The Bosporus Star

The Cue is set on a cul-de-sac, off the Black Canyon highway, also known as I-17, not far from the intersection of 27th and Northern. A few blocks away is the Metro mall where I used to hang out after escaping from the group home. Of the kids at the mall I was the youngest which resulted in me getting nicknamed Chickadee, which I hated, so I was glad when someone shortened it to Chica, which is how I began to introduce myself.

When the stores closed or we got sick of not having any money watching all the shoppers, we’d go over to the bus stop or the all-night Denny’s. Sometimes we’d end up at the Cue where I was too young to drink or do much besides sitting around the pool table, watching.

The men didn’t know I was thirteen and they behaved like I was older. They were mostly tough guys and frequently mean. A few were nice to me, like Steve who once, when I was in trouble, bought me underwear and deodorant and a ticket to New Orleans. Also there was Johnny, who everyone called Shorty, who got shot not far from the Cue and whose grave I still visit grave whenever I’m in town. And I don't want to forget Tammy, who everyone called Little Rebel. She was twenty-six, barely five foot and always wore black. When I had nowhere to go she put me up at the tweaker house where she was staying.

People frequently down-talked her because she was always getting paranoid. She’d run inside whenever the helicopters went overhead. She told me never to get in a van and to always look behind you. She didn’t have family though she said this one girl who I didn’t like—I call her “the bitch girl”— was her sister.

I remember one night Tammy and I were at the Cue. She put one hand round my waist and kind of tipped her head back and said she heard some other girls said I was into girls. I kind of pulled away, embarrassed, said, “Who told you that?”

I’m not into girls and she’s not my type even if I liked girls. She had short lashes and kind of held her upper lip up in an unattractive way. She didn’t look like a boy, but didn’t have the prettiness of girls.

The last time I saw her she was coming down the street so high I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Something about the Midnight Production who kidnaped her and shot her full of drugs. Rumor was she was pregnant by Youngster, who everyone called Bean, or Dean. He was the only boy I knew around my age but he supposubly was really in love with her. This is all tweaker talk, though, you know. After that I heard she was found out at the airport shot thirty-five times. Something to do with The Bitch Girl and some trouble that occurred not that far from the Cue.

I can’t tell you more, but I want to remember my friend, Tammy, maybe go looking for her the next time I’m in the city.

— Chica