She turns and looks down giving the curb a polite smile. It’s the signal. Time to get a move on. I swing my left leg around straddling the bike seat and scoop my hands underneath the seat to get a grip—a nice solid grip—before takeoff. I’m ready. So ready to fly through the streets on her cream colored ’97 Honda powered magic carpet. I wait. She lets out a cackle, a painful piercing cackle. I’m too tired to guess what she’s laughing at but I’m positive it has something to do with me. Something to do with something I’ve done completely wrong. “What?” I say. Snappy. Critical. Mean. Although it’s only six in the morning, I’m awake. I have every right to take this tone. The cackle fades and she points. “Your legs Jessie!” I roll my eyes and give the standard smile, which sweetly begs, “Forgive me and my foreign ways,” a smile I’ve perfected since my arrival in Vietnam. I hop off the motorbike and Nhu scoots forward on the narrow leather seat. I park my butt towards the back. Hands under the seat. Left leg crossed over right leg. No no. Right leg over left. Right foot on top of left foot, left foot touching the exhaust pipe, but not too much pressure or you’ll break it, but you’ve got to support your body weight. I shift my foot, desperately trying to find minimum comfort as the boiling exhaust pipe burns my left ankle. “Shit.” I whisper. Deep breathe. She nods approvingly at my newfound sidesaddle position. Proper, just like her.

“Have you met his parents yet?!” I shout in Nhu’s ear as we make our way around the first of the many large roundabouts in Saigon, effortlessly zipping passed the bicycles. I’ve only been staying with Nhu for a week but already I’m beginning to recognize the route to school. “His” of course referring to her boyfriend. Steve McQueen in her love-crazed heart, yet in reality he bears a striking resemblance to Steve Erkil.

“What?” she screams through the polka-dot bandanna she ties around her face whenever she’s in direct contact with the harsh Saigon sunshine and the thick smog. I’d politely refused her extra bandanna that morning. The smog’s a bitch but I need a good suntan. I try again, louder.

“Have you met his parents yet?!” It’s beyond silly to try and converse right now. Our voices can’t compete with the streets of Saigon at 7 am. No one else talks on their motorbikes. To them the morning ride is a time for preparation, contemplation for the long day ahead. Still, I keep talking in an effort to forget how tired I really am.

We cross over the bridge which separates Nhu’s neighborhood, Tam Biet district, from the hustle and bustle of the infamous district one( the one and only district most foreigners ever see when visiting Vietnam) As we speed over the bridge the now familiar smell of the sewage from the canal below seeps into my skin. I look at the same women I’ve seen each morning who sells books along the bridge- the women who live in this smell. I put my head down, my forehead barley touches the back of Nhu’s shoulder.

“Oh, you still tired Jessie?” she shouts and smiles at the same time.

“I just need some coffee and I’ll be great!” I say shouting back. I feel like a wimp but I’m not used to getting up this early and I don’t think it’s something my body is qualified to ever getting used to.

We approach a huge intersection just as the light turns yellow. Nhu slows down immediately, I wonder why she doesn’t try to speed through the yellow only to realize that the yellow light has already turned red. Unlike the US, the stoplights in Saigon leave little room for the stragglers to whiz through on the lasts moments of the yellow. Suddenly we are engulfed in a sea of motorbikes. Wheels, fumes, limbs, on either side of me. My claustrophobia has no option at this point but to simply disappear.

Finally, at least, she can hear my question.

“No, no, we do not do that here until you are ready to be very serious about each other.” Our driving neighbors all turn to stare. Their minds race. What is she doing here? Why are they talking? What are they saying? Why? On my right a fellow side saddler sits in her khaki jumper, arms around her husband’s waist, baby inside her belly. The definition of femininity, inches away. I nod looking down at my legs. Shit. I forgot to shave again. Green light and the race continue. Our neighbors speed ahead of us forgetting about the strange white girl the second they lose sight of me.

