Three days since I ran out of Sky Club like a scared kid, and I'm still hiding.
Not hiding, exactly. Just... sitting in May Café, staring at my phone, drinking coffee that went cold an hour ago. The same corner table where I always end up when I've fucked something up and don't know how to fix it.
My phone keeps buzzing. Minh Anh won't stop messaging me.
Which is insane, by the way. The Queen of Nine-Ball is texting me. Me. The guy who couldn't even hit the cue ball without having a panic attack.
I should probably delete her number and pretend this whole billiards thing never happened. Go back to my normal life of coding and watching Netflix and not embarrassing myself in public.
But I can't stop reading her messages.
Another buzz.
"you ok now?"
She types like a normal person, at least. No capital letters or perfect punctuation. Makes her seem less... intimidating, I guess.
I've been staring at this message for ten minutes. What am I supposed to say? "Hey, sorry I'm a complete fraud who talks big online but can't actually play"?
"sorry," I finally type. "couldn't play yesterday. hands wouldn't work"
Send.
Three dots appear immediately. She's typing. Stops. Starts again.
Probably trying to figure out how to let me down easy.
"you didnt even play one game?"
Short and to the point. Ouch.
"got scared when i stood at the table"
More dots. This is taking forever.
"i just want u to fight yourself"
That hits different. Not "fight your fear" or some motivational poster bullshit. Fight yourself. Yeah.
I put my phone down and rub my temples. She's right, obviously. The enemy isn't Tung Rau or any other player. It's whatever broken circuit in my brain that shuts everything down when people watch.
"theres another tournament next week," I type. "i'll try again. won't run this time"
"promise?"
Shit. Promises. I hate promises.
"if i give up again ill delete ur number and never play billiards"
That gets her attention. Dots appear immediately.
"sometimes i wonder if u even know ur potential"
What potential? The potential to embarrass myself in new and creative ways?
"potential for what?"
"i could see it from ur first comments. way u analyzed shots"
I almost laugh out loud. The barista glances over like I'm losing it. Maybe I am.
"i just copied stuff from youtube videos"
"not exactly. ive played long enough to know real talent when i see it"
Real talent. Right. The guy who can't break has real talent.
"u just need experience"
Experience. Sure. Experience not having panic attacks would be a good start.
I'm looking out the window, watching people walk by on the sidewalk. Everyone looks like they know where they're going. I've been sitting in this same spot for weeks, scrolling through billiards videos and feeling sorry for myself.
"already hit rock bottom," I type back. "cant get much worse"
"maybe thats exactly what u need"
"what do u mean?"
"sometimes u have to fall completely before u can climb back up"
Great. Now I'm getting life advice from someone I've never actually met. But somehow it doesn't sound fake coming from her.
"ever think about getting a coach?"
I actually snort out loud. The barista looks over.
"who would coach a k-rank? waste of time"
Long pause. She's typing something.
"what about master long?"
Master Long. The Bender. I've seen exactly one video of him, posted on her profile a few days ago. Guy can make the cue ball do impossible things. Like, physics-defying impossible.
"no chance he'd take me"
"u need to play a match first. prove u can finish a game. dont need to win just dont quit"
"why do i need to prove anything?"
"master long doesnt teach quitters. he takes beginners but hates people who give up"
Makes sense, I guess.
"also," new message pops up. "ive been following u since before ur first comment"
What?
"how do u know me?"
"international youth tournament 2005. tokyo. u were about to take the final shot in the championship"
The room spins a little. Text goes blurry for a second.
"wrong person. never played before messaging u"
"phi dang. im not wrong. but i understand - sometimes forgetting is the only way to start over"
My head's starting to hurt. Sharp pain behind my eyes.
"master long was there too. he coached my team"
"he was my first teacher. saved me when i wanted to quit after failing"
"why do u care about me?"
"because i saw who u really were back then. and because master long almost gave up coaching. i think u can help him remember why he loved teaching"
I'm about to argue, tell her she's got the wrong guy, but instead I just send a heart emoji. Don't know why. Seems safer than words.
---
I'm getting ready to leave when the door opens and Tung Rau walks in. Of all the cafés in Saigon.
He sees me immediately. Great.
"Well, well. Thought you'd left the city by now."
I can barely look at him. "Sorry about yesterday."
"Sorry for what? Not breaking or running away?"
My throat feels like sandpaper. He's not being mean, exactly. Just... honest.
"You know," he says, sitting down without being invited, "I used to be like you."
That gets my attention.
"First time I held a cue, couldn't even hit the ball with people watching."
He's looking out the window now. "But you probably don't care. Good luck next time. If there is one."
He heads to the counter to order. I drop some money on my table and walk out.
If I want things to change, I need to stop hiding in this café. Stop making excuses.
Time to do something stupid again.