Risen From Prison. Bosco H. C. Poon

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