Don’t Believe in Tears: A Novel

By Hung Bui

Heartbroken after surviving from an unexpected car accident with his wife Jennies, Brian is desperate and giving up all hope to live without her. He engulfs in silence, misery and alcoholic. But when he forces himself to accept a job from his father in law, also is his boss, which is made for him to return his birth city in Viet Nam where he's going to work with his Uncle Tim whose is President of Eastern Bank to clinch an important contract has been arranged. His entire world suddenly has changed and his life turns upside down by quirk fate when he accidentally bumps into a woman outside of the airport, who resembles his dead wife, and then following her to where she works. More astonishing is she's an employee of Eastern Bank, also is his uncle's secretary. His heart turns over and quickly in love after knowing her name is Ngan. Getting closer to Ngan and trying to win her heart, Brian intrigues with his uncle to take a mailman job instead to disguise his character. And from there, they became more than just colleagues, but as so often happens in times of need friendships are forged, and after Brian is acting as an actor to pretend Ngan's beau to visit her family, and then secretly helps Ngan to rework her project. They are each surprised at the intimacy of their working and spending days and the impact their encounter brings: Warm, crying, laughing, witty, and as wise as ever. They're falling madly in love and Brian has to return to Viet Nam to get married Ngan. With a happy ending when Ngan is immigrated to America at last, Brian has a different thought about the fate that God has created. Having Ngan in his life, as if God has brought Jennies' life back on earth for reuniting with him that makes Brian doesn't believe in tears which is he has been crying for, and learning along the meaning of true love, and ultimately, what fate really is.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499006681

Hung Bui

Hung Bui is the author of Don’t believe in tears. He is so fresh into the author’s world, but his story is an affirming tale of love and fate. It will be a surprise and lead you to cry and laugh alternately. He met his wife in Viet Nam, and now lives in Melbourne, Florida with her and son, Brian. This is his first novel. Know more about him, visit online at [e-mail].

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Hung Bui.

ISBN:      Softcover         978-1-4990-0669-8

                eBook              978-1-4990-0668-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 04/22/2014

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Contents

CH1. Tear always comes first

CH2. Tear was the best memory

CH3. Tear in the dream

CH4. Ngân

CH5. Fate is an impossible thing coming.

CH6. Over is just beginning.

CH7. The project

CH8. The connection

CH9.

CH10.

CH11.

CH12.

CH13.

CH14.

CH15.

CH16. Truth

CH17. A great surprising

CH18.

CH19.

CH20.

CH21.

CH22.

CH23. The celebration

CH24.

CH25.

CH26. The celebrated party

CH27.

CH28. The returning

CH29.

CH30. The wedding

CH31. Epilogue

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dear Reader,

What would you do if suddenly you met the one you loved who happened to die few months ago? Then what would happen if you fell in love with her again? Well, these intriguing questions are answered in my story Don’t believe in tears.

Miracles are everywhere, you might be not known yet, but they’re actually happening to them: Brian and Ngân.

Heartbroken after surviving from an unexpected car accident with his wife Jennies, Brian is desperate and giving up all hope to live without her. He engulfs in silence, misery and alcoholic. But when he forces himself to accept a job from his father in law, also is his boss, which is made for him to return his birth city in Viet Nam where he’s going to work with his Uncle Tim whose is President of Eastern Bank to clinch an important contract has been arranged. His entire world suddenly has changed and his life turns upside down by quirk fate when he accidentally bumps into a woman outside of the airport, who resembles his dead wife, and then following her to where she works. Even more unbelievable is she’s an employee of Eastern Bank and is his uncle’s secretary. His heart turns over and quickly in love after knowing her name is Ngân.

Getting closer to Ngân and trying to win her heart, Brian intrigues with his uncle to take a mailman job instead to disguise his character. And from there, they became more than just colleagues, but as so often happens in times of need friendships are forged, and after Brian is acting as an actor to pretend Ngân’s beau to visit her family, and then secretly helps Ngân to rework her project. They are each surprised at the intimacy of their working and spending days and the impact their encounter brings: Warm, crying, laughing, witty, and as wise as ever. They’re falling madly in love and Brian has to return to Viet Nam to get married Ngân.

