.”

  “And you are sure this will make you happy, Martin?”

  “Yes. I love her.”

  She didn’t say anything else. I stood awkwardly in the middle of the floor for a moment.

  “I have to get a few things. I’ll be moving the rest of my things after the wedding. We are going to be staying in the apartment at the church at least for a while.”

  For once there was no yelling or inappropriate language. Even though the tension was palpable, it had gone much better than I had expected. When I pulled out of the driveway, Mom was sitting on the front porch, and I waved to her. She waved back.

  As the wedding crept closer, we concentrated on getting every last preparation right. On Sunday afternoon, My Phuong met with a few of the ladies from church who had planned to hold a small reception after the ceremony. One lady had a cousin who ran a bakery and agreed to give us an excellent discount on a small wedding cake. The other ladies agreed to organize some finger foods and snacks as we decided against a formal sit-down gathering. We were very appreciative of Reverend Fox’s congregation for pitching in with so many of the details. Once Reverend Fox conveyed the nature of My Phuong’s background of religious persecution, many people volunteered eagerly to help although some seemed perplexed why she never attended any of the church services. She kept telling them that she would but at the last minute found some excuse to withdraw. We both continued working during the day and then spending our evenings watching TV if there were no wedding preparations to complete.

  On Wednesday evening three days before the wedding, we sat in our familiar spot on the couch watching a cooking show. My Phuong had her glass of beer in her hand, and I had my arm around her.

  “Martin, you never did tell me why you don’t drink,” she asked while taking a sip. “Don’t you like beer?”

  “Actually, I do like the taste of it.”

  “Then, why don’t you drink?”

  My dad. He ultimately was the reason why I did or didn’t do many things in my life.

  “Well, you met my Mom, and you know what she is capable of. My dad was worse. He was a severe alcoholic getting drunk every night after work. I don’t even know how he kept his job all those years. When I was a teen, my dad would get beer for me and friends all the time, so we would party like foolish high school kids. After high school I would continue to drink with my friends getting drunk from time to time. It was in 1996, on a Tuesday night. I had been at the bowling alley, of course, and we had been playing and drinking. I had had way too much to drink, but I got in my car anyways and drove home. I pulled onto Home Avenue and I couldn’t negotiate the turn and I went right into the Smith’s mailbox and right up on their lawn. I staggered out of the car, and I just walked the rest of the way home leaving the car there. I didn’t know what I was doing. I walked into the house and my Mom saw my condition immediately and started slapping me across the face like she always did with dad. I stumbled into the living room and fell onto the sofa and slept. About an hour later, I heard my voice being called so I looked up still partially asleep and I saw my dad laying on the floor right at the foot of the sofa. Then I looked over to the door and there stood a police officer. I tried to stand up, but as I did I stumbled over dad and fell down to my knees. The officer turned out to be a friend of my dad’s, if you can believe that. He took me out to the front porch and sternly reprimanded me. I felt so ashamed. He said he would only give me a warning if I promised to never drink and drive again and if I fixed the Smith’s mailbox and yard. I agreed, and he left. I remember walking back into the living room and just looking at my dad out cold. It scared me half to death that I was going to turn into him.”

  My Phuong patted my arm and looked up at me in a loving glance.

  “You are nothing like your father.”

  “I have never taken a drink since that day.”

  “I’m very proud of you Martin,” she said as she opened another beer and poured it into her glass.

  “Does it bother you that I drink?”

  “No, just as long as you don’t start abusing me,” I jabbed.

  “Oh, no,” she said. “The beer is making me drunk. I think I’m going to be angry. Martin,” she raised her voice. “Martin, you’ve been a naughty boy. I’m going to have to punish you.”

  She started hitting my arm and laughing out loud.

  “I’m out of control, Martin.”

  “Yes, but are you ticklish?”

  I poked her stomach and she let out a scream and jolted backwards.

  “You are ticklish, aren’t you?”

  “No, no. Leave me alone, or I’ll abuse you.”

  “Ahh,” I attacked her side with my index finger and she screamed as she jerked upwards.

  “You stop it!”

  “I see your weakness.”

  She held her beer above her head trying not to spill it.

  “Martin, you are going to make me spill.”

  “That’s all right. This place has a good maid.”

  “Why you . . .”

  As she went to even the score with a blow to my side, the cell phone in my right pocket started ringing.

  “Wait, wait,” I said. “Let me get this.”

  I reached to get my phone, but it got caught on the creases of my pocket. I pulled it out with a large tug and answered.

  “Hello. Mom?” I said sitting back swiftly that my large arm crashed into My Phuong with such force that the beer spilled all over her shirt.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “No, wait, not you Mom. I just . . .can you just wait a second?”

  I put my hand over the receiver.

  “I’m sorry, My Phuong.”

