We never left, not really

...

1989

The summer of 1989 sucked. It hadn't even started yet but I could already tell that it was going to. Summers always sucked in Derry, and they were especially bad in the Yee household. Somehow the magic combination of not being white in a farming town and having immigrant parents who saw free time as laziness meant that I, Lily Yee, was destined for a sucky summer. The restaurant work wasn't all that bad, but serving the undeserving folks of Derry endless plates of chicken chow mein and General Tso's chicken made me want to scream. Don't get me wrong, our customers enjoyed our food and dining in the restaurant, but it was patently clear that that pleasant feeling did not extend to the people behind it.

Like most places, the hive mind in Derry was pretty much set when it came to people like me: Chinese food good and Chinese people bad. Beyond the explicit incidents (of which there had been many courtesy of Chief Bower's shitty son and his merry band of fuckers), the coldness is what got to me. The dismissive look in people's eyes when they'd see me— as if they could swallow up my entire existence in an instant and spit it out just as quickly.

And this coldness only worsened when the children started disappearing. It had started almost silently at first, a few missing posters pasted wordlessly on street lamps and walls. Then another child disappeared. Every few days the face on the poster changed; they were pasted on top of each other wordlessly as if to deny there was even a problem at all. The quietness remained. If there was a police investigation, I never heard about it. Besides the kids who joked around about it at school (how they could do this when it could have easily been anyone was beyond me), the only time I heard anything was when customers would speculate in the restaurant.

The word junkie was bandied about and, more often than not, the word coloured usually preceded it. "How could any good Derryfolk be responsible for something so heinous?" One woman had asked. Following this question, her partner looked at me pointedly. "We're not all good Derryfolk in this town," he muttered in between large mouthfuls of rice, a blob of spittle clinging onto his stache. Then, speaking louder, he demanded, "Another plate of that chicken, girl." The man wasn't exactly what I'd class as good Derryfolk either, but he was the customer. And in America, land of the free and green, green cash, the customer is king!

King of the Assholes, more like. How did these people get on? Calling us bad folk but still coming into our restaurant with their muddy boots and bad table manners. As if he could hear my dissenting thoughts, his eyes narrowed until they were glittering balls of stone. "You going to get the chicken or you going to be the chicken?" "Another order of General Tso's," I replied, taking down the order with shaking hands. One more second and I would have thrown a plate. By the time I got to the kitchen, my expression was so stormy that my mother, in between orders, immediately stopped to grab my chin, her claws digging into my skin.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Nothing," I replied as I hung up the order slip. I cleared my throat. "Table Five wants another order of chicken." She frowned. "You can't serve tables look like that. We lose customers with that face."

I rolled my eyes. "If we lose Table Five, I say good riddance." Her eyes widened and I could tell she was about to get angry when Rosa, ever my saviour, got involved. "Auntie, Lily's just mad because Table Five is the one that tracked all that dirt in. Anyway, it's late and it's a school night; Little Lily should go home and sleep. I'll take care of Table Five and then take her home, okay?" Mama looked as if she wanted to say something, the line between her brows firmly drawn, but she didn't. "Fine, but take out trash before you go."

Rosa wasn't my sister but she may as well have been with the way she took care of me. "Thank you," I whispered as Mama walked away. Rosa smiled deviously. "Now don't think that this is all for free. You heard Auntie, didn't you? Take out the trash while I serve the table of bozos. And make sure to smile while you're at it, Little." Before she left, I grabbed her wrist. "Rosa, we're going to leave someday, right?" She looked at me for one moment as if I were crazy and laughed. "You kidding me? We're ditching this joint and driving to Cali the moment we've saved up enough. Don't spend your tip money, Little," she warned. Then we laughed, because the amount we received in tips barely amounted to anything. It had taken Rosa four years of saving and working multiple summer jobs to save up for her car (I suspect the summer jobs had more to do with it than her tip money) and I was forever giving mine over as gas money or spending it on the latest Archie comic to add to my collection. I wasn't fussed about Archie, but fantasising about attending lighthearted Riverdale High where kids only worried about what kind of soda to get at the parlour was my favourite pastime.