With a happy ending when Ngân is immigrated to America at last, Brian has a different thought about the fate that God has created. Having Ngân in his life, as if God has brought Jennies’ life back on earth for reuniting with him that makes Brian doesn’t believe in tears which is he has been crying for, and learning along the meaning of true love, and ultimately, what fate really is.

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Acknowledgment

F or me, Tear is the most wonderful art that God has bestowed for us to express our emotion of happiness and sadness. Whoever among of us has never passed through it in this world? It’s not only the sweetness of love, but also is a painful for the heart, beginning of life, ending with dust. The minute when we were born, we always got Tears. We are crying out loud for the world and the life that we are living. But the reality, Tears has not come as we’d expected more tragedy than happy. In my delightful story of love, I’m trying to describe the inspiration how Tears has come. I would say that Tears never had come if in the very, very first time when Eva shouldn’t take a bite of the forbidden red luscious apple which had brought the sins and Tears to us. I mean. Without feeling of the heart, there is no Tear. Like Sunshine and Moonlight, Chocolate and Vodka, Joy and Fury, Birth and Death. Jennies and my real wife, Ngân are two characters who represent each side of Tears. They are both of my true loves. One had made me cry with all sweet memories, and the other had made Tears keep coming out from my eyes with all happiness. But let me describe Tears that I’ve experienced into the wonderful side of healing Tears, instead of the other side of sadness. I love the happy ending, and I want to create a pleasance for the readers. Not ending like in masterpiece of Shakespeare.

I admit that I’m not a writer, although I’ve always had the dream of becoming a published author. I couldn’t believe myself that I had written this story. The very first one is combining fiction with my journal. It is a miracle like a special gift that God had created for me when I finally finished it, and I’m touched as if a gift beyond measure, especially by the time when you are holding and reading the acknowledgment which is I seldom to read.

This time around, I know so much better who to thank for. Thanks God, indeed for giving me courage to do this, next, to people who helped me with support, inspire, or both, during the time I was writing this book. Specially, thanks to Xlibris publishing. Thanks to my brother in law Duy Binh who has created a beautiful cover for my book. Especial one is my lovely wife that I am lucky and blessing to have. She has sacrificed and supported for the book helped me keep faith in the darkest time. And of course a huge thanks to all the readers. Without her efforts, and without one of your help, this book would simply not exist. God bless you all.

Don’t believe in tears

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When miracle comes to Love,

There is no such thing better than Tears.

And.

Tear drop is not losing what you love,

But having what you have lost.

For those who believe in’ God.

HUNG BUI

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CH1. Tear always comes first

S uddenly feeling exhausted, I rubbed my temple which had begun to throb by the loud of welcome to the jungle from Guns N’ Roses music, chorusing with the chatter and laughter. Let’s get out of here, honey. I talked to myself, and rose. My head started to hurt, feeling as if I’d got beating by hammer when I stepped out of the pub into the cool September evening. The parking lot was right front of it, but I walked as if I was dancing, the dance that no one liked to dance. My body swayed slightly and made unsteady line for the car, and the contents of my stomach started to slosh and churn, demanding immediate release like a volcano on the verge of erupting. I could hold it any longer, and let everything I’d had in the bar, coming out from my mouth down violently all over on the blacktop road at the back of my car. Tears ran from my eyes, and kept retching until nothing. The stream of vomit slashed up on the tire and one big splat landing on one of my shoe. I spit several times, and the inside of my mouth tasted horrible with Jack Daniels and sour drips of stomach acid. Straightening up, and wiping my mouth on my jacket sleeve. I fished a remote key car from inside pocket to unlock the door, but I did wrong button that made the parking lights flash and the car alarm roar loudly, startling the couple of people who were standing, talking and smoking outside of the pub, turned around to look at me. I waved an apology and let them know I am alright, and then I clicked the right one on the key to shut it up. And by that time, there was a car approaching suddenly and pulled to a stop in front of me. The head lights of it were bright and harsh as the blazing sunshine in afternoon, blinding me. What the hell. I cursed as I held up my hand to shield my eyes from the brightness. But I closed my mouth right away when I recognized whose that car was. It was a shiny black Mercedes sedan with tinted windows. The back of passenger window slid down, and I could hear the voice of a man commanded his chauffeur.

