Читать книгу Risen From Prison - Bosco H. C. Poon - Страница 11

Chapter 5

I Met a Girl

Maybe it was the lyrics and maybe it was the catchy melody, but every time I heard “Stickwitu” by The Pussycat Dolls, I’d crank my radio to full blast. The song had something that made my heart melt. I’m sure this sounds cheesy, but as I sang along I would always dream about my future wedding day. Lost in my romantic dream, I’d be belting out the song and grinning ear to ear in the car as I drove along, the music blaring and inevitably annoying people at the stoplights. After many years of singleness, my soul yearned for someone who would be my match.

Up until this point in my life I had never been in a super-serious relationship. It’s not as if I had never dated anyone during my days as a “player,” but, in retrospect, they were all pretty much puppy-love situations. At times I had felt as if no relationship could be deeper and more intense than what I was feeling right at that moment. Only later would I realize that this destructive view of relationships was leftover teen angst—angst that now I was happily finished with. On the other hand, numerous relationships were selfish and not terribly innocent in nature. Unfortunately, I have to live with the regret of those past decisions.

Eventually I got sick of how having so many regrets made me feel. I wanted a more meaningful relationship with someone whom I actually loved—not just someone I thought was “hot.” When I made up my mind to pursue a music career after high school, I focused all of my attention on that goal and didn’t really have any time for a girlfriend. Even though the club-and-music scene was crawling with good-looking girls and all of my bandmates were in relationships, I didn’t want the distraction. I had learned it is impossible to avoid drama when you are with someone, and I couldn’t afford this on top of all that was already on my plate, which was brimming up to the edge and sometimes spilling over.

“Hey, handsome, why not get some balloons and roses for your girlfriend? I guarantee she’s gonna love them. Trust me!” A saleswoman stopped me in the middle of the sidewalk with a big smile on her face.

“No, thank you. I don’t have a girlfriend,” I replied sulkily.

“No way! You? Come on, it’s Valentine’s Day! You gotta have someone you like a little, don’t you? Get something for her.” She wasn’t ready to lose a sale so easily.

“I, uhh … don’t have anyone to be honest.” I was embarrassed.

“Oh, okay, all right. Sorry about that. I didn’t know. Well, have a good day, sir.” She walked away to accost another pedestrian.

I glanced back at her fistful of heart-shaped Mylar balloons bouncing back and forth in the breeze. There were vases and pails filled with fresh roses: pink, white, classic red. The odd rose looked a little tired on the edges, though—bruised, wilted. You’d probably ask them to replace it if you got caught buying your roses too late in the day to have your pick. Those bruised roses, the tired ones: I felt like them. My heart ached.

Wherever I went that day, all I noticed were the couples, love songs, and red banners in the windows. All the chocolate stores and coffee shops downtown had Valentine’s Day specials, and the theatres were showing the yearly string of romance movies. Everything reminded me of my loneliness. Love was in the air, evidently, but I was just window-shopping on the street all by myself because everyone else was busy dating each other and loving or being loved. Deep down inside I had this void, like a hole in my heart. I closed my eyes, drew a breath, and looked up to the sky. It was not often sunny in February, but that day it was. I looked up to the sky and made a wish in silence.

_______

Being in and out of the courthouse week after week left me despondent. Is this ever going to be over?

I knew that I had to find something to do to get my mind off my trouble with the law. Since I had been single for so long, I thought it might be a pleasant distraction to start hanging around with girls again. One day as I was flipping through magazines, thumbing through the glossy pages of beautiful women, I thought, How could I meet someone who looks like this? Maybe if I worked in some facet of the fashion industry I could find someone.

After my bandmates moved to Taiwan to begin their journey with EMI music, I had this bright idea that if I wanted to meet a beautiful girl, I could just go to where they are rather than waiting for them to come to me. So I enrolled in a makeup artistry program from the Blanche Macdonald Centre, a small college in Vancouver named after a Canadian Métis fashion icon. I also got a job working weekends at Backstage Hair Salon in Richmond, BC. So, in a few short months, I had managed to literally surround myself with beautiful women, doing their makeup, cutting their hair, kibitzing with them all day long. But it didn’t work. I still felt so empty inside.