Rosa was the only one in our family who seemed to realise how bad it really was in Derry, but between us both she had it harder. I couldn't say that I was thriving but I also didn't have to stave off the advances of Bowers and his gang. How she did it every day, I don't know, but she managed to do it all the while working at the restaurant and getting good grades. She was only three years older but considering the way she behaved and what she achieved, she may as well have been an entire lifetime ahead of me. I pondered over this as I slugged multiple trash bags out the backdoor, snickering to myself when I realised that there was one thing I was better than Rosa at—and that was taking out the trash. She never said anything but she didn't have to; even walking by the dumpster made her eyes water. And I'd take throwing out the trash over serving shitty customers any day.

"Fuckers," I spat, throwing the last bag into the dumpster. I imagined Table Five as I slammed the lid closed. I was at the doorstep of the backdoor when I heard a voice coming from my left. "Don't you wish you could just get rid of all them? So many… bozos over here." I stopped. Something about that voice made every hair on my body stand on edge. From the corner of my eye, I saw a clown in white with a bright shock of red hair standing near the dumpster.

My heart felt like it was about to stop. How could he have been there the whole time? After multiple incidents with the Bowers gang, Uncle and Baba had paid to have the back of the restaurant fenced off. There was barbed wire and two padlocks that made it almost impossible to get in without climbing up a long way first. He took a few steps closer, his breathing ragged.

Without saying a word, I ran back into the restaurant in a state of panic, almost running into the lady from Table Five on her way back from the bathroom. "Well, excuse me!" she exclaimed in an affronted tone. I apologised hurriedly before bursting through the kitchen doors. Mama took one look at me and rolled her eyes. "What happen now?" "A- a man," I stuttered, half out of breath. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. "A strange man by the dumpster, he approached me. Just standing there. In a clown suit!" At this point, Uncle and Baba had stopped cooking and were looking concerned. "What was he doing? How did he get in?" Baba asked. "I don't know! He just started talking and then he was walking towards me so I ran." Rosa walked into the kitchen.

"What happened?" she asked, immediately taking me into her arms. I held onto her tightly as she smoothed my hair. Mama looked at us strangely, her lips pursed.

"A weird man was at the back of the restaurant, he approached Lily by the dumpster," explained Uncle. "But the back is fenced off? How did he get in?" Rosa asked. "I don't know," was all I could say. "Maybe he just smoking," Mama suggested. "He wasn't smoking!" I insisted. "He was just waiting there! Why the hell would anyone come to a fenced off area just to smoke?" "Don't talk like that, Lily," Mama warned.

It was my turn to get angry but Rosa intervened once more. "Lily, Auntie, please. Baba, Uncle, can you go check the back? If there's an intruder we have to call the police right away." "It'll be fine, Lily," Rosa whispered. Mama took one long look at us, harrumphed, and left the room. "What the heck's her problem," I muttered, shaking my head. I couldn't get the sound of the clown's breathing out of my ears. I tried to think of the right words to describe it, but there was only one that reverberated in my mind— and the implication behind that word was what I think most people would consider a huge social taboo. This just in: Not Just Takeaway! Cannibal Clown EATS Local Chinese!

"I imagine she's just unhappy with the way things are between you two," said Rosa reasonably, rubbing reassuring circles on my back. "Things wouldn't be so bad between us if she'd just lay off for once," I grumbled. Rosa sighed. "Auntie isn't wired that way, Lily. Be patient with her, she's doing her best."

"Last time I checked, she was my mother and not the other way 'round." Rosa only squeezed me tighter. I tried to hold onto my anger, but in the face of her patience and love, it quickly slipped away from me. Then, Baba and Uncle Ricky came rushing in.

