The Ramen Shop was near closing when a young man walked in. Though 20 minutes before the posted time, Grace had never had a problem kicking people out early, or opening late for that matter. If anyone ever asked her about whether she lost customers for her erratic hours, she’d just say, “If they’ve had my ramen before, then they’ll wait or they’ll come back. If they’ve never had my ramen, and they miss their chance, then I pity their souls.”
She had plenty of regulars, even though she never advertised, had no website or any kind of listing. She had never used a computer, or cell phone, and just had a landline for emergencies. She had a manual credit card machine, but all the regulars knew how she hated using it, so they always brought cash, or checks, or offered produce in trade.
The Ramen Shop was only given an actual name for tax purposes, and the sign, which had predated Grace, had been a gift to the previous owner from a local craftsman. The letters spelled the word “Ramen” and were made of hand-blown, green glass, illuminated by bulbs from within. The previous owner had never wanted or felt like she needed a sign, but appreciated the effort of the craftsman, so it found a home. Having such bright glowing letters had the mixed blessing of occasionally bringing in those who were not regulars, especially the “mountain tourists,” made of mostly 20-something skiers and snowboarders. This young man who entered was most definitely a “mountain tourist.”
It wasn’t his snowboard boots that gave him away or any of his unusually colorful winter gear, but his head of long, sweaty, sun-bleached, blonde hair. Grace thought no ill will of the “mountain tourists,” but she also didn’t understand them, especially the way they stared at electronic devices all day. She was always polite, but generally made no further efforts to engage with them.
He was pulling off his gloves and hat as she made her way over. Though planning to gently kick him out, something about the sting of red on his cheeks and his somewhat pained expression changed her course.
“Good evening,” she said. “May I get you something?”
He seemed unable to speak for a moment, but eventually choked out the words: “Umm. Tea or water maybe?”
She went about fixing his tea, happy that his request was at least an easy one. Tidying up as she waited for the water to heat, her eyes kept straying to his hunched over form. His coat and leg coverings were torn, and the redness on his face appeared to be a scratch of some type. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something desperate and maybe even tragic about him.
Had he been a regular, Grace would have immediately said something like: “You must have had a hard day. Would you like to tell me about it?” And he likely would have, because she was known to be an exceptional listener. Though curious, she didn’t feel it proper to engage someone like him in this way.
When she finally brought him tea and a glass of water, the young man took them, nodded, and then gulped the water down with ferocity. When he picked up the still steeping hot tea, she worried he would do the same thing, and blurted out: “Be careful! It’s quite hot!”
He seemed very startled, so Grace added, “I just didn’t want you to burn yourself. Here, let me fill your water.”
She quickly returned, poured him a glass, and left the pitcher with him. He gulped down two more waters, and was working on a third, when she said:
“I just wanted you to know that we’ll be closing up soon. Is there anything else I can bring you?”
“Uh… no. Thank you. Or well, I guess, do you have a bathroom?”
“Yes. It’s through the kitchen. I’ll show you.”
As she led him into the back, he seemed to barely have the energy to even walk, and she was concerned that he might collapse. He closed the door and it was perhaps 10 minutes before he emerged. He then headed straight for his table, picked up the tea, drank it down, finished the pitcher of water, and then grabbed his stuff. He looked like he was about to just head out, but then stopped, turned around and said:
“I’m sorry. Um. How much do I owe you?”
“Oh. Don’t fret. It’s my treat.”
“Uh. Okay. Thank you then.”
Just like that, he was out the door and into the cold. She walked over to lock the door, but just as she got there, it opened and the young man popped his head in saying:
“Do you know where the bus station is?”
“It’s just two blocks to your left, but I’m sorry to tell you that there are no more buses tonight. They stopped service because of the storm. This town has good plows though, so they’ll be running by morning.”
He looked devastated, but nodded and was just about to leave, when Grace asked:
“Are you staying somewhere close?”
He hesitated, then said:
“I don’t have any place to stay. Do you know anywhere I could go to keep warm?”
She thought, Looking like he does, with no place to go, on a night like this, poor thing! Immediately, she said:
“Come in, please, and follow me.”
As he entered, she noticed that his outer layers were soaked, and he was shivering. He followed her as she pulled out a chair and placed it near the fire.
“Take off all your wet clothes and hang them on the mantle; I’ll go find something to put around you.”
