Vivid Vows

Chapter 2

Vivian came home and tossed Mrs. Rodriguez’s bedsheets into the washing machine. The old woman had poor eyesight and was getting on in years. Vivian had gotten used to helping her change her linens every couple of weeks. Her cousin Jason had moved a small table into the backyard to do his homework. He was only a sophomore, but already taller than her. Sitting on a camping chair, his long legs stretched out, blocking half the hallway.

Vivian gave his leg a gentle nudge. “Move over.”

Jason didn’t even look up, just tucked his legs in a bit. Once she passed, he stretched them back out again.

“You’ll catch a cold sitting out here; it’s getting chilly.”

“It’s too stuffy inside.”

Since the food truck had opened in the front yard, their home had gotten pretty cramped. The row house had three rooms—one barely big enough to serve as a living room, another for Uncle Mike and Aunt Annie’s bedroom, and the last one split down the middle with drywall, each side barely fitting a bed. It was where Jason and Vivian slept, with no room for a desk.

“Why didn’t you finish your homework last night? You’re dragging it into today,” Vivian said, her voice firm. She wasn’t like Jason. She always made sure her homework was done, no matter how late, so she could sleep peacefully.

“It was so noisy last night. You could hear everything from the street. Even after everyone left, the smell of onions lingered in the house.” Jason stretched, crossing his arms behind his head. “When can I get out of this hellhole? I’m about to lose it with all this homework.” Then he added, a little enviously, “You’re lucky. You’ve only got six months left. Zheng Ge’s been counting down the days.”

Vivian shot him a sharp look. “Don’t start. Zheng Ge has nothing to do with me. Don’t talk nonsense. If Uncle Mike hears you, it’ll be bad for all of us. And don’t think getting into college will make things easier. You’re the only boy in the family. Uncle and Aunt are counting on you to make the family proud.” She hung her freshly washed work clothes on the clothesline.

Jason grunted dismissively.

It was true, after Jason entered high school, Aunt Annie had been on him day and night to study, not even letting him help with chores. Uncle Mike didn’t say much, but Vivian knew he had high hopes for Jason. The pressure in his sophomore year was intense. Vivian couldn’t help but feel some sympathy. Sometimes when he snuck out to play basketball, she’d cover for him in front of Aunt Annie.

“You going to play ball today?”

“Yeah, I’ll head out after lunch.” Jason twirled a pen in his fingers, eyes glued to his textbook. Every Sunday afternoon, he’d go out to play basketball for a couple of hours. East End was so crowded, there were no real sports facilities, so they usually went to a rundown court a few blocks away.

As she finished hanging the last of the clothes, a loud commotion broke out nearby. Curious, she went out to see what was going on. The neighbors had gathered around, several unfamiliar faces among them. She spotted the man from earlier that morning. He was eating fries, taking his time, but as soon as their eyes met, his gaze turned cold and intrusive, even flashing her a grin.

He was sitting near the window, facing the light, and his white teeth gleamed in the sun. For some reason, Vivian couldn’t shake the image of a predator on the African Predator. She felt irritated. She was used to being stared at—living in the East End, the local punks often teased her—but no one had ever been so blatant, his stare as if he could see right through her T-shirt.

She forced herself to keep a straight face, pretending not to notice him, and turned her attention to the chatter from the neighbors. The topic was the upcoming demolition.

The East End had been part of the city’s redevelopment plan for years. Every house had a big red “Demolition” mark spray-painted on its walls. But it had always been more talk than action. Now, though, it seemed like things were finally moving. Surveyors had recently been spotted on West Street, and whispers of change were spreading.

There were two main sources of gossip in the East End: one was the community center a few blocks away, where the elderly and children gathered to chat, and the other was Vivian’s family’s diner.

The Morris family had lived here for three generations. Vivian’s great-grandfather was one of the earliest Italian immigrants to settle in the area. The Morris family was well-respected in the neighborhood. Uncle Mike was quiet but dependable, with strong opinions, and Aunt Annie was kind-hearted. They had always helped their neighbors when they could.