When it came down to my careerism—no matter in music, hair design, or makeup—I went full throttle. Immediately after I graduated from Blanche Macdonald, I gathered some talented friends to form a small freelance image design firm for individual clients and media events. We were hired for jobs such as model photo shoots and small fashion events. Despite my mandatory 11:00 p.m. curfew (one of my bail conditions), I managed to become very active in the local fashion scene. My team took on the promotion of different Asian fashion event projects within the Lower Mainland and worked very hard to rapidly build a reputation. During one of the shows, I met a local Chinese fashion model and had an instant crush.

It had been years since I had been so distracted by a girl. Maybe it was her suntanned complexion and her hazelnut locks, her intoxicating perfume, or maybe it was the way she smiled. I couldn’t take my eyes off her all evening. As soon as my co-worker finished her makeup, I walked up and introduced myself with my business card. She extended her immaculately manicured hand to shake mine. “Hi, I’m Allie.”

Our eyes locked, and it felt totally magical. I could barely get words out of my mouth because my head was spinning with excitement. I had to manage two conversations at once—my ongoing commentary to myself about how attractive she was and my ongoing conversation with her, which was running a serious risk of being filled with non sequiturs if I didn’t get hold of myself.

I was enjoying the moment so much that I forgot that I was going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight—well, one hour before midnight—11:00 p.m. It was my own little Cinderella moment. Alas, it was time for another awkward departure when I had to distract someone from the reality that I was being tried for kidnapping. I cut Allie off as politely as I could, making up some lame excuse why I had to leave. On my way out the door I gave my image team a wink, letting them know they had to handle the rest of the show without me. Why would any girl want a guy like me? I’m in such a terrible situation. I needed a fairy godmother and, you know, a bunch of singing mice or something.

“Junk, junk, more junk mail.” Going through my email account, I was doing the daily routine of trying to wear out the delete key. There were fifty-something messages, and none of them got my attention except for the one with this subject line: “It’s Allie, I met you the other night.” Whoa! I can’t believe it. She wanted to continue the conversation where we’d left off. I didn’t think that would happen.

Within days, we were on our first date. It was a bright sunny day. I went to pick her up from her place in Vancouver’s west end. Upon my arrival she came outside and took a look at me beside my car, then ran back into the house in haste without saying a word. What on earth? I scratched my head, wondering what she was up to.

A full 20 minutes later she came back out wearing a pink tank top and a greyish white camouflage miniskirt, which matched my dark-green camouflage hoodie and light-grey jeans. She wanted to impress me by matching my outfit. Such was the world of fashion sense in which we lived.

That evening, we spent hours talking about our dreams and passions at a fusion Japanese restaurant in downtown Vancouver. The more we talked, the more I wanted to hold her in my arms. She laughed at all my jokes—including the humourless ones—that’s how you can spot devotion. It was a wonderful evening that came to a rapid close at 11:00 p.m., as usual.

In the back of my mind, I thought my curfew and bail conditions would be a major roadblock for our budding romance. Ironically, in this scenario, however, it had the opposite effect. By not going out late at night, she thought that I was different from the other guys. It was interpreted as gentlemanly and chivalrous to have her home well before midnight and to always have to vanish before 11:00 p.m. She seemed to find this mysterious, and it actually made for more frequent dates.

Eventually, I had to divulge the nature of my situation. To my surprise she didn’t flip out. Instead, she showed me compassion. She listened to my music and was impressed by my passion for the arts. On the miserable days I spent in the courthouse, she would cheer me up in the evening by picking a movie for us to go to or arranging dinner reservations.

Moreover, she even started coming to some of the boring hearings with me. I was thoroughly touched. She was a real angel to me in this dark and tumultuous time in my life. I felt like I could go on because I had her to look forward to. My bitterness towards the people who had gotten me mixed up in this mess gradually began to dissipate. Was Allie the answer to my deepest longing—the long awaited promise of a brighter day?

_______

“Hey, would you like to get some flowers to celebrate Valentine’s?” I passed by the same spot from the previous year.

“Wow, a year has passed. Yeah, I would like to get something today.”

