Ruby Red Marionette

thirtyseven | less

There was a spot near the parks, right off the service road, that sold Chinese food. The awning said that it was an Indian restaurant, the employees were Mexican, but the food was Chinese. I was sure of it.

Despite the mixed cultures and general confusion about the fast-food place, I don't think I've eaten more from any other spot in Chattanooga. That was true for me and a number of other people. I went there a lot when I was homeless, including the times I stayed at the studio (I've never regarded that place as a home).

There were a lot of reasons that homeless people loved the restaurant, which was called Japid. For one, they had the lowest prices on the biggest plates of food. Two, it was right next to the best parks in town, where all the homeless people slept. Three, it was always dirty. We were dirty too. A bunch of vagrants walking into a fancy Italian restaurant would feel uncomfortable, no matter how cheap the food was. We could relate to Japid, though.

Plus, since it was popular among the homeless, it became a hangout spot. People used to go there just to make friends.

That's why I wasn't surprised when I went there that night and was received with smiles and welcome as soon as I walked in. Some faces I recognized, others I didn't. They all knew my name, though. Somehow, they all knew.

The employees looked at me and said nothing. They seemed to hate us; yes, they knew all of us by name, but they didn't like us in their shop. The twinge of familiarity in their cold eyes when they looked at me wasn't pleasant. I nodded to them and ordered my food.

The reason I was here wasn't for the food. Yes, shrimp, fried rice and broccoli did put a nostalgic, soy-sauce-y taste in my mouth, but I could have gotten that from anywhere. I also wasn't here to catch up with Gay Larry (that's what we called the gay white bum who slept outside the homeless shelter and was always talking about European culture), however entertaining that was. None of it really mattered, on a grand scale.

I sat there in one of Japid's chairs, surrounded by old acquaintances, and I almost wanted to cry. The reason I came was because I was homeless. I had no place to go.

Coming here was the best way for me to settle with the idea of it. If I practiced one of the most common traditions that I did back in the older times of my life, it would feel real. It would feel like I was that same nineteen-year-old again with not a care in the world and all the stress on her shoulders at the same time. It would feel good. At least for a while.

It would take my mind off of the fact that no matter how long the time felt between now and my argument this morning, it was still Christmas. It was still the worst one I'd ever had.

I tried other ways to take my mind off of things. After I left Isaiah's house, I walked around the city. I mean, the entire city—I walked through almost every street, the ones I knew and the ones I didn't. I made stops at interesting little landmarks. I went to a supermarket to get snacks and overheard a high shcool girl on the line talking to her friend about how she couldn't figure out how to stuff her bra, so I gave them a short tutorial with socks and tissue. After that, I found one of those old-timer movie theaters that only nerds and old people went to. They were showing a marine biology documentary. I sat at the back of the theater, which was empty now that it was Christmas, and I cried. I didn't want to, and I didn't know how to make it stop, so I let the tears fall and ignored the one other person in the theater every time he looked back at me.

I left there with stiff, dry cheeks and a snake in my bag that I'd almost forgotten about. I went to the pet store to get him food, fed him, and then went to an empty lot nearby. That was where it all happened.

I walked into the middle of the lot, dropped my gifts from the others on the ground, and I screamed. I shouted and pulled my hair and watched San slither around my feet. I tried to kill him, but just when I was about to smash the rock over his head, I realized two things. One, snakes' heads sometimes still move when they're detached from their bodies, which was something I definitely did not want to see. Two, killing San would not kill Isaiah, so the only solution was to get as far away from him as I could.