THE TRAGIC + DIVINE

by MELODY FELIX-PRIETO

  I took a sip tasting the salt on my lips, the bubbles in the soda burned going down my throat easing the rumble inside my stomach.

  “Thank you. It helped a little.” I took a glimpse at Milo’s absurdly chiseled abs until I stopped at the line of light-colored hair below his belly button that trailed south of his body. Suddenly, I felt the urge to touch his abs. I have touched them. Last night. The image of my hands sliding down his abs sent an excited flutter back to my stomach.

  “What…did we do last night?” I asked shyly.

  His smile was mischievous this time. “You don’t remember?”

  Looking down at my hands, I took a deep breath as my lips tugged at a smile. Flashbacks of our hot kissing session flooded my memory.

  “So…where did you sleep?”

  “On the couch.” He took a sip of his coffee as I eyed the couch full of young women partially dressed in lingerie. I straightened up, a mixture of irritation and jealousy ripping through me at the thought of Milo with another girl. I quickly averted my eyes to hide any emotion. But Milo saw right through me.

  “That couch.” He motioned with his eyes to the empty couch next to the bar. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “For someone who passionately claims to hate me,” he began, an amused smile creeping onto his lips. “Swears she isn’t the least bit interested in me, you sure are jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous,” I scoffed. “I don’t care what you do. It’s not like you’re my boyfriend or anything.” Mid-sentence a girl wearing only a bikini bottom strode behind the bar, grabbed Milo’s coffee cup, took a sip then stroked his bare abs with no concern for me.

  “Nice,” she said handing back the cup to Milo.

  After she left, Milo looked at me from the corner of his eye studying my reaction. He was enjoying my irritation—and how annoyed I suddenly became. My nostrils flared with jealousy as I swallowed hard trying to contain my anger.

  “I need to get out of here,” I snapped.

  I stormed out of the basement of Eve’s Paradise until I made it to the iron fence. There wasn’t a dial case to buzz the attendant to let me out. I stood there reconsidering my stupid feelings. There was no reason for me to get upset. I was acting like a jealous girlfriend even though I wasn’t even sure if Milo and I were friends. I heard Milo’s motorcycle behind me, but the stubborn in me refused to turn around.

  “Let me give you a ride home,” Milo offered. The rhythmic purr of the bike idled. I couldn’t look at him. Not after the immature way I acted.

  “Just let me out, I’ll find a way home,” I said.

  “I want to make sure you get home safely,” Milo persisted. “Why are you mad?”

  Because some stupid random girl touched you. I turned around to face him. “What are you doing with me? I’m not…as pretty as those girls”—I shook my head—“I can’t keep up with your lifestyle.”

  “I don’t want someone who can keep up,” he said, face serious.

  I struggled to look at him. “Then what do you want?”

  “Have I not made it clear,” he stated.

  Then be straight forward and tell me what you want. I was tired of playing the guessing game.

  “Here,” he said taking out the camera from his pocket. “It fell out of your coat. Don’t worry, I didn’t delete anything.”

  My posture turned rigid. I’d forgotten about the camera. I kept my eyes low as I took it. When I finally faced Milo, I expected him to be mad or at least have a look of accusation. It was even worse, he said nothing, there was no trace of emotion on his face. There was no warmth in his smile, no sign he was angry.

  “Let’s go,” Milo said.

  Without another word or protest, I slid onto the back of Milo’s motorcycle.

  Milo headed east of Atlanta to a small town named Harmonville. He cruised through a neighborhood made up of small brick houses where many had additions covered in vinyl siding that didn’t match the original house. We drove past a house that had a stone shrine of the Virgin Mary. We were definitely in a Mexican neighborhood. He stopped in front of a two-story cape cod-style home that had seen better days. The driveway was full of cars. An old and worn playground set stood empty of life in the yard, while old coffee cans replaced plant pots.

  “What is this place?” I asked handing the helmet to Milo.

  “It’s a restaurant.”