Having lived here for decades, the neighbors had developed a habit of gathering at Vivian’s house whenever something important needed discussing.

This time, the matter seemed serious. Tempers were running high, and several people were shouting loudly, their necks turning red. Mr. Lewis, who used to work at the car factory with Uncle Mike, raised his voice, his face flushed. “A few years ago, they promised us compensation. Back then, we thought getting some money was decent. Worst case, we’d rent a place. Anything’s better than living next to this stinking canal. But have you heard what the developers are offering? Ten dollars a square foot! And what’s the rent for a one-bedroom apartment now? At least twelve hundred a month! That’s not even enough for a down payment! How long is that money going to last? What happens after? Are we supposed to sleep on the street with our families?”

His words sparked a chorus of agreement. Someone else said, “I heard there are relocation apartments.”

Another quickly responded, “Relocation apartments? They’re almost out in the suburbs! There are no shops, no services—getting to work takes three buses!”

This statement was met with more nods of approval. Then someone shared a rumor they’d heard from a distant relative, claiming the government and developers were making under-the-table deals. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t.

The crowd grew angrier, and even the story of the forced demolition in a neighboring community a few years back was brought up.

Vivian glanced at Uncle Mike. He was sitting quietly in the crowd, his face serious. She unconsciously glanced at the "predator." He seemed to be enjoying the discussion, wearing a mocking smile, his plate of fries still half-full, clearly intent on watching the drama unfold.

After nearly an hour of discussion, the conclusion was that the East End residents needed to stick together and not let themselves be steamrolled. Then, someone asked, “What if they force the demolition anyway?”

The restaurant, which had been buzzing with voices just a moment ago, fell dead silent. No one spoke. Some people looked gloomy, others anxious, their breath heavy as they remembered the forced demolitions in the neighboring community. Standing against bulldozers and court orders, the powerless protests of the poor seemed futile.

“We’ll see what happens. It hasn’t come to that yet,” Uncle Mike finally spoke, breaking the silence.

The crowd seemed deflated, each person leaving with their heads hanging low.

“Uncle, Aunt Annie, why don’t you go rest? It looks like there won’t be much business today.” It was only a little past ten, and the lunch rush was still a while off.

Normally, Uncle Mike would be up before dawn, preparing for the day. But after working late into the night, he was exhausted. After calming Aunt Annie, who was worried, he went back inside, sat down, and lit a cigarette.

Vivian’s heart sank. If it hadn’t been for the forced demolition on Shanghai Road, her father wouldn’t have… Was history about to repeat itself?

She stood by the wall, biting her lip. She had hoped life could continue simply and peacefully here. She just wanted the demolition to leave this place alone. She didn’t want anything to disrupt the life she had finally built, to break her fragile peace.

“Can I still order something?”

Vivian hadn’t noticed the man was still there, his plate empty.

“The lunch menu starts at eleven, but I can make a burger.”

He thought for a moment and nodded. “The fries are good. I’ll have a cheeseburger.”

“Do you want bacon? A regular burger is four dollars, with bacon, six.”

“Which one’s better?”

“They’re both good. The bacon one has more flavor.” She regretted saying that, considering his outfit ; he’d probably go for the eight-dollar one.

He nodded again.

Vivian pushed aside her concerns, opened the grill, and began cooking the patty. The burgers at Mike’s Food Truck were famous because of the freshly ground beef and special sauce. The buns were delivered fresh daily from the local bakery.

When she brought the burger over, he raised an eyebrow at the presentation. After taking a bite, his surprise was obvious. He hadn’t expected such delicious food from such a humble shop. It wasn’t long before the plate was empty, and he seemed to want more.

After finishing his meal, he didn’t leave. Instead, he inspected the restaurant’s decoration: old license plates on the walls, faded baseball photos, and an old jukebox. He looked out the window at the canal. Vivian ignored him, wiping down glasses as her thoughts drifted farther away, her heart tightening. She didn’t even notice when he left.