Mr. Smith, would you please help him get into the car, I call someone come to drive his car back home.

How the hell did he find me? I wondered myself.

Mr. Smith obeyed wordlessly by stepping off the car reached for me, steadying me with a firm hand, supporting and led me to the car. He opened the passenger’s door and I saw a man lounging back in black soft cushioned leather of the car was obviously livid, talking on his cell phone. Carefully, he stuffed me into the leather backseat, buckled my seat belt, and then the door shut behind me. I struggled to reach around me as I was talking nonsense. Come back to me Jen.

The man stared at me with his disapproving eyes, and leathers felt cold as I could sense the anger he felt. It was like he was looking at me, seeing me for the first time. In his eyes I saw mirrored my own have. It was a reflection of devastation. Hollow eyed, messy hair, the unshaven jaw, and the reek of vomit from dirty clothes and alcohol was strong as if I was a homeless man, all together had changed my face and my body to someone that the man almost didn’t recognize. God, Brian, you look like all kinds of shit. He exploded, shaking his head in disbelief. You don’t plan to quit, do you?

I said nothing, and he took hold of my arms in a tight grip as he got right in my face. But I saw his angry face turned from cold to warm and sympathetic with his words. There were not only you suffer. She also is my daughter, and I could smell liquor on his breath, fresh liquor as he carried on. I could see she was crying now, crying for you, son instead of we had cried for her.

His words hit deeply and sobered me slightly as slowly he released his grip, and at the same time, there were tears on his face. For the first time ever, I saw him cry. For a moment, I was sure they’d spill free, slide down his face, drip off his chin, and may be fall to the smooth black leather bench seat. But those tears didn’t fall, not even when he gave a shake. It breaks my heart to see you like this. Where’s your confidence, optimistic and where is your sparkle, son?

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A plump woman in her late forties with black hair and large blue eyes was standing in the hall way and apparently to greet us enthusiastically when Mr. Smith led me into the living room with his arm supporting me to one of the sofas in the front of fireplace. Thank you, Mr. Smith. My father in law said to him on his way out while Mrs. Lisa, who had worked for him for decades, took his vest and draped it over her arm. He tugged his tie loose and asked her courteously. Make a hot cup of ginseng tea for him, please.

Mrs. Lisa nodded obediently, and he came to me, put his hand on my shoulder, incongruously gentle and his eyes had never been so intense and I’d never seen he was so serious like this before. You should go take a shower, clean up yourself and come to my office for a little talk. I will be waiting. He said firmly, more businesslike than I’d ever heard him, and his solicitude made me uneasy, and my heart quivered with a little fear. I felt an instinctive need to appear mature, capable and responsible. Therefore, I nodded, and walked slowly up the stairs to my bed room. The room always soothed me, and a few minutes later, I extracted two Advil from the bottle into the medicine cabinet and washed them down with the hot ginger tea from the cup when Mrs. Lisa brought it on the tray to my room. She was a wonderful woman, salt of the earth, whose children had grown up and gone. Two were living in New York, one in Miami. She had a warm, motherly style, and she run the house for us, mostly, because my father in law and we worked pretty much full time at the firms. Mrs. Lisa has been with us forever, and we trusted her completely.