  “No matter, Mr. Clumsy. I’ll change,” she said, kissing me on the cheek.

  “Tell your Mother I said ‘hello’,” she whispered in a sultry manner in my ear and stood up, walking over towards the bedroom.

  “Mom, what is it?”

  “Martin, I want to talk to you about this wedding.”

  My Phuong had turned around looking directly at me. Her shirt was stained and soaked in beer. She had a playful grin on her face.

  “Mom, there is nothing to talk about.” />
  “Martin, I’m still your mother and I need you to listen to me.”

  My Phuong mouthed something to me about my mother, but I couldn’t understand what she meant.

  “Mom, you have been incredibly unfair to me and My Phuong, so I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”

  Then she did it. My Phuong grabbed her soaked shirt by the bottom and flipped it up over her head. My eyes bulged out, and I froze, looking upon her in only her bra. She twirled the shirt over her head a few times.

  “Martin, Martin. Did you hear anything that I just said? Martin.”

  “Sorry, honey,” My Phuong cooed at me in an innocent voice. “I didn’t mean to make you sick to the stomach. The bathroom is right over there.”

  She laughed out loud then quickly turned and sauntered into the bedroom and closed her door.

  “Martin.”

  I felt anything but nauseous. My blood pumped through my body like never before. For the first time I felt that I could match up to My Phuong in a physical manner. My fear subsided, though I trembled greatly.

  “Mom, I gotta go.”

  “Martin, don’t hang up on me. Mart-”

  I hung up and went over to the bedroom door. I knocked and waited. She opened the door twirling her long black hair and cocking her head back and forth. She wore a new shirt.

  “Yes, how may I help you?”

  “Ah, I thought that maybe . . . I thought.”

  “No, no, no. We need to take care of that sensitive stomach of yours. Plus, the show is back on. We still have to learn how to make lasagna. You’ll just have to wait until after the wedding.”

  She walked over to the couch swinging her hips in such a cruel way as she walked. A good cruel. A wonderful cruel. I would wait for her.

  “So what did your mother want? Did you thank her for the stains on my chest?”

  “I don’t know. You made me hang up.”

  “Good boy,” she pinched my cheeks and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Shhh, no more non-sense. We have to watch.”

  I watched her the rest of the evening and could think of nothing else but her silhouette standing in her bedroom door frame. Cruel.

  Mom tried calling me again on Thursday and Friday, but I just let it ring. I would make no overtures to her until after we were married. And then if she wanted to be part of our life, maybe we could try her out on a trial basis.

  Late Friday afternoon I showed up at My Phuong’s apartment, and to my great surprise, my friend Derrick and George were there. They were sitting on my couch drinking My Phuong’s beer and laughing as I entered.

  “There’s the man,” said George.

  “One more day of freedom and then you have to hang out with this girl for the rest of your life.”

  “What are you guys doing here?”

  “They came to give you your bachelor party,” My Phuong said proudly.

  “No, no. I don’t need a bachelor party.”

  Derrick stood up and came over to me.

  “The man who says he doesn’t need a bachelor party is exactly the kind of man who needs one.”

  “That’s right,” said George. “There’s this great joint down in the ‘Burgh. The ladies will be hot all night long.”

  “George, not in front of,” I used my head to point at My Phuong.

  She laughed and came over to me.

  “Martin, I want you to go and have a good time. Don’t worry about me. This is your last night of freedom. After that, I’m going to be the bitchy wife,” she laughed.

  “No, I. . .”

  “You can’t stay here anyways. I don’t want to see you anymore until I walk down the aisle tomorrow and see my handsome husband in his black suit standing in front of me. Now go.”

  “My Phuong, don’t worry. We’ll take good care of him,” George said as he started pushing me out of the apartment.

  “My Phuong . . .”

  “Martin, it’s okay. You go and have fun.”

  She came over to me and motioned for George and Derrick to leave. She then put her arms part way around me.

  “Tomorrow night, we’ll have our own fun, and no stomach ailment will stop us. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. “I love you.”

  “I know,” she said.

  We kissed.

  “Now go.”

  I didn’t want to leave her. I had never expected to have anything remotely close to a bachelor party, and something about it make me feel uneasy. I didn’t want to go see any girls or do anything crazy. I only wanted one girl.

  “Martin, we are going to take you to Sparks down route 19. And yes, the sparks are going to fly. You are going to see some women, and . . .”

  “No. Guys, I appreciate what you are doing. Really, I do, but I don’t want to go see any women. It just wouldn’t be right. I want to be faithful to My Phuong.”

  They both looked at each other in disbelief.

  “But,” Derrick tried to say something.

  “I’m serious. I won’t go to anyplace like that. Can we just do something else?”

  “Like what?” asked George who seemed rather disappointed.

  I thought for a moment.

