A Mother's Love
Sean and I woke a little late this morning. You know that you're in a hurry when you don't even have time for instant coffee. We power-walked towards the main street. Today I wore a lime green polo, which meant that I was getting more stares and giggles than usual. At the corner where xe om drivers wait for fares we approached a couple of the friendlier and more familiar drivers. I expected to get quoted an inflated price but instead he quoted me the fair price of 5000 dong. Elated, I balance on the pleather seat, placed my flip flops squarely on the foot pegs, and held on for dear life. The driver scooted into the Hanoi traffic, crossing against the flow - a reassuring beginning for sure. I told myself, "it's just two minutes, I can do this."
Traffic was light once we crossed into the northbound lane. Apparently, people are beginning to heed the newly installed traffic lights. About a hundred meters ahead I could see two men in the aviator glasses and beige uniforms of traffic cops slowly stepping off the sidewalk into the street, waving as they advanced. Being unfamiliar with traffic ettiquete and the practices of the traffic cops in Vietnam, I was perplexed by these officers' actions - but my driver wasn't. He cluched wildly at the break lever and we lost all of our momentum. He shouted something over his shoulder to me in Vietnamese as he put the bike into a tight U-turn in the middle of the street. As we head back down Nguyen Trai - in the wrong direction - other drivers began taking the same action to avoid the ad hoc road block being set up by the two traffic cops. Within seconds the light changed at the first intersection that we had gone through and a wall of motorbikes was traveling towards us at forty kilometers an hour. My driver slows and eases the bike into another U-turn to put us squarely into the center of the pack of motorbikes. That way he could avoid being stopped by the traffic cops. We passed by the traffic cops unmolested and protected by a wall of other motorbikes. Both my driver and I were relieved: he because he just avoided supplying the cops with their morning coffee money in the form of an arbitrary traffic fine and me because I only had to spend a few more minutes on that godawful contraption with that maniac of a xe om driver.
We whizzed down the street weaving in and out of lanes, cutting of cars, motorbikes, and bicycles alike. The next intersection was congested with more morning traffic, but did that slow my driver down? Of course not. He aimed the bike directly at a Toyota Camry stalled behind hesitant motorbike drivers. At the last moment he leaned the bike towards the rear of the Toyota and we passed within inches of the rear bumper. Since I'm so tall I have to bend my legs out farther than everyone else who rides the motorbikes, thus my knee passed within a hair's breadth of the bumper. If my knee had whacked that bumper the car would have needed some minor body work and a little touch up paint, I would have needed major reconstructive surgery to put the mush of my knee back together.
At this point I began thinking to myself that it was so poetic that the day after Thai sees a motorbike head injury causing a young man's death I am speeding down the road getting myself nearly killed just to get to class on time. I should buy a helmet just for occasions like that. I think I'm going to take the bus from now on, thank you very much.
When we finally arrived at Dai Hoc Nhan Van my hands were shaking and I could feel my heart pounding out a strong bass line in my chest. I paid my aviator-spectactled driver (who also drives with the standard $1.30 helmet) the agreed upon fare, which, to his credit, was the fair price of 5000 dong. He left me shaking and waiting for Sean and his deathride. I hadn't caught sight of him since the beginning of my journey so I couldn't tell if he was ahead or behind me. I was sure that if he had gotten to school before me then he would have waited for me to arrive - wouldn't he? After a few minutes of waiting my motherly instincts kicked and I started to assume the worst. "What if he got caught in the road block? What if his brains are all over Nguyen Trai. What if the driver drove him into a dark alley and relieved him of his worldy possessions - and his life to boot? It was my idea to catch xe oms anyway. He didn't even want to come to class today. His mom's going to kill me." After ten minutes of grieving and hand wringing I gave up and decided to check to see if he was in class. I power-walked towards the language class room and found him chortling about the exploits of the previous evening with other EAP kids. In that moment I felt the stinging anger and the soothing relief that every parent feels when their kid walks in the door two hours after curfew.