  “A restaurant? It looks like a regular house.”

  “I call it Angelita’s Kitchen. Come on.”

  The living room was empty of furniture and replaced with plastic tables and chairs. Old photographs of children and family adorned the mantle of the fireplace. Inside the firebox, there were five religious candles with flowers around them. The people inside were of different ethnicities, but mainly Hispanic men wearing construction clothing.

  An old woman with graying hair in her fifties came out of the kitchen with a large bowl of soup. When she saw Milo, her eyes lit up like she’d seen an old friend. She placed the bowl on the table, wiped her hands with her apron then cupped Milo’s face and kissed his forehead as if he were her son.

  “Mi Milo,” she said in Spanish.

  “Es ella,” Milo replied. The woman turned to me, and I was met with the same kind warmth as Milo.

  “Mucho gusto en conocerte, Alexis.” Stunned she knew my name, but not entirely surprised. I merely nodded with a smile then glanced at Milo quizzically.

  “Pasen,” she said as she led us to the dining room table adjacent to the kitchen where there were two older women making tortillas from scratch and two younger girls—who looked around my age—preparing food to be served. When we sat down, they all cooed in a cluster whispering among each other and giggling. They knew Milo was an angel, and it was clear they found him handsome by the way they were flirtatiously batting their eyelashes at him.

  “So this is a restaurant only on the weekends?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Angela makes the best Mexican food I’ve ever had in my life,” he gushed.

  I glanced around taking in the atmosphere. It reminded me a lot of my grandmother’s house back in Los Angeles. The kitchen smelled heavily of oregano, cinnamon, and sweet pineapple. The Last Supper painting was hanging on the dining room wall, and there was pan dulce inside a covered glass cake stand. It felt like home.

  “Están listos para ordenar?” One of the young girls asked. I noted her beauty as I peered up. Her dark black hair was tied in a bun accentuating her beautifully trimmed eyebrows and brown eyes. And although her smile was warm and inviting, she wasn’t paying any attention to me.

  “Me da un Vuelve a la Vida y un arroz blanco, por favor,” Milo said in perfect Spanish.

  Impressed and surprised I said, “I didn’t know you can speak Spanish.”

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” he said brushing his finger over mine.

  “Obviously.”

  “I ordered you a—”

  “Come Back to Life,” I said cutting him off. “I may not speak Spanish fluently like you, but I do understand it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “My mother. Her husband doesn’t speak it, so she decided it was best we didn’t either. She didn’t want him feeling out of place,” I said irritated. “I remember speaking Spanish as a kid.”

  “That’s a shame. Spanish is a beautiful language.” He cocked his eye then winked. “Maybe I can teach you.” He finished in a tone that implied he wanted to teach me more than just Spanish.

  I smiled at the thought then glanced away shyly.

  “So how do you know Angela?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” I countered.

  Milo gave in then said, “I met her a long time ago.”

  “Oh? How long ago are we talking about?”

  “Let’s just say she’s changed. A lot.”

  I was getting frustrated with his curt answers and lack of details. “Was she a kid?”

  “Aroun
d twelve or so.”

  My eyebrows rose. “Twelve? That was a long time ago. Before you arrived on Earth.”

  “Yes.”

  “But…how?”

  “Angela has a sixth sense so to speak. She can see beyond the veil.”

  “The veil?” The angels had been living on Earth for seventeen years, never once had I heard any mention on the news about a veil.

  Milo took a deep breath like he’d said too much. He scoped the room to make sure no one was listening. “Maybe this is not the right place to talk about this.”

  “I really hate when you do that.” I objected.

  “Do what?” He feigned confusion.

  “Dodge my questions. Why can’t you be upfront and answer them like normal humans?”

  “Because I’m not human.” Milo’s dark eyes were guarded giving nothing away.

  I remained silent. I couldn’t keep the hurt from my eyes which Milo quickly noticed. He was hiding something—not just him, but the angels as well.

  “Okay, fine.” His dark expression turned soft. “I’ll answer your question with one condition.”