  “Actually, I would like nothing better than to go bowling with you guys. One last bowling night as a single man.”

  “You want tacos, don’t you?”

  “You know it. I want a dozen tacos, and a six-pack of Cherry Coke.”

  Derrick smiled.

  “You are just too predictable. But it sounds like fun. Let’s go.”

  We got into George’s Camaro and rode down to the lanes for one last crazy night of single-hood.

  The Day

  Saturday morning – my wedding day. The previous evening we had bowled and ate for about three hours and then came back to Derrick’s house to watch movies until early into the morning. I talked to My Phuong once in the evening on the phone and I told her that we didn’t go and look at girls. She thought I was sweet. Around nine, I woke up, ate breakfast and put on my black suit – the only one I had – the one I wore to dad’s funeral three years ago. It actually hung a little loose on me. I nervously walked around in the suit all morning counting down each and every minute. Earlier in the week, Derrick’s mother asked me if I wanted help choosing a boutonnière. After she explained what one was, I thanked her for her help and simply requested that it was red just like the Phuong flower. At eleven o’clock, she helped me attach the red boutonniere onto my lapel. At eleven-thirty, I got in the car with Derrick and drove over to the church. We met Reverend Fox in his office to wait out the final hour. I asked him about My Phuong, and he told me that Mrs. Presley was helping her get ready in the back room. I was grateful that she had someone to help her. I felt sorry that her family couldn’t have been here, and then I reminded myself that I too had no family coming. But it didn’t matter. Once we were married, we would have each other and that was enough.

  At 12:30, Reverend Fox came back in the room carrying a large envelope.

  “Martin, here is the marriage license. Can you sign it?”

  He placed it on the edge of his desk and handed me a pen.

  “Right here,” he pointed down to a dotted line.

  Right underneath the line was My Phuong’s signature. I marveled at how the stroke of a pen changes everything. I signed my name Martin J. Kinney Jr. We were married. I was a thirty-nine year old married man – married to a beautiful Vietnamese woman, whom I loved more than life itself. I thought for a moment about what had brought me to this day. Dad’s story about Newbert and Johnson – the girl under the banana tree – the promise to dad –– the misunderstanding of the words Tay Nguyen – the wallet. It all purposed me to this point where I would never be the same. I stood on the brink of tears just looking at the signed marriage license.

  “Martin, everything okay?” asked the Reverend.

  “Yes, it’s perfect.”

  “It’s time.”

  I nodded. Derrick and I followed the Reve
rend out of his study to the front of the center aisle. I counted twenty one people in attendance, but my Mother was not among them. Mrs. Grassley started the wedding march on the organ and everyone stood to attention and focused on the back of the church. I finally saw her. She stood in the archway wearing a long, flowing white ao dai. There was no veil. Her hair was fixed up in a bun. She stood so dainty, so frail-like, as beautiful as an angel. She moved towards me slowly and her white ao dai flowed smoothly. I remembered how she disappeared as a vapor amongst the festival crowd in Thai Nguyen trying to escape me. But now she moved purposefully, with her eyes fixed upon me, trying to get to me. The walk seemed to take so long. I just wanted her beside me. I wanted the Reverend to pronounce us husband and wife. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted her to be mine forever and ever.

  She reached the front and stood on my left. As Reverend Fox said a prayer of blessing, we just looked at each other. She smiled funny at me and softly touched her cheek to let me know that she recognized that I had shaved. It was the first time it was smooth in many years. Then she lipped something to me. Something she had never said before. I’m sure I read her lips correctly. She formed the words ‘I love you’. The Reverend finished his prayer and we turned towards him.

  “We are gathered today to witness the marriage of Martin J. Kinney Jr. and My Phuong Nong in holy matrimony. A strange twist of events have occurred in their lives to bring them to the point of wanting to join together in marriage to become one as the Bible teaches. Perhaps fitting, this marriage more than anything is a symbol of a journey because two very different journeys have created the foundation on which this marriage is about to be made. Three years ago, many of us stood at this same spot and honored the passing of Martin’s father. He left Martin with one request, bury his ashes in Vietnam. Martin obeyed the will of his father, perhaps even against advice and his own better judgment, and stepped far out of his comfort zone to see that wish fulfilled. In doing so, he had a brief, chance encounter with the Vietnamese woman – My Phuong – standing before us today. My Phuong, as it turned out, had been on a journey of her own. Her family was persecuted for their faith for doing simple things like worshipping publicly – actions that we take far too much for granted here in America. She had to run away for safety. She survived an arduous trip to America and unfair treatment once she arrived. But from the day she showed up at Martin’s door, these two have exhibited love at its best. Love that doesn’t prejudge, love that understands, love that cares, love that is self-sacrificing, love that is relational. I am so pleased to stand here today and bring together two very special individuals who deserve each other and who deserve happiness.”