"There was no one there," started Baba. "Which doesn't mean he wasn't there before," Rosa inserted quickly. Uncle grimaced. "We don't know, but this was near the dumpster." In his hands was a red balloon. It was the same shade of red as the cherries they'd serve on top of sundaes in the parlours or the stripes on popcorn bags in the movie theatre. Unable to stop myself, I reached out for it, slowly moving towards it. In my ears, I heard someone speaking to me but for the life of me, I couldn't make out the words. I smelled popcorn and the carnival and ice cream and something else that intrigued me. Surely, it was intrigued too because the balloon was leaning towards me, trying to float its way out of Uncle Ricky's grasp. I could almost make out something lurking on the balloon's surface when, out of nowhere, it popped. I jumped back. From my left, I heard something move followed by high-pitched laughter.

"Did you hear that?" I asked. Baba and Uncle Ricky frowned in unison. Being identical twins, so much of what they did was in unison. Even their thinking. "I heard nothing," started Baba. "Except the balloon popping, no?" Uncle Ricky finished. "Rosa?" I asked. She shook her head, but it wasn't convincing. "I, I didn't hear anything," she whispered, looking away. I could tell she was lying. Baba shook his head. "It was probably that Bowers boy again with his troublemaker friends."

Uncle Ricky nodded. "It makes sense." "It wasn't!" I shouted. I was beginning to feel that sense of desperate frustration you'd feel if everyone around you randomly started insisting the sky was green. "I would have recognised Bowers or one of his goons any day."

"Whether it was Bowers or one of his friends, I'm sure it was someone looking to prank us Chinese again," Baba said. Then, more to himself than anything, he muttered, "¡Dios mío! Makes no difference whether it's America or Cuba..." Baba and Uncle shared a look before rapidly conversing in their unique Chinese-Spanish-identical-twin speak. I hated whenever they did that, mostly because it usually meant that an important decision was being made for me rather than with me, which I'd much prefer, thank you very much!

"Okay, from now on, both of you stay away from the back. Brother and I will take care of the trash," said Uncle Ricky. Rosa nodded eagerly but I didn't give a flying eff about the trash, not when the sound of the man's ragged breathing was still in my ears. Was it too much to expect my family to believe me when I said it wasn't Bowers? I knew that man wasn't Bowers or anyone in his gang with the same surety I'd answer someone asking what colour the sky was. It's blue and no, that clown wasn't Bowers or one of his goons. But with the way things were proceeding - Baba and Uncle making plans based on their assumptions and Rosa's sudden foray into the world of lying - it didn't seem like that was going to happen anytime soon.

—

The next morning was a weird one. As always, I was the last one up. Usually that meant being forgotten in the bustle of breakfast and generally being left to my own devices, but it seemed there were other forces at play today. Just as I'd woken up, Mama had entered my room with a new set of clothes, dropping them at the foot of my bed.

"Put it on," she said, foregoing the standard pleasantries as she always did. Just to shake things up, I considered suggesting good morning as an opener for next time but ultimately decided against it. A little cheek went a long way with Mama, and not in a good way.

"What's the occasion?" I asked. "Nainai going to art class today, Baba said you taking her." That didn't seem like much of an occasion. I thumbed the new clothes. A striped shirt, denim shorts, a bright red cardigan and long, white pull up socks—all with the tags still on them. They looked like they were pulled straight out of one of those mail order catalogues; the same catalogues Greta and her coven of bitches bragged about shopping from. As if having clothes delivered to your house somehow made you special. Big whoop: pizza could be delivered too and I didn't hear people bragging about that.

I could tell Mama was expecting big thanks and part of me wanted to give her what she wanted. It was rare for her to do such things for me (usually Rosa drove me to Goodwill whenever I needed more clothes) and even rarer for me to get new clothes. A larger part of me, however, dreaded the thought of going to school in something that would make me look like I was trying to be Greta or one of her cronies. Mama frowned. "You don't like?" I shook my head furiously. "No, no, I really like them. I'm just not used to such nice clothes. Thank you, Mama," I said, getting out of bed to kiss her on the cheek. She nodded, seemingly appeased. "Good, now get dress. Make sure you careful, Reba Uris will be at the class with Nainai. No stains, OK?" Ah, so that was the real reason behind the clothes: Mrs Uris.