“No, no time for coffee!” Nhu shouts as we pull into the school parking lot. She must surely be crazy. “But Nhu, no you don’t understand. I can’t function without my coffee, I can’t breathe, I can’t…”

“It is 7:15 now. We are already late, Jessie…You promised you would come to my class….”

I roll m y eyes and open my mouth pretending to yawn. It turns into a real yawn, a big one, and I stretch up my arms over my head so I can really enjoy it.

“Jesssssssie!”

At this moment my mother suddenly pops into mind as does her latest e-mail: take advantage of every opportunity, take in everything…. Be the sponge!

I want to blow up the sponge. I want nothing to do with my mother or her e-mails. I want a bed—my bed. I want to sleep forever, or as long as I can, and take in nothing and never smile again unless I truly mean it. I breathe.

“Fine, fine, coffee later, but you’re buying!”

She giggles and punches me in the arm in an effort to show affection. But she’s got a pretty mean punch and I have to rub my shoulder and hold in the pain and let out only laughter. I punch her back as hard as I can and now we are really laughing. I realize that we are re-enacting an episode of Seinfeld and that Nhu doesn’t know the amazing-ness that is Seinfeld and that she is funnier and more charming than she’ll ever know. I hope Steve Erkel knows. I hope he knows to tell her how wonderful she is.

White stairs. Fifteen flights at least. I’m out of breath by the third flight but we laugh making the climb more funny than miserable. Sweat discovers my armpits first, then my forehead, and lower back and by the time we reach classroom 403B I am a sweat-ball. The classroom is straight out of The Cat from Hue. Long wooden desks, creaky fan, and open shutters, which let in just enough sun to make you feel like it’s all really just a dream. A few dozen Vietnamese girls fill the desks. I look up at thirty pairs of dark, tight blue jeans, thirty pastel t-shirts with pictures of Mickey Mouse and Barbie, sixty dark brown eyes stop in mid-chatter. Stop and stare right at me. Nhu taps my elbow. The signal. Ready to move. We make our way towards the back where the cool kids are supposed to sit. Head down as I quickly pass the teacher. She speaks English slowly and steadily into a cordless microphone. My favorite green skirt still damp and sticky from last night’s rain, drags beneath my flip-flops as I approach the back table. The chatter becomes a roar now. This is not what they expected. I am not like the girls they’ve been seeing in the fashion magazines and on MTV. I am the biggest dork in the world.

English, slow and steady. Puritans. Elvis. She asks me to explain everything. I try not to act annoyed, but kind of am. What makes me the expert on all this pop-culture American bullshit? Isn’t this the stuff I’m trying to get away from? Isn’t that the reason for me studying abroad in Vietnam of all places? Where’s the rice fields and the dirt roads? Where’s my cross-cultural experience? Yet, I’ve never been the expert or the one who knew all the answers so I share all my knowledge with the class on the puritans and all my opinions on Mr. George W. Bush and the state of our country. I feel kinda smart and kinda guilty. Nhu and I pass notes all the while to kill time with her pink pen on her pink paper:

KOREAN CLASS TONIGHT. YOU TAKE BUS?

I’VE GOT A MEETING. LET’S MEET AT 9 AT SCHOOL?

She nods. She knows what meetings I’ve got on Wednesday nights but still makes me remind her each week. What other games does she play? The teacher pulls down the map. American geography. That’s my cue. I poke Nhu, cupping my hand like I’m drinking something and point to the door. I walk out of the room as quickly as I can, keeping my head down until I reach the open hallway. The sun is really at it now. I turn toward the stairs. Tiny footsteps behind me and a gentle tap on my shoulder. It’s one of Nhu’s chatty classmates. She steps back as I turn around, like she’s surprised I noticed her. What now. C’mon… I’m sloppy, messy, dirty? What? Bring it on.

“You…you bohemian, right?”

I smile so big I start laughing.

