When the fatigue and starvation turn Tam’s chicken-scratch notes into boba and chicken wings, she figures that indulging herself with cheap takeout won’t tank her monthly savings.
It’s been over an hour since she resolved that issue; Tam ran out of the dormitories half past ten in the evening and found herself indebted to America’s fixation with twenty-four hour fast food joints. Her car is now filled with the aroma of chicken drumsticks and milk tea from downtown, and she has to restrain herself from devouring everything before she deals with her next issue: buying fruits. Tam quickly discerns that every other local, affordable grocery store has closed for the night. Not only is the closest Walmart a ten-mile drive away, but their produce has shot up in price.
So, after a distressing crusade around the city, Tam finds that the only store open in town has no reviews, details, or stars on Google Maps.
The most sensible course of action is to head home; she’s got a passable meal for both herself and Elaine, her roommate, and a couple of stacks of notes are awaiting her. Tam is young and barely an adult; one fruitless meal won’t cause a heart attack. Still, the fear that her body will deteriorate before her thirties persists, and Tam only has herself to blame when she parks into the corner of the city where crime rates may or may not be higher in concentration.
Tam clutches the steering wheel as she examines the building. Admittedly, the destitute condition of the market is still apparent in the darkness, but it looks stable at the very least. However, the faintly illuminated sign with Chinese characters and a bit of Vietnamese underneath is not exactly a calming sight. “I hope,” Tam mutters to no one, “that my broken Vietnamese is enough.”
With a deep sigh, Tam makes herself feel brave enough to swing out of her car, disregarding the circle of hunched men in the distance.
At the yellow, battered newspapers taped to the windows (does that date say 2005?) and blinking ‘OPEN’ sign at the front of the door, Tam mentally apologizes to her ancestors for neglecting her Viet homework as a child. She pulls out her phone to turn on her location tracker and prays that her best friend will be awake to check.
To: katrina (simp)
idk if you’re still awake rn cuz its like 3 am there
but if you see my name on the missing persons list on the news tmr don’t worry
i will annoy them into letting me stay alive
Much to Tam’s relief, the store is practically empty and the cashier greets her in English.
“Just take what you want.”
“Thank you. May you point me to the fruits and produce, sir?”
Can these be considered fruits? Tam wonders with alarm as she juggles between a slightly discolored apple and a sack of mandarins, hoping that the peels only appear desaturated because of the dim lights. She is forty percent convinced that she saw a flash of fur dart behind the soup stock shelf in the corner of her eye.
Eventually, she realizes that she doesn’t even know what her roommate could be allergic to, and she starts throwing whatever appears edible into her basket. The adrenaline from earlier is starting to wear off and her fatigue grows. Tam wearily checks her phone for the time—twelve thirty-two A.M.—only to register that there is no cell service.
There goes my SOS plan. Katrina’s going to murder me. I can’t even call Mom to ask for help.
The sudden urge to cry hits Tam like a rock. Perhaps it’s because of the itchiness from the makeup she forgot to wipe off. Or, it’s due to the rumbling in her stomach and the exhaustion that’ll eat her from inside out once she struggles through the rest of her coursework. She might start sobbing in her car if the fruits have either fermented into crunchy wine or are so unripe that the acid burns a hole through her tongue.
How does Mom do it again? How does she always know which blueberries are ripe?
Her eyesight goes bleary. How does she do it?
…
Tam knew she wasn’t in her right mind. She idly considered audiotaping the sounds of her bones popping as she un-hunches from her desk and selling it to a record company for compensation.
This could become background music for a tiger documentary someday. Yeah, I can get big bucks off of this.
What pulled her out of delirium was the clatter of a plate. Her mom had just gotten home, judging from the makeup and weariness on her face. Still, Tam reveled at the sight of sliced kiwis and mangoes.
“Thank you, Mom,” Tam tried to project her mutter.
Her mom hummed and took a cursory glance at Tam’s list of assignments and due dates as she set down the fork.
“Don’t sleep too late, okay? Not all of these are even due tomorrow.”
“Mhm.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Mom.”
...
As she dashes out of the store with bags of fruits in arms, Tam feels her nerves settle once she hears the buzz of her phone.
From: katrina (simp)
why did i wake up from my nap to this
them?? what do you mean “them”???
TAM????///?
TAM
ANSWER
With a slight smile, Tam assures Katrina that she’s alive and starts the car to head home. Back in her room, Tam sees Elaine’s shrimp-like figure hooked over her desk, eyes shut despite being surrounded by unfinished papers. Gently, Tam sets down the slightly cooled chicken and milk tea by Elaine’s head, careful not to prod the sleeping girl as she peels a few mandarins. For quick measure, she plops a fruit into her mouth as she sends a selfie with the caption “this tastes like dayquil” to Katrina.
She chews. It tastes like a mandarin. She’ll have to call her mom in the morning if she gets food poisoning, but it tastes like a mandarin. Things will be okay, Tam surmises.
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