It was unspoken, but Mrs Uris was somewhat of a big deal in the Yee household, and it was all due to Mama's strange fixation. When we first moved next to the Uris's, Mama would stare at their immaculate front yard with wide eyes. When Mrs Uris drove up onto their neatly cobbled driveway in a pristine mint-green convertible, her eyes almost fell out of their sockets.

As it was with most arranged marriages, Mama had only left her hometown to marry Baba, who had sent for her after deciding unromantically that he was finally ready to start a family and that her face was pretty enough in her portrait. It seemed to me that big decisions like marriage should be made with more thought and intention than picking out clothes from a catalogue, but China wasn't America and this was just one way it differed. And so, at the age of eighteen, she had packed away all of her things and made the long journey to America on her own. She had told me all of this in that matter-of-fact tone people use when they're resigned to something. Not once did she mention loving Baba or at least enjoying being married to him, but when it came to Mrs Uris, Mama was all praise. When she wasn't working at the restaurant, she was either talking to Mrs Uris, talking about Mrs Uris or going to the weekly Ladies of Derry meeting that was, naturally, chaired by Mrs Uris. She even decided to get the same haircut. A few months ago, all of the other ladies were getting perms but Mama had hers done in the Jackie O style Mrs Uris seemed to favour. Mama didn't even know who Jackie O was, and had instead said in that brusque way of hers that she wanted to have her hair "like Reba Uris". Explaining what she meant by that to the hairstylist had been an excruciating experience

None of this would have bothered me if Mama didn't insist on using Mrs Uris as her frame of reference for life and constantly complain thereafter about how much hers was lacking in comparison. But even now, hearing her gripes would be more tolerable if she'd just stop comparing me to Stanley Uris and finding me lacking. As if I'd spoken aloud, Mama said, "You know Reba Uris? She buy Stanley new clothes two times a year. He's a good boy, handsome too. Ninety-seven percent in his pop quiz, but look at me, my daughter doesn't even try to get good grades."

I rolled my eyes because Mama didn't give a shit about my education—she only started checking my report card when Mrs Uris talked about how happy she was when Stanley had come home with straight As.

"If you don't mind, I'd like some privacy to get changed," I said snippily. Naturally, Mama didn't like my tone and left the room in a huff. It sucked but it was still better than ten minutes of being told how and why Stanley Uris was better than me. I wondered whether Stanley even knew how much misery he was causing me. It wasn't like I could go up to him in class and tell him point blank to fuck off so I could live in peace; we stopped talking when puberty started doing its thing and it was probably better that way. Boy and girl shit always seemed to end up complicated—and that was the last thing I wanted.

In any case, if it weren't him, it'd probably be someone else. Mama was a pro at finding things to be unhappy about. I mulled over the unfairness of it all as I shoved myself into the new clothes. When I stood in front of the mirror to see how I looked, I swore bitterly. Mama must have purchased a set from whatever catalogue she'd picked because Greta had worn the exact same thing a couple of weeks ago. Now I had a choice: get shit from Greta and her band of harpies all day or have Mama make my life shit for the rest of the summer. It wasn't an easy decision.

When I eventually came down the stairs, Rosa made a big scene. "What's the occasion, Lily Little? Trying to impress the boys on the last day of school?" Baba and Uncle stopped eating breakfast to look at me curiously. I flushed. "No. Mama bought me new clothes to take Nainai into town later," I explained. "You need new clothes to go into town?" Uncle Ricky asked, a confused expression on his face. Baba sighed, "Mrs Uris," which was all he needed to say for Uncle and Rosa to nod their heads knowingly. As always, Nainai said nothing, sitting at her usual spot on the floor by the window.