She headed back into the kitchen, retrieving a thick shawl she wrapped up in on nights like this when she slept overnight in the Ramen Shop. Returning, she was slightly shocked to see the young man standing there in front of the fire, wearing nothing but a pair of ripped purple underwear and a thin undershirt.
She hadn’t realized quite how literally he would take what she was saying, but simply handed him the shawl. He wrapped it around his shivering body and sat near the fire. For someone quite fit and just under six feet tall, she thought he looked surprisingly fragile and delicate.
Heading back into the kitchen, she put the kettle on for more tea, and returned to him with the piping hot cup. The instant young man took the cup, he broke out in tears, which he tried to cover, and then finally spoke up. “Thank you so much. I don’t even know your name, but you’ve been so kind to me and I’m just such a total mess that I can’t even imagine what you think of me right now.”
“Well, my name is Grace and just because one is a total mess, doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have a place to be warm, and have something warm to drink.”
He smiled for the first time. “I’m Mason,” he said. “Nice to meet you. Yeah, I guess what I meant is that 24 hours ago, I never could have imagined myself, stranded in this town, in this closed down shop, drinking tea, in my underwear, wrapped in your shawl. I’m thankful, but I think I’m also in shock after the day I’ve had.”
“Well, we have no place to go until morning, I can refill your tea whenever you like, and we have this fire to keep us warm. Would you like to tell me about it?”
“Well, it’s kind of a rough story, but I guess I can if you want.”
“Yes, please continue.”
“Well, last week everything started falling apart. First my boyfriend broke up with me and kicked me out. Then I was literally sleeping in the studio where I was supposed to record. I was a singer with a record contract, and was trying desperately to hold it together and give them what they wanted, but it was not going well. I guess I couldn’t fake it anymore, and halfway through, the label let me go.
“At that point, I felt like I had nothing, and was nothing, and just didn’t care anymore, so I took what little money I had and came up here to snowboard and clear my head. I just kept recklessly leaving the trails, not even thinking of the danger. When I accidentally found myself on the road instead of the lower runs of the park. I stuck out my thumb, and a guy picked me up in his truck.
“I was pretty blasted from pills at that point, and I blabbed on and on telling him all about how I was alone, had been riding isolated backtrails all day, and even told him my phone was dead when I asked him for a charger.
“After like an hour and a half, I finally realized that we must have passed the ski park. When I brought it up, he said:
“ ‘Oh. I guess we better find our way back then. I know an alternate route that’ll get us there faster.’
“He turned onto this dirt road, where there were no houses around us. It started snowing, we went under this really dark canopy of trees, and just kept going up. Feeling uneasy at that point, I said: ‘You sure this is taking us there?’
“At that, he said. ‘You’re right. I might need to check the map.’
“He stopped on a pull-off, right up to and almost touching this low metal railing. He pulled out a map, looked at it for a second, then rolled down his window and took a look outside. He pulled his head back in, and then asked me:
“ ‘Hey, can you poke your head out, look around, and see if you see sign markers?’
“I was kind of annoyed that he didn’t know where we were, but did what asked, and right as I got my head out, he yanked really hard on the back of my pants, and I hit the top of my head on the edge of the window. He dragged me in and in seconds, was on top of me. He was a few inches taller than me, outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds, and easily held me down. My pants were already halfway down my leg, he ripped my underwear, and I just remember cold air hitting areas of my bare skin that it was never supposed to come into contact with.
“The rest of what happened in the car is a blur, and I don’t feel like pushing myself for more details. There was a point though, when he shoved my face into the cracks of his seat, and lit up by the cab light, I could see the contents underneath. There was a bag, a shovel, a hunting knife, and some kind of gun.
“Though I’d been recklessly risking my life the last few days, now faced with this terrible possibility of death, my survival instinct finally kicked in. I focused on some switches on the edge of the seat, managed to slip my hand down and pull one, and it collapsed my seat right on top of him. He must have slammed into the dash, because an alarm and flashers went off, and in the chaos, I managed to squeeze out from under him, pry the door lock open, crank the handle, and dump myself out of the door. I hadn’t even thought about where we were though, and tumbled over that railing of what I guess was a bridge into some kind of deep ravine.
“This fall could have easily killed me, but a tree branch caught my coat. I managed to grab the side of the bridge and pull myself into this crevice underneath.