“You interested in some roses?” the saleswoman asked.

“Sure. Please make me a bouquet of roses to match this Gucci wallet that I got for her.” I reached into my pocket to get my credit card. After a few minutes of picking, arranging, and adorning with paper and a card, she returned with my purchase and a couple of those little packets you are supposed to put into the water to keep the flowers fresh.

“Here you go! I guarantee she’s gonna love it! Happy Valentine’s Day.” She handed me the bouquet over the counter.

Just the thought of Allie filled my heart with excitement. Was this love? Maybe. That’s sure the way it felt. Undoubtedly, her presence in my life added a dimension that was totally absent before. Instead of pouring every bit of my energy into the salon and courthouse, I was able to have some fun and take refuge in a relationship. Whatever I did and wherever I went, as long as she was beside me, there were fireworks. That’s the way new relationships are—and I was loving it. However, after the honeymoon period, we had to face some harsh reality.

Allie was 20, young and ambitious. In this great big world, there was so much out there waiting for her to explore. She wasn’t anywhere close to settling down. Louis Vuitton handbags, Gucci wallets, Chanel jewellery, the glamorous Hollywood lifestyle was what she was after. All of her previous rich boyfriends were able to supply her with top designers’ brands, meals at high-end restaurants, and rides in expensive vehicles. I was a broke artist who was in and out of court.

It took me a great deal of effort just to save up for that Valentine’s Day present. For other guys, this kind of purchase was a trifle—something they could do any day of the week. Allie realized that I wasn’t going to be able to lavish her with gifts and struggled to see reasons that she should stick with me. I was living in a shallow world, and I was seeing the fruit of it.

I recommended sincerely that she try a different style of living to gain a different perspective towards life. After considering my suggestion, she was willing to give it a try.

“What’s wrong, baby girl?” I picked up the cushion Allie had thrown to the floor.

“I’m bored! I’m not happy! I don’t like this life!” She was acting particularly petulant that day.

“Okay, okay, just chill. What do you want? You just got your Gucci wallet. You were very happy the other day, weren’t you?”

“That was the other day! Today I’m not happy. I need new things. I need to go shopping!”

“Really? Do you really think more new things would make you happy? You have received many new things before, and how long did the happiness last? Listen, you don’t need more new things. What you need is a new way of living.”

“What do you mean?”

“You need to have a purpose to live for. Going from party to party to get drunk does not give you a healthy purpose. When you wake up in the morning, you still have to face the problems of this world. I’ve been there. As a matter of fact, it nearly ruined my life. I went from being an honour roll student to a kid with failing grades. You see, music saved me. It gave me a purpose and a goal to strive for. It gave me the energy to keep moving forward. You need to find your art like I have so you’ll have something to commit to yourself too.”

“My art? Oh, I’ve always loved drawing. As a kid, I used to draw comic book characters and dreamed of publishing my own comic one day. I still have some of my old drawings around. Let me find them!” She ran to her closet and dug out some boxes. There was a folder filled with her drawings. Her eyes lit up with passion as she explained each of them to me.

“These are beautiful. I see it in you. You should become an artist. You need to share your inner world with your drawings and artistic endeavours.”

“Now that you mentioned it, I actually did some research before. I wanted to go to the Emily Carr Institute of Art and Design.”

“That’s great! What’s the holdup? You should do it!”

“But … I haven’t even finished high school yet—”

“No problem; finish it! That should be your goal. It’ll give you purpose and energy. This is good!”

“What … really?” Allie looked skeptical.

“Come on, trust me. Your mom would be so happy to see you have a goal in life. And it’s your dream too. One day when you see your dreams come true, you’ll be so happy. It’s the kind of happiness that ‘new things’ won’t be able to give you.”

“Wow, really? I want that. Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

“Now you have some work to do. Don’t worry, you’re not doing this on your own. I’ll do whatever I can to help you get there.”

In order to get into Emily Carr Institute, she needed to finish off her high school diploma. We tried out different adult schools, but it was literally impossible to get her up in the morning. I kept a tube of tennis balls in my trunk. When she didn’t answer the doorbell in the morning, I’d toss tennis balls at her bedroom window until I’d see her groggy eyes peering out with some combination of affection and resentment—mostly the latter. By the time she was finally dressed, classes were usually over.