I said thanks to her, before taking a long and extremely hot shower, letting the water pound away my headache and I shaved up. The combination of ginger tea, hot bath and Advil proved successful. By the time I put the fresh and clean clothes on, my headache was down to dull and I felt better, looked more presentable after leaving to my bed room then stepped down the stairs to the first floor, into the large room where he used as his home office and sanctuary. I tapped on the slightly ajar door and waited in the doorway then pushed it open when I heard his voice telling me to come in. I walked inside, and closed it behind me. He was sitting and talking a meeting on his Mac computer, and holding a short crystal glass with gold liquid in it. Please sit, he said, motioning to an arm chair in front of his desk. I did as I was told and waiting while he kept discussing stock markets and investment opportunities aboard, or counseled someone on an investment strategy in a cool professional voice, probably with people in Tokyo, Taiwan, Viet Nam or someplace else where it was already daylight.

All his framed diplomas and certificates were hung on the wall behind him certified that he was Sir. Jefferson Bush, whose was General Director of an enormous, intricate Global Web of money at the Florida Institute of Technology, Global Head of Investment Banking. He was a powerful man with many friends, also was my boss, and my father in law who was a tall, fit man with a short gray hair, deep green eyes and strong jaw, and handsome with enormous charm and charisma in his sixties. He took an excellent drink from his glass, after clicking off the webcam and closed down his computer screen, and then pointed a stack of file folders waiting after my months long absence was angled toward him from the left on his elaborately carved mahogany desk.

Do you know how long you have not working? he scolded me gently. Steven and I had been completing all the jobs pretty much that you’d had left. I know it really hurt since your wife tragically died in the car accident.

Stabbing guilt hit me like a physical punch while staring blanking at the folder. I said nothing, watching he set down his drink, and rose to walk over to the modern steel shelves on the facing wall contained hundreds of books about the usual things—management, the stock market, but also I recognized his favorite leather bound collection of Shakespeare’s tragedies, and some of his favorite volumes and cherished first editions that made me remember when he stayed at home. He would shut himself away in the cheerful untidiness of his office, and he would sit just his books for company. They were his best friends; his companions since his beloved wife pass away. There was no woman in his life, and hadn’t been since she died, though many had tried. He devoted himself entirely to his family and his work. My father in law picked up a photo frame, frame in ornate, highly polished silver. The photo went back years, from when he was with his daughter, his arm around her, smiling. The two of them smiling that had the happiest face of him and Jennies was captured by a professional photographer on the day I remembered well when he handed her to me. And from that day, Jennies became my wife. He looked hard at it, and laid a hand on the photograph, touched her face from the glass with his fingers as he walked over to me. I thought this was the most poignant photo that I could see a mixture of his sadness and loneliness with new tears filled his eyes, and I could tell how much he’d missed his daughter. His only child he loved most in the world had been disappeared. And then when our eyes met, for the first time ever, I saw a sense of pain there that I was quite unable to describe. It was a hurt. I definitely understood that feeling. My heart ached for him, for Jennies and for myself.

At his age, he had already seen more death than most people experience in a lifetime. Brian was the only one he had left now. I’m afraid. Already, I’ve lost many important things, my beloved wife, my lovely daughter, and I don’t want to lose more.

He said emotionally in the voice had been filled with sadness, and his words liked bruised flowers, reminding me of my own loss which never seemed to get easier to bear. I became unexpectedly overcome, and something broke open in my chest as I realized that my eyes had filled with tears. Until this moment, he had never communicated with me so deeply and so honestly. I closed my eyes, letting the hot tears flow freely now on my face, but didn’t wipe them away. Not making a sound, and I felt his warm hand on my shoulder. I loved my daughter, Brian. And I will mourn her until the day I die.

He was a strong man, and months had passed since he lost his daughter. I hadn’t been able to understand his grief. But by now, I could imagine how he must have felt, and I’d experienced more of life’s miseries and saw things very differently. Opening my eyes, I looked up at him, his watery eyes revealed a greater depth of his soul that touched me deeply. I reached to hold on his arm. We held on to each other crying, but I couldn’t stay quiet. It’s been so hard missing Jennies, Dad. She had done any wrong, why God takes her away from us. I said sadly, as my tears slip down on his hand, and feeling his squeeze my shoulder.