“I stayed completely still, lying on my stomach, in this tight, spidery crevice. As he turned off the alarm and lights, I was so terrified that he might hear me, that I didn’t even try to pull my pants up and you can imagine how uncomfortable that was. He then came over to the edge and shined a flashlight down into the deep ravine. He probably saw the broken branches, but the crevice was concealed from his view. At that point, he probably realized that he shouldn’t be seen anywhere close to where my body might be found, so he took my backpack and snowboard, threw them off the bridge, and took off.
“I laid there in that crevice for way too long, and I don’t even know how I had the strength and will to pull myself up and over that bridge rail. I was terrified of staying on the road, worried that the guy might come back to check this spot, so instead, I found an unmarked hiking trail, followed it, and it somehow ended right across the street from you. I’d nearly resigned myself to death, when I saw the light of your ‘Ramen’ sign, and then realized I was going to live.”
Grace was visibly struck by this final statement from Mason. He immediately noticed, got a little uncomfortable and since she wasn’t saying anything, he mumbled out a response of:
“I’m sorry. I know that’s probably revealing way more than you wanted to hear.”
“No. On the contrary. I feel blessed that you felt comfortable telling me something so personal. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Do you need medical help?”
“I don’t think so. I checked myself over in your bathroom earlier, and I think I’m physically okay. What’s really weird though, is that even after everything that’s happened, I’m feeling a level of safety and calmness right now that I haven’t felt since I was a kid.”
“Hmm. Please, if you don’t mind. Tell me about that. What was different for you back then when you were a child?”
“Well, for one thing, my father was alive back then. He knew how to make me feel safe, even as a gay kid growing up in a small town. He passed away when I was 15 though, and my mother had died before I had much of a memory. I was an only child, and didn’t really have anyone else around to make me feel that safety. I never thought I’d have it again either. I figured I should just go out there and face my fears. Well, living fearlessly, became living recklessly, and I guess pushing everyone else away, so I could only rely on myself. Now, after barely surviving these three close calls, and knowing that I’m mostly responsible for bringing myself so near such harm, I feel almost guilty being presented with what you’ve offered me. This safety is so foreign, and I can’t help feeling like I don’t deserve it. I deserved to die in that car, or off that ledge or on that trail. That would have been the logical result of my life’s choices, but instead I’m sitting here with you.”
Mason was in tears at this point and wasn’t even trying to hide it.
Grace put her hand on his shoulder and told him:
“This kind of safety you talk about, it’s vital, and there’s no reason to feel like you should be deprived of it.”
“Sure, I get that. I guess I still just feel like such a mess and don’t really know what I’m living for, that’s what’s hard.”
At that point, Mason, absent-mindedly ran his hand across his thin torso, and noticing, Grace immediately said:
“You must be so hungry, let me make you some ramen.”
“Sounds like a dream, but it’s so late, and you’ve worked all day and already done so much, I can’t possibly ask you to go make me food.”
“Well I can’t let you leave this place without offering you the finest gift I have. It won’t take me long, and perhaps you can help me while I work. You see, my record player has been broken for weeks and I’ve been without music. Maybe you could sing something for me?”
“Really? I don’t have a guitar or anything, so I don’t know how good it’s gonna sound, but if that’s what you want, sure. I’ll sing for some ramen!”
Heading into the kitchen, as Grace began cooking, Mason started tapping out a rhythm with his hands on the counter. His voice, though it started out timid, quickly settled in. With Grace’s encouragement, he sang the whole time the Ramen was being made. Songs of whimsical adventures, lost loves, hopeful futures, he even started making up one about the ramen shop. Listening to him, Grace was mesmerized, and felt terrible interrupting him when the Ramen was done.
They sat with their bowls in front of the fire, and the instant that first spoonful hit Mason’s mouth, he said.
“Wow. This ramen is like magic or something! I don’t know if it’s just crazy late night delirium, but I feel like I’m seeing a life before me, that I’d never seen before. You know what I mean?”
“I certainly do.”
“Oh yeah, speaking sort of on that subject, I wanted to ask you something?”
“Please do then.”
“After I told you about my harrowing experience, and I talked about seeing your ‘Ramen’ sign, and what it meant to me, I noticed a reaction from you. Made me want to know about how you ended up here.”