Baba always blamed her silence on Grandfather's death, but I thought Nainai just found us wearisome. Except for Rosa, that is. Nainai barely spoke, but on the rare moments when she did, it was to Rosa. "Why aren't you taking Nainai?" I asked Rosa while I sorted breakfast for myself. She was eating her favourite cereal (bran flakes, yuck) and offered me some, but I had a craving for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

We were standing together in the kitchenette, one of the only places in the house where a private conversation could be had so long as you kept your voice down. "You're Nainai's favourite, shouldn't you be taking her?" It took her ten seconds to respond because Rosa liked to chew her food for at least ten seconds before swallowing. "Well," she said, "I have some student council work to do after school and since you don't have to worry about coming to the restaurant, Baba and Uncle Leo figured you could take Nainai to her art class."

"What do you mean not coming into the restaurant? I'm on dinner prep, remember?" Rosa's eyes lit up as she took another bite of cereal. "You mean you don't know?" she asked coquettishly. "Know what, Ros? Can you cut the crap?" I asked, more than a little exasperated.

"Now don't be crass, Little. You wouldn't want to get grounded during your summer of freedom, would you?"

"Summer of… freedom?"

Rosa rolled her eyes. "That's what I said, Lily. After yesterday's freakiness, I convinced Baba and Uncle Leo to give you the summer off for, you know, safety's sake." My mouth was open but I was too shocked to close it. Rosa laughed, patting my cheek affectionately. "A thank you would be nice but this expression's good too."

Without a thought for noise levels, I dropped what I was doing and screamed, grabbing Rosa into the biggest hug I could give."You will, however, have to come up with some convincingly academic extracurriculars for it to stay that way," she whispered into my ear. That was a given. But finally, finally I could read and watch TV and eat candy all day and not have to do anything because it was summer.

"Lily, what are you doing?" Mama asked, giving me a very disapproving look. It didn't matter. Nothing could ruin my good mood.

—

Nothing could, except for Greta and her lackeys. "Lookie, I spy a little copycat chink trying to fit in," she spat, she and her posse of friends trapping me in front of my locker. I inwardly cursed myself for thinking it a good idea to empty my locker before school started. There was safety in numbers, and right now all the numbers were outside, eagerly awaiting the last day of school in their droves.

"Hi Greta," I sighed, looking over her shoulder for a teacher or anybody. Just at that moment, the school janitor walked by, whistling and pushing the AV cart down the corridor. "Hey!" I shouted, loud enough so he could hear me, but he kept on walking. I guess it didn't matter that I was being bullied in plain sight, not when there were AV matters to attend to. Greta laughed. "Nice try, chink. Guess he couldn't hear you or, more likely, he didn't care.

"Or maybe he's like me," she said. By this point, her face was so close I could see the small deposits of plaque that lined the tracks of her braces. "And wants to see uppity chinks like you and your sister put in their place." I didn't bother correcting her, turning my head to avoid the spit spraying out of her mouth. Her breath smelled like The Barrens on a hot day.

"You know, you really need to practise better dental hygiene, Greta," I snarked.

Suddenly, I felt myself being shoved into the locker by at least three pairs of hands and the door being closed on me. Greta screamed through the vent holes how much of a worthless gook I was and that I was going to regret my bitch ass ever moving to Derry. She was half-right—I regretted every day I spent in this worthless town. After a few minutes of spittle-coated abuse, I was left in silence. Not before they locked me in, though. I tried pounding on the door and shouting for help, but after a few minutes of that failing I figured I would just wait for the bell to ring. People would laugh and I would be humiliated, but I figured my day couldn't get much worse. To pass the time, I began to fantasise about what it would be like to live outside of Derry.

Rosa was always talking about California and how progressive it was. "You could have your own Riverdale High experience there," she'd said with bright eyes one day and that had sealed the deal for me. If shitty things continued to happen at the restaurant, maybe we could finally convince Baba and Uncle to move to a place where they could make a living selling Chinese food to Chinese people and not have to worry about Henry Bowers or creepy men sneaking into fenced-off areas.