Without Jennies’ lively presence, they both already looked like a sad, lonely pair, they’d both seen the sadness that lay deep in their heart each other, a sadness grew more apparent everyday. It must have been, and Life was definitely not fair, son, but it’s fine to be sad. Really, you’re allowed to be sad about losing someone you love, his voice had cracked as something rising from deep within him. Actually, I’m sad too, he confessed. Terribly sad, losing someone you love is… . It’s actually unbearable. I do understand that.

Releasing our hold, he set Jennies’ photo frame on the desk, and took out a handkerchief from his pajamas shirt to dry his eyes, and then he gave me a shoulder slap, thumping his hand on me like I was a drum.

Anyone has their own fate. Nobody can change it, and no one expected this to happen, because it is predestined that God has a plan for each of us. So, we have to accept the inevitable and believe in it. I miss Jennies too. It’s so odd thinking that she’s gone, and I still can’t believe it. But she’s gone now and she’s never coming back, despite how much I might wish it. There was nothing that we could have been done to save her. It was her time. God rest her soul. I know it has been a most difficult and heartbreaking time for you to discuss business, especially during times of such sorrow. I know the loves you felt for her are strong, true and unchanging, and she loved you just as much back. I also know that you want to be with her so badly. But as the time goes by, you will realize that love is something much bigger. Encompassing love is most important. You got a second chance of sorts, son, so you can live your life good and well. And Jennies would want you to be happy, and she will be waiting for you when your time has run, too. Until then, you’ve got to take care of yourself, body, mind and heart. There’s no reason to dwell on the past, you have to put it out of your mind now. You can’t change any thing of it. All you can do is decide not to carry it with you. She stood nearby Jesus now, and probably, she shines down on us. Anyway, how do feel? Do you need more ginseng tea?

I’d been and seen a couple of therapists since Jennies died. Their advice was not much help in what I expected. But his words seep into me as if was a kind of good therapy that he was trying to be thoughtful, and shared something that had been weighting on my heart. I sighed in understanding. My father in law still loved me. I feel better and no, thank you, Dad. I said reassuringly when I wiped the tears off with the back of my hand, and then, I met his eyes, and held. I am so sorry I’ve been a burden to you. Please forgive me. I promise I will go back to work tomorrow to finish the draft that my wife had left. I will make it better for her.

I saw that grin on his face, and that glints in his eyes as he patted my shoulder approvingly again.

I am glad you are back, but I have more important thing that I want you to take care for me. He said cheerfully before moving back his desk.

For few months now, he had rarely smiled. I couldn’t remember when I’d last seen him laugh. When he did smile, I found myself smiling then said. Anything, Dad,

With a smiled, he picked the glass up to his lips, and then swallowed the last of Whisky, appreciating the fire it lit inside him, and feeling good for another drink. He went to the side bar then grabbed a bottle of XO Martell by the neck on the shelf, twisted the cap off slowly, and then poured the wine into the glass. I guessed that glass had been refilled more than one. He screwed the cap on the bottle, and placed it back exactly where it had been, and then carried his drink over to the executive black leather armchair towered behind the desk, settled himself comfortably, relaxed back into his swivel chair. With a deeply voice, he went on. Eastern Bank in Viet Nam has big project coming up, I do not want to lose this contract. Your Uncle Tim called me yesterday, and told me that he had set the meeting up on Oct 8th, next month. But the next couple weeks are going to be very tight up for me. I won’t be there to work with him. You’re the one real sharp for this deal, for that reason, I’d like you to handle that on my behalf. Tim also reminded me our stocks are going crazy now, and so on.

