The little girl’s face is beautiful.
I look into her one eye, which looks back at me.
How old is she?
Her hair is cut short.
Her little friend has one eye oversize, top lid hanging low.
Her right cheek, like her friend, is swollen, also unfinished, unique in its beauty, like her friend.
Her hair is longer.
Your hair is beautiful, I tell her, in Khmer.
Yours is long, I tell her friend, and yours is short – turning back to the first – but both are beautiful.
The children share a glance and giggle into each others’ arms.
Their eyes meet.
Two stars colliding.
An explosion of light.
A champagne supernova before my very eyes.
The whole street.
It’s then I realize the gram of crystal meth I’d been given by the Bong Tom the night before was not because I was the new James Bond.
Was not because I was now accepted into the Cambodian gangland underworld and could now get drugs for free.
I had been set up.
I had been given the gram of gear so the police – on the say of the entire community – could arrest me, lock me up in Cambodia’s notorious Prey Sar prison and throw away the key.
Left to rot and die in a Cambodian jail.
I think back to the moment the Bong Tom (Gangland Boss) had given me the little plastic bag.
You are jit l’aor, she’d said.
You have a good heart, in Khmer.
Yes, I’m jit l’aor, I’d replied.
And now, as I see the two princesses’ eyes explode in love and light I realize I am being tried on the street.
Who says there is no law in Cambodia?
This is street justice.
A street trial.
And who are my judges?
These two little girls.
As brilliant as the ‘magic elefants.’
Here I was being tried and judged on the street…
Was I jit l’aor or jit akrok ?
Did I have a good heart or a bad heart?
A judgement of ‘good heart’ would set me free.
A ‘bad heart’ would see me rot and die in jail.
I was a passionate born again Christian.
10 years in the church before being called to Cambodia to combat sex trafficking.
Now I’m a homeless, friendless, penniless crystal meth addict.
Abandoned by friends, family and church.
Left alone to rot and die on the streets of Phnom Penh.
How did I fail?
Where did I go wrong?
The stakes are high.
This is brilliant, high stakes drama.
The genius of FFC.
The King of Cinema.
Rot and die in a Cambodian jail or be free to be James Bond.
Which will it be, Mr. Fox?!