“Exactly”

The day is not so long, really. Hours break down to minutes, which give way to seconds until it’s five o’clock and I’m free. I rush to the front entrance knowing that it’s only 5:02 and she’ll be late like always. Still I rush pretending like I have somewhere to be to see someone who’s been waiting just for me. I stand near the curb on the right side but the curb is really low making me feel like I’m standing on the main street. Cars and trucks honk at me as they pass. Don’t worry you won’t hit me. I need this time in between the constant transactions of the day. Time for my stomach to drop, time to think about him. What exactly did I say? What did we look like together? When’s the next time I’ll see him? What exactly does he look like? When?

“Hey Girrrrrrrrl”

My ride. My girl. Her pinstriped pants hang below her heels as her feet touch the ground to find balance on her bike. Polo cap and a ponytail, her daytime career woman make-up already removed. She’s a working girl with gin and tonics on her mind. I wipe the remains of the afternoon rainstorm from the back of her bike and hop on.

“What the hell?” She turns back laughing. I look down at my sidesaddle position.

“Oh.” I join in on her laughter and step off the bike. I’m with Minh; it’s time to relax. I rearrange my legs, straddling the bike, and hold my green paisley skirt down with my hands. We join the main flow of traffic. Saigon is dark and my naked legs mean nothing to the night commuters. The light turns red as we stop beside a taxi van full of tourists. Eyes. Pairs of blue all stare at me. Green light and we leave the taxi in the dust. I am the coolest person in the world.

“How was school?”

“How was work?”

Questions mean nothing when you already know the answer.

“Heart of Darkness?”

I nod, but she isn’t looking.

On weekends it’s the place to be, but this Tuesday night reveals the true emptiness and sadness of The Heart of Darkness Bar and Lounge. It’s lonely and bored and sick of all the regulars. We strut past the front couches where the backpackers always sit. There’ll all the same. They’ve extended their stays in Vietnam only to sit in the bar all afternoon. I smile at no one in particular and pop my hips back and forth. I can feel them staring. We still got it. We’ve perfected it. We need them to look, stare, and wonder who we are. We need them to want us and we need to act like we don’t know they’re alive.

We pick our usual table in the back room. Two gin and tonics in front of us without even asking. I can’t decide if that’s the coolest or saddest thing. I light a cigarette, not because I need one but because it’s part of the act. Minh munches on the stale popcorn and bops her head up and down to the latest track from 1994. What next? I can’t drink fast enough.

“Dare I ask?” I mumble.

“He didn’t pick up. He must be out in the middle of nowhere again.”

Smile.

“What? He’s only got a year left and then he’s done with the Navy for life”

Nod.

“I’m gonna send him a card for his birthday”

Smile.

“Did I show the latest pic he sent me?”

Smile.

“Shut-up! I’m 23 remember? Five years is nothing once you’re in your twenties.”

Sometimes I just like to listen to her speak. Her English is perfect and the way she pronounces words is beautiful and different each time. It’s like opening a present whenever she says my name. Five different tones spread between two syllables.

Two more drinks. Stronger.

She pulls out the pic. Blonde. Pale. Half-smile. British. Way too British. I tell her about how my parents met. A true crowd-pleaser. She laughs so hard she bangs the back of her head against the giant dragon wall hanging.

Two more.

8:52

“Shit!”

I take one last drag of my cigarette. Goodbye sweet release, I’ll see you again this time tomorrow.

We hop on the bike. We’re really racing now as I open my eyes as wide as they’ll go. Instant sobriety. I’m in control. Only five minutes late.

She’s waiting, sitting on her bike, playing with her cell phone.

“Hey sorry. So sorry we’re late!”

She nods trying not to look pissed.

Minh and Nhu give each other a polite nod.

“Call me tomorrow girrrrl” She’s gone.

“How was class?”

I over eagerly ask as I climb atop the bike. Butt towards the back. Hands under the seat. Left leg over right leg. No no. Right leg over left. Right foot on top of left foot, left foot touching the exhaust pipe, but not too much pressure or you’ll break it, but you’ve got to support your body weight. I hate sidesaddle.