He stopped for a long, slow drink until emptied his glass again, and then set it back on the desk before pulling open a desk drawer of a side, and rooted around. Eventually, he handed me an airplane ticket with visa and a white envelope. And when I was holding them, he carried on his story. That is first class Korean’s ticket I already booked for you. You will leave at 7:00 am on Sep 27th, that means two days from now, and five thousand dollars in cash for you to spend. You will stay at Sheraton Hotel, and everything else, your uncle will arrange for you when you get there.

Jesus! What’s the rush? I thought myself, but the grief I felt for Jennies well up inside me. May be it’s better for me to take this assignment was made for me to return to the city of my birth. Out of sight may be out of mind. Because at home, everything would have been a reminder of her and I would never forgive myself right after finding out I’d been unconscious for more than a week, even I never had a chance to say goodbye to her when I woke up. I didn’t remember; nor, did I when the police question me. We hit the barrier. Jennies was killed instantly at the scene, and the detail had been revealed in the front page story about the accident in Florida Today newspaper. I, on the other hand, was alive. It was nearly two months since I escaped the hospital. I couldn’t think straight, refused to think when I lost Jennies and I’d see the places where we went together, the coffee where we had at work, the beach where we relaxed, and the park where we picnicked. I wouldn’t want to go back to work either, because I wouldn’t want to see any of the things were all over her office that would bring back too many memories, and break my heart all over again. This even more painful than tears I could ever express. So, I stayed away from my sweet home, my office, my own family, and pretty much lost touch with everyone by having sought refuge in the room, and made relationship with alcohol on the bed where the place of happy drinking days was. Beginning with a couple of beers, turned into half a dozen, and then a bottle of Whiskey, Vodka, Gin, Brandy, whatever I could take to get drunk enough to anesthetize the pain, or I could pass out in mindless oblivion. But alcohol wasn’t going to help buoy my spirits. On the contrary, the more I drank, the sadder I got. The tragedy did not cease, and the effects grew worse. It gave me nightmares and it was recurring. I couldn’t turn back the clock; change the present or fluency the future. I thought I had done this long enough to feel guilty, and I had to bring myself back. Stay present, no mussing.

Nodding with understanding, that’s fine, I’ll handle it, Dad, I said firmly, before adding formally. I’m deeply touched that you still trust me.

He smiled at the concern in my voice. You have done a lot of for me over the years, but I’ve never been so proud or honored to have you as my own son as I am now. I do love you, son, I guess, I always have. And I know for certain is you loved my daughter. And she loved you. That should have been enough for me. Emotion made his voice tremble, I apologize for bring this up at this difficult time, and I’m not trying to pressure you. I just want you to be happy. You should even do it for me, but also for your own well. You’ll be there at least a month; and longer if you feel you need it. Take care and enjoy your business trip.

My father in law was well known for his humanitarian concerns. It was one of the many things I admired about him. I felt unbelievably touched and elated to have heard from him. The tears were gone, dried away. He made me feel suddenly empowered to go to do something, something big enough and grand enough to make him proud of me. The most I had hoped for since Jen’s death until that moment was some measure of emotional stability, to regain my self-respect. Definitely, he gave me more peace of mind, new strength and opened my world up, for the better.

We exchanged a hug. Thanks, Dad, I said gratefully. I remember every word you taught me, you’ve reopened my heart, and unnecessarily before saying pertinently. And I promise I won’t disappoint you. I will clinch this deal.

He seemed to be happier; holding my shoulders. Done, I’m glad you’re doing it, he told me warmly, and then walked me to the door. But you’d better need rest and start packing.

We said good night as he holding open his office door for me. Thank you, Dad. I said, and stepped out.

Brian. I whipped back around at the sound of his voice. Yes daddy?

I love you, he said happily. Make me proud, son.

I smiled as my heart flip-flopping in my chest. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard that. I love you, too, and I will, Sir. I said, answering from my heart.