“Well, in many ways, this ramen shop saved my life as well. In my early 30s, I was diagnosed with what I thought was a terminal disease and I couldn’t afford any of the offered treatments. I came to this town, because I had always found such peace on visits here and I thought of no other place I would rather die. I had assumed I would only live a matter of months, but upon first entering this town, I first saw this ramen shop. I walked in, had a bowl, started a conversation with the owner, and within an hour of meeting me, she offered me a job. By the end of the day, I had started something new, right when I thought everything else was ending.”
“And how long ago was that?”
“30 years.”
“Wow. So you survived an unexpected 3 decades?”
“Apparently, and I have no intention of going anywhere soon.”
“Thank God for that. I understand why this place means so much to you then. That’s so brave starting over like that. Did you have family or anything in that town you left behind, or any reason to go back?”
“No family. I had a few friends that I miss, but there was really only one major regret I have. I left behind someone who would’ve spent all of her money, and given up her dreams to try and save me, and I just couldn’t have that though. I assumed my time was over, and I wanted her to live without my burden.”
Seeing something new in her eyes. Mason immediately asked:
“Can you tell me more about her?”
“Well, her name was Elle Wallace. She was a fine musician like you. She had finally got a big break, as an opener on an international tour. It was her dream, and of course it happened right as I got my terrible news. I knew she would cancel her tour without a thought, and there was nothing I’d be able to do to talk her out of it. I did what I thought was best. I broke up with her and it did not go well. After she had left on tour though, overcome with regret, I left a letter at her place with papers showing my diagnosis and trying my best to explain why I truly had to leave. I have no idea if she ever received it. After surviving long enough to realize that my diagnosis was false, I was too afraid to reach out, figuring that she’d think I had lied about being terminal. I know it’s silly to hold onto something like this for so long, but I still think of her far quite often, and wish things could have been different.”
“You know, I bet she’d believe you if you two had the chance to talk.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know how to find her, and I’m sure she has long moved on and forgotten about me, but thank you for allowing me to reminisce.”
Their conversation continued into the early morning hours, until both of them fell asleep near the fire. Grace awoke and began preparing for the work day. Mason awoke shortly after to a strange yet newly hopeful existence. He put on his dry clothes, then they drank tea and had breakfast.
As it came near time for Mason’s bus to leave, Grace said to him: “Spending the night with you was one of the most unexpected and delightful moments of my life. And to hear your voice and your songs! Please, go out there and share your talent. If you are able to create more music like what you showed me, you will move the world to tears.”
“Wow. Thank you, Grace. You honestly helped me remember why I loved music in the first place, and so much more too. I can’t possibly express how much your kindness has meant to me. You saved my life, and I’m serious about that. I will always remember you and your ramen!”
They hugged, said a few last words and then Grace, the Ramen Shop owner, watched Mason, the singer, walk away. She thought of him often over the next few weeks, especially when she was closing down the shop. It warmed her heart, remembering him singing for his ramen and she hoped to hear more of his music someday.
One evening, she’d sent her last customer away and was considering leaving early, when a person, bundled up in winter clothes came bustling through the door. For a split second, she thought maybe it was Mason, then put her eyes down, as she noticed the customer’s feminine appearance. The person was taking her time approaching, so Grace figured she’d just finish her task before engaging.
Finally though, the woman moved up to the counter. Grace left the kitchen and when she neared the counter she looked up and said:
“May I help you.”
“Grace?”
Taken aback, Grace stared at the woman, whose hood, hat, scarf, and coat were now removed.
“Elle… It can’t be.”
Tears formed in both of their eyes.
“Yes Grace. It’s me. It’s like a miracle seeing you in front of me.”
“Yes, it is, but how on earth did you find me?”
“Well, I guess it all started when I was approached by a kind, exceptionally-talented, and very determined young singer named Mason. He told me he had been searching all over for me and when I asked him why, he said: ‘because of Grace.’ He then began talking nonstop about you, this little shop, and your ramen, which apparently has the power to make life worth living again.”
Nicholas Yandell is a composer, who sometimes creates with words instead of sound. In those cases, he usually ends up with fiction and occasionally poetry. He also paints and draws, and often all these activities become combined, because they’re really not all that different from each other, and it’s all just art right?
When not working on creative projects, Nick works as a bookseller at Powell’s Books in Portland, Oregon, where he enjoys being surrounded by a wealth of knowledge, as well as working and interacting with creatively stimulating people. He has a website where he displays his creations; it’s nicholasyandell.com. Check it out!