I closed my eyes and was about to sink deeper into my dreamworld when someone tapped on the locker. I figured it was Greta back for more, but when I opened my eyes, it wasn't to lip gloss or braces, but a pair of unearthly yellow eyes rimmed in red. Immediately, I clamped my eyes shut again and tried to make myself as small as I could. I wanted to scream but my entire body felt numb. Meanwhile, my heart thundered wildly in my ears.

This is not real. This is not real. This is not real.

I repeated this over and over again in my head, pretending that I had just imagined IT when I knew I hadn't. I tried to imagine California but all I could see was my face on a poster pasted on top of a dozen other posters of all the other missing children. More tapping and then the screeching sound of nails (claws?) against metal.

"Don't you wish you could get rid of them, Lily?" It was the same voice from yesterday. The clown had followed me. "Open your eyes, Lily, it's only me! There's no need to be scared." I did not dare. I was nearly in tears with how terrified I was. The man giggled and then his breathing became ragged, hitching into the same hungry tones of the night before.

"Tasty, tasty fear, how nicely it seasons the fleshhhh," he hissed. All I could do was wonder whether this was what poor Betty Ripsom and all of the other missing children had to face before they became posters on the wall: scared shitless and all alone. I heard the lock click open and the door slowly creaking forward. I prepared myself to meet those yellow eyes again when, all of a sudden, the bell rang, giving way to hundreds of children pouring through the front doors of Derry High. I wondered what they would think when they saw me being abducted right before their eyes. After a few drawn out seconds, however, nothing happened.

When I finally managed to get one eye open, it was to Stanley Uris and his friends looking at me with puzzled eyes. Without thinking, I jumped down and threw my arms around him, nearly crying with how relieved I was. I was alive. He must have been shocked because instead of pushing me away, he began to pat my shoulder. Even through his shirt, his back was warm; he smelled like laundry detergent and sunshine.

"I don't know if you got the memo, but you know you're meant to put your stuff in the locker, right?" Normally Richie Tozier's voice annoyed me, but I was thankful to hear it at that moment. Realising that I was still holding onto Stanley, who was probably feeling very uncomfortable, I jumped back, nearly swiping him in the face with how quickly I moved my arms.

I wanted to tell them about what had happened but the clown was nowhere in sight. "Did you see anyone?" I asked. Stanley shook his head. "Only you. What were you doing in the locker?"

I wanted to tell him the truth but I knew it was unbelievable. "Greta," I muttered. Everyone nodded. At one point or another, all of us had been at the wrong end of Greta's vicious nature. Richie snorted. "Greta's a bitch but that doesn't explain you jumping Stan the Man. Unless…" His eyes narrowed and a smirk appeared on his face. Trashmouth had entered the building. "You got the hots for him, Yee? I'd wish you well but my buddy Stan here is the rabbi's son and Rabbi Uris won't let just any girl tickle his pickle unless she became a woman at thirteen and judging by your chest size…"

All four boys' gazes lowered for a second. I willed myself not to react - he's looking for that, Richie's an idiot for a reaction - but I felt myself flush anyway. Bill and Eddie flushed too, which was some small consolation, but Stanley looked positively ill, blinking rapidly in that way people did when they were lost for words.

Gee thanks, you're not so bad yourself.

His reaction was enough for me to jutt my chin out and imitate that look I'd see on Rosa when her only option was to rise above, fly high above the Gretas of Derry who always aimed low and hit below the belt. "You done being nasty, Trashmouth? I get you're insecure about your little pal, but let's leave my body out of that messy situation, shall we?"

Immediately, Eddie burst out into loud guffaws. "Oh she got you good, Trashmouth!" I tried to keep the smirk off my face but I couldn't. Not when Stanley Uris was trying to cover up his grin with the palm of his hand. Imitating was one thing, but I would never be Rosa. I'd give as good as I got, even if that meant I had to aim low, too.