  “What?”

  “Let me pick you up from school Monday.”

  I hesitated. Milo in Dixon didn’t sound like a good idea especially after what happened at the carnival.

  “Why can’t you tell me now? Is it some sort of angel secret no one can know about?” I frowned. “Did she see you flying around? Stealing chickens from her family’s farm?”

  “He saved my brother’s life,” Angela said as she placed a bowl of soup in front of me. “If it weren’t for Milo, my brother would not be here with us today”—she looked at him appreciatively then rubbed his shoulder—“Es mi angel guardian.”

  Guardian angel.

  When Angela was out of earshot, I asked, “You saved her brother?”

  “It happened a long time ago. It’s not a big deal.”

  “That is a big deal. You saved his life. Not many people get a second chance. How did it happen? Where did it happen?”

  The tension in Milo’s shoulders eased. “Near a river where they were swimming. The tide was too high, it carried her brother away,” he said, his face wrecked as if it happened yesterday. “I visited Angela every other year to make sure her family was okay.”

  The more good I found in Milo, the more my heart melted. Behind the bad boy facade, there was someone who cared for others.

  I looked down at my soup, the infamous Come Back to Life soup that helped with hangovers. It was composed of finely chopped fish cooked in lime, bits of octopus, scallops, and shrimp mixed with pico de gallo, tomato juice, lime, and slices of avocado. I squirmed in my seat at the thought of eating right now, all I wanted to do was puke.

  Taking a spoonful, I tasted the soup, it was cold, spicy but sweet. It actually tasted…good. I took two big bites before my stomach began to rumble. I raced to the bathroom closing the door, then puked my guts out. The nausea eased, relief settling in my stomach. It felt like I’d come back to life. There were individually wrapped toothbrushes inside a cup on the sink—I was glad to know I wasn’t the first to vomit my guts out. I quickly brushed my teeth, went back to my seat and noticed everyone staring and giggling.

  “Better?” Milo asked, a hand over his mouth repressing a smile.

  “Yes, much better.”

  An hour later, Milo pulled to a stop in front of my house. Lucky for me, my mother was outside raking leaves with Isaac when we showed up. She froze when she saw us, I could tell by her rigid posture she was mad.

  “Well, it was nice knowing you. I’m probably going to be grounded for the rest of my life,” I said taking off the helmet.

  Isaac fearlessly ran to the motorcycle and stroked his hand over the handlebars.

  “Cool bike!” he beamed. “Can I get on?”

  “Sure,” Milo said, immediately hitting it off with Isaac.

  When my mother saw Isaac’s interest in Milo, she quickly walked to us. “Isaac get off the motorcycle now!”

  “Why? It’s awesome!”

  Milo noticed how uncomfortable my mother was, so he subtly convinced Isaac it was better he listen to her. “I’ll take you for a ride next time,” Milo promised.

  With that, Isaac left happy.

  Milo focused his attention on my mother, he outstretched his hand to formally introduce himself, but my mother shoved Isaac behind her.

  “I’m Milo,” he said, a non-threatening smile spreading over his face.

  “I know what you are,” my mother said in a cold and harsh tone ignoring the gesture. She eyed Milo judging every inch of his appearance. She grabbed my arm digging her nails into my skin and shoved me toward the entrance I almost burst into tears. “Go inside, Alexis!”

  “You don’t have to that—” Milo tried to interfere.

  “You stay away from my daughter!” she screamed. “I don’t ever want to see you around here again!”

  A guilty expression flicked across Milo’s eyes as he watched me obediently go inside the house. I mouthed I’m sorry before closing the door.

  Through the living room window, I watched as he drove away. When I saw my mother walk toward the house, I ran to my room.

  “Alexis!” I heard her holler.

  My mother’s rushed footsteps neared my door. I sat on my bed…waiting.

  “Who was that?”

  “No one.”

  “You know I hate it when you lie to me,” my mother said pacing back-and-forth. “He’s an angel. You brought an angel to my house! Didn’t you learn anything from your sister?”