Class was, as you might expect, a little tough to get through today. Throughout the day I felt the familiar gnawing of hunger and the hazy giddiness of mild sleep deprivation. The best thing about days like this is the moment when you can sit down on your bed and close your eyes. It something like hitting your thumb with a hammer in anticipation of the ecstasy of the future lack of pain.
Traffic was light once we crossed into the northbound lane. Apparently, people are beginning to heed the newly installed traffic lights. About a hundred meters ahead I could see two men in the aviator glasses and beige uniforms of traffic cops slowly stepping off the sidewalk into the street, waving as they advanced. Being unfamiliar with traffic ettiquete and the practices of the traffic cops in Vietnam, I was perplexed by these officers' actions - but my driver wasn't. He cluched wildly at the break lever and we lost all of our momentum. He shouted something over his shoulder to me in Vietnamese as he put the bike into a tight U-turn in the middle of the street. As we head back down Nguyen Trai - in the wrong direction - other drivers began taking the same action to avoid the ad hoc road block being set up by the two traffic cops. Within seconds the light changed at the first intersection that we had gone through and a wall of motorbikes was traveling towards us at forty kilometers an hour. My driver slows and eases the bike into another U-turn to put us squarely into the center of the pack of motorbikes. That way he could avoid being stopped by the traffic cops. We passed by the traffic cops unmolested and protected by a wall of other motorbikes. Both my driver and I were relieved: he because he just avoided supplying the cops with their morning coffee money in the form of an arbitrary traffic fine and me because I only had to spend a few more minutes on that godawful contraption with that maniac of a xe om driver.
We whizzed down the street weaving in and out of lanes, cutting of cars, motorbikes, and bicycles alike. The next intersection was congested with more morning traffic, but did that slow my driver down? Of course not. He aimed the bike directly at a Toyota Camry stalled behind hesitant motorbike drivers. At the last moment he leaned the bike towards the rear of the Toyota and we passed within inches of the rear bumper. Since I'm so tall I have to bend my legs out farther than everyone else who rides the motorbikes, thus my knee passed within a hair's breadth of the bumper. If my knee had whacked that bumper the car would have needed some minor body work and a little touch up paint, I would have needed major reconstructive surgery to put the mush of my knee back together.
At this point I began thinking to myself that it was so poetic that the day after Thai sees a motorbike head injury causing a young man's death I am speeding down the road getting myself nearly killed just to get to class on time. I should buy a helmet just for occasions like that. I think I'm going to take the bus from now on, thank you very much.
When we finally arrived at Dai Hoc Nhan Van my hands were shaking and I could feel my heart pounding out a strong bass line in my chest. I paid my aviator-spectactled driver (who also drives with the standard $1.30 helmet) the agreed upon fare, which, to his credit, was the fair price of 5000 dong. He left me shaking and waiting for Sean and his deathride. I hadn't caught sight of him since the beginning of my journey so I couldn't tell if he was ahead or behind me. I was sure that if he had gotten to school before me then he would have waited for me to arrive - wouldn't he? After a few minutes of waiting my motherly instincts kicked and I started to assume the worst. "What if he got caught in the road block? What if his brains are all over Nguyen Trai. What if the driver drove him into a dark alley and relieved him of his worldy possessions - and his life to boot? It was my idea to catch xe oms anyway. He didn't even want to come to class today. His mom's going to kill me." After ten minutes of grieving and hand wringing I gave up and decided to check to see if he was in class. I power-walked towards the language class room and found him chortling about the exploits of the previous evening with other EAP kids. In that moment I felt the stinging anger and the soothing relief that every parent feels when their kid walks in the door two hours after curfew.
Class was, as you might expect, a little tough to get through today. Throughout the day I felt the familiar gnawing of hunger and the hazy giddiness of mild sleep deprivation. The best thing about days like this is the moment when you can sit down on your bed and close your eyes. It something like hitting your thumb with a hammer in anticipation of the ecstasy of the future lack of pain.
posted by S D at 11:21 PM
2 Comments:
I didn't know this story! I remember very vaguely that you were held up..but very interesting. Your writing is so dramatic and poetic-i love it! :)
I think this story is fun. You do write poetically.
Post a Comment
<< Home