We eventually decided that night classes were the way to go. The ensuing challenge was homework. With the intention to create a distraction-free study environment, I assumed many of her daily errands, including taking care of her dog—a white toy Pomeranian. Little by little, I slowly became Allie’s personal assistant and general domestic. Even though it wasn’t at all easy, I was thoroughly invested in making a respectable career woman out of her somehow.

In addition to arranging for Allie to attend adult high school, we found a student who was already studying at Emily Carr to be Allie’s personal tutor to help her prepare an admission portfolio. She had to spend at least 12 hours per week over eight months to learn all the different techniques required to create the twelve required projects. This was the toughest challenge of the process because each project was a lot of work—something to which she was not accustomed. The projects were a kind of mandatory rehabilitation from the laziness she’d developed after dropping out of high school. I would see glimmers of hope and some change in her behaviour, but because I was the primary motivator, she was prone to relapses of indolence. It was too easy to party, exploit her looks to get what she wanted, and generally be a “taker.” She desperately missed the fun and attention she garnered at parties.

A quarrelsome relationship was the last thing I needed in the middle of my long and emotionally draining trial. I’d go to trial all day long, only to find myself in an all-evening-long battle with Allie. I was no longer “living the dream” with my high-maintenance girlfriend. What started as a fairy tale had turned into the most stifling, frustrating, and unfulfilling relationship I had ever had, fight after fight, insult after insult. I should have ended the relationship months before, but something inside me just wouldn’t give up. I wasn’t ready to let it go, but circumstances soon forced the matter.

_______

The final chapter of this love story was not the making of a Disney feature. It’s very difficult to date from behind bars. One evening prior to receiving my sentence I was watching an episode of Prison Break with Allie. In that episode, a prisoner was meeting his girlfriend in the visitation room. He was so happy to see her, but the feelings were not being reciprocated. She told him that she was pregnant, and while the guy was jumping up and down cheering, she delivered the cruel news that he was not the father. He went crazy, and the prison guards swarmed him and took him back to his cell. The cigarette in my hand dropped into the ashtray. This could easily be me.

After my sentencing, it was nearly impossible to maintain the relationship with Allie. After all, I could no longer function as her personal assistant. When she needed me to help her solve problems, I wasn’t there. Whenever she wanted to talk to me, there was no way for her to call me. When she wanted to cry, there was no shoulder to lean on, and vice versa. My going-away gift for her was to pen the admission essay required for her portfolio submission. I spent days doing the research and putting the essay together while she slept beside me on the couch. While I knew I should not spoil her to this extent, I wanted her to have a better future than the one she was headed for.

After a year of hard work, it finally paid off. Allie got accepted by the Emily Carr Institute a month after my imprisonment. I had a sense of achievement for keeping my promise to get her there. After so many failures, this made me feel useful, though in retrospect this was not a healthy way for me to bolster my self-image. Eventually we had more and more arguments during our very rare phone calls with one another. Loneliness slowly gnawed away at the frayed cord that held us together. It inevitably broke. Within six months, Allie had met someone else.

Why does every good thing in my life turn bad? I desperately wanted an answer, so I pondered the situation with Allie at length. When I looked back to the beginning of the relationship, I realized that I was focusing on all the wrong things. The type of girls I found attractive were the ones with a hot body and a pretty face. I learned that relationships based on superficialities were a form of candy-coated poison, and in time I understood that inward beauty was far more important. I could have seen this on my first meeting with Allie had I the maturity to look for the signs. Fake eyelashes, lip gloss, foundation, and concealer can hide physical blemishes. In a similar way, Allie’s beauty itself had distracted me from her character blemishes, but with time they inevitably rose in the same manner that physical blemishes can be exposed by soap and water. I could have avoided a lot of hurt by applying a little wisdom.

“For the lips of an immoral woman are as sweet as honey, and her mouth is smoother than oil. But in the end she is as bitter as poison, as dangerous as a double-edged sword.” (Prov. 5:3–4 NLT)