  “My car broke down on my way home from Jane’s, he gave me a ride,” I lied.

  She scoffed. She didn’t believe me. “An angel just happened to be in Dixon when your car broke down? Did you do anything with him?” she asked in an accusatory tone.

  “No,” I replied defensively. “I told you, I don’t know him.”

  “You’re grounded. Give me your keys.” My mother extended her hand waiting.

  “But why?” Angry tears pooled in my eyes. I clenched my jaw and pushed her hand away. “No.”

  “Alexis, give me those keys so help me God!” she yelled at me.

  “That’s my car! It’s not fair you’re taking it away over something stupid!”

  Seeing that I wasn’t giving in, my mother rummaged through my dresser. She didn’t know I had my keys in my back pocket. My mother gave up when she didn’t find them.

  “You will give me those keys,” she said in a warning tone. “Or I will send you away to the same place I sent Priscilla. You will never see him again.”

  “You sent Priscilla away?” I asked confused, taken by surprise.

  There was a hint of guilt that crossed my mother’s face. Realizing she’d said too much, she stormed out of my room.

  Where did she send Priscilla? I thought back to the last time I saw my sister. It was the night she came home unusually late and told my mother she was pregnant. I was more confused than ever. Did my sister really run away? Or did my mother send her away?

  CHAPTER

  20

  The text cursor blinked as I stared at the blank document on the computer screen. I’d been sitting in the library for several minutes but couldn’t get a word out. The clock ticked away as I tapped my pencil on the desk. I had an English Lit paper due on the tragic love of Romeo + Juliet, and I’d been slacking all through study period. It was so hard to focus when all I could think about was my sister. I was trying to make sense of what my mother said to me. Saturday evening, after Milo dropped me off, she threatened to send me away to the place she sent Priscilla so I wouldn’t see Milo again. The thought alone formed agonizing and painful lumps in my throat.

  I bent over and stuck one hand inside my backpack. I rummaged through my books until I found the pamphlet the religious girl gave me at Eve’s Paradise. I glanced over the cover. A college-age girl was hugging the statue of an angel. What Does the Bible Say About Interracial Relationships with Fallen A
ngels?

  I opened it, skimming over the introduction.

  Deuteronomy 7:3

  You shall not intermarry with them, giving your daughters to their sons…

  Great, I thought. Already this wasn’t good.

  Interracial relationships with angels are becoming more common today. With the recent law that was passed by Washington D.C., angels and humans can now marry. What does this mean for the fate of our race? What is the true identity of the ‘angels’? Why are they here? Let’s take a look:

  Genesis 6:1-4

  When man began to multiply on the face of the land and daughters were born to them, the sons of God saw that the daughters of man were attractive. And they took as their wives any they chose…The Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also afterward, when the sons of God came in to the daughters of man and they bore children to them.

  The angels who live on Earth today are the sons of God that roamed the Earth during Noah’s time. They fell from grace because they fornicated with the daughters of man. That’s right. Fallen angels. They have come to Earth to wipe out the human race by replacing it with a superior one, the Nephilim, the giants described in the Book of Genesis. This is part of a government-angel agenda to gain power and control over all the nations. Beware of these creatures and their lies. They are excellent tempters of the body who can easily seduce the mind.

  The more I read, the more irritated I became. I thought the angels couldn’t procreate? At least that’s what their spokesperson on the news always claimed. But what if the pamphlet was right? What if the government was hiding something from us? And when did religious pamphlets get political? I flipped the pamphlet around and skimmed through it, down at the bottom of the page there was small text barely visible. It said, Sponsored by the Knights Army.

  Of course.

  I threw the pamphlet on the table and decided to do more research. Where would I begin? Grabbing the keyboard, I typed in Non-serviam. The secret password from Eve’s Paradise. It didn’t take long for the search results to come back. The first were lyrics of a song by a band called Rotting Christ. I scrolled down further until one entry caught my attention: