Saint And Sinners: The King Angel Child of New York

by Tiana Laveen

  “Thank