Feeling the hotness and the dry in my throat, I headed to the gleaming kitchen, and then pulled a glass from cabinet. I filled it with water from the refrigerator door. It was cold and I drank thirstily, and it made me felt better than I had in a long, long time when I headed back up to our room. The room seemed lonely without Jennies’ overwhelming present, and without her I felt as if my breath was gone. I threw myself on the bed when the lamp on night table casted a warm glow over a framed color photo of Jennies smiling, just like she heard a good joke. I stared at her, staring like I was wistfully looking at angel. She looked so real, so alike, smiling at me inside the picture frame. I miss you. I wasn’t sure if the voice came from inside my head, or if it was just a memory of Jennies’ voice. I looked around frantically, but I was all alone, and at that moment, I closed my eyes, trying to feel her next to me. At once my memory conjured up a clear image of Jennies in my mind as I was kissing her hardly. Her lips were soft and warm. She kissed me back harder, and then pulled away, a little voice of her inside my head whispered. I love you, and smiled at me when my eyes opened. I blew her a kiss. I love you, too, I muttered as if she was in the room with me at this moment, and I had actually spoken to her. Good night sweetheart.

I leaned over to switch off the lamp, and the silence was as blessed to me as deepest kind of sleep could have been. For the first time since I lost Jennies, I slept peacefully through the morning and all the long night. No dreamless.

CH2. Tear was the best memory

I t was the bright morning sunshine today, and after shopping at Publix. I drove to Heaven Cemetery to visit Jennies’ grave where she was buried. I didn’t remember exactly when she’d been interred. It was named that. Yes, it was really called that. And every day morning, I visited her grave. I had done this since her death two months ago, and I thought I might very well continue to do this for the rest of my life, because the moment I passed through the gates of Heaven Cemetery, wandering past stone and marble monuments, mausoleums with stained glass and wrought-iron portals, past statues of winged angels. I felt lighter and peaceful. I could be myself with the most beautiful artwork in the world was here where I could think whatever I wanted to think, or not think at all, just simple sit, and talking with her. Somehow I felt, I really was with Jennies in this cemetery where only life and death and love mattered. It was so peaceful, so quiet, and I appreciated even more than usual the tranquility of the cemetery today when the traffic of the surrounding city was muted. Only the occasional singing bird broke the silence. No other visitors were nearby, and I noticed that Sunflowers which were I’d left before were still here, surround her large granite headstone was glowing over by the sunlight. But they’d been moved to the side, probably by caretaker when he’d mowed. I knelt, and placed a bouquet of beautiful fresh yellow Sunflowers, their stems wrapped in yellow iridescent paper next to them, and then using my hand wiped dust off on her picture to get off the falling leaves were sleeping on the stone of her house. I kissed my fingers then touched the words carved into the granite.

Jennies Le Jefferson

Beloved wife of Brian

B. 1977 D. 2011

Hi, honey. I said as if she could hear me. Odd, perhaps, but somehow here, where only Jennies and God were witness to my thoughts. I felt as if I could live in a same planet with them. Certainly, Jennies would understand this powerful, irrational, attraction I felt for her.

I got out a bottle Moёt & Chandon Nectar imperial Rose Champagne and two of the wineglasses in shopping paper bag, and the cork exploded out with a loud gunshot sound after I released it. Hooray! I hurried to hold up the bottle as the bubbly liquid fizzed over the neck, and then poured the champagne into each glass near the top.

Raising one of champagne glasses, I offered Jennies. The imperial Rose is your favorite, honey, drinks with me like we used to in the good old days.

I emptied the glass in couple of long swigs. It tasted bitter than I remembered, and then poured hers down on the ground. I touch her pictured face, reminded me of a fluttering heart while memories were kicking inside me.

I remembered when I met you in the enormous meeting room with Legal, Finance and most Marketing. It’s lovely. I’m glad, I still remembered. Honey; you were such a sweet thing, stared at me after we bumped into each other in a banquet room. Those big eyes of you were looking like sunlight in the morning. I had stared back at you obviously enough to make your colleagues whisper while you desperately tried to remember where you knew from me. It wasn’t until I’d given my surname and handed my business card that you had burst out. So that’s how you know me. Honey, you had been a good catch, a pretty looking and ambitious young model that I knew right off, you the one that my heart was searching for.

I felt happily with this memory, but my mind sidetracked back to my past life, and it was transported me to another place and time. In the college, I majored in economics. It was not my own self-imposed to take, but because I had kept a promise that I would take care of my sister after my parents passed away, and because it also would be the fast way to make a lot of money. I’d thought at that time, but it didn’t come easily to me, and I forced myself study hard every day. I didn’t spend much time for parties and didn’t fall in love. I worked part time at the Chinese restaurant, and save my money instead of spending it on clothes, beers, and fancy cars, and slowly my small bank account began to grow. After graduation and obtaining my degree, I landed a plum job in high powered investment firm in Boston. I felt it as a personal victory, and believed it was my hard word that somehow brought about good results. Indeed, I started on the lowest rung, but I worked industriously and diligently, and gradually, I made a name for myself as a broker. And then I invested my own money in high-risk pay off stocks. I earmarked one account for me and my sister, and when it reached a nice fat sum, our future was sparking. But the wise thing I had done after that was make some excellent investments in two companies that made computer software and games. I had advised one of them, and the investments had been more profitable than anything else I had ever done. One of the companies went public, and when I sold my shares, I made a fortune.

Smiling at the memory, I continued to confide. It had been perfect, almost as if fate was following when I started dating you, JJ. The daughter of such old family money that I couldn’t believe I was about work for your father who is an international business and a wealthy, prominent man from an important Orlando business. I envied him, his experiences, and I remember how much I wanted to be just like your dad. Go to work at the firm, share his knowledge about money and the state of the world. I admired him above all other men. I know you admire your dad, too. Because he was a man worthy of respect, and was regarded with great affection by all who knew him. He was a man of compassion, integrity, and courage, and had set a powerful example for you and me to follow. You and I were inseparable after that, and we became the glam couple of the firm. I could hardly keep my eyes off you after that and those days when we had enjoyed working together. I noticed that Sunflowers always had in your office, and I spent for a while standing in the front the Van Gogh’s vase with twelve Sunflowers picture was hung on the wall. I had stared long and hard at the painting every day. It’s interesting but I couldn’t know what the meaning of this art was. One day, I was highly curious, I thought, it’s time I had to ask you. And that day I asked you the question that sat perched in my brain, staring over all my thoughts. Please satisfy my curiosity and tell me about it, would you? I said. Why did you choose Sunflowers, instead of Rose, Tulip or Orchids?"

You smiled full on that showed off a row of white teeth, and in explanation, you said.

Well, firstly, they are my favorite. Secondly, Sunflowers can express the emotions in person way and emotions of the heart. They bloom even in the winds, rains, associated with spring, a time for hope. They are lovely in bloom once they bloom however, and they tend all through summer long after other flowers have perished. Sunflower is the pride of the Midwest, a recognized worldwide for its beauty. It is also an important source of food. Their seeds are enjoyed as a healthy tasty snack and nutritious ingredient to many foods.

You were like a word wizard, an enchanter. I could see you point of view as you continued without a break in your voice, and your expression remaining pleasant. Thirdly, Sunflower is symbolized of the strength, patient, successful, and the most beautiful thing is Love as you could see in Van Gogh’s picture. I might venture with those are the values that I should have courage, and commitment to ideas.

Impressive, Jen, and thank you for such a frank and informative answer to a question and illustrating so beautiful these things that was asked and curious to know.

From that day, I always brought Sunflowers to you. Accept on the Valentine’s Days and your birth days when every year went by. Did you remember on your birthday after we’d met? Six years, three months and five days to be exact. It still feels like yesterday. You got an enormous cake from me which was decorated a lot of roses around equal your ages. One Sunflower was set on middle of the cake and HAPPY BIRTHDAY JENNEIS had been carefully spelled out in red frosting across the top, without candles, and was brought out on the large tray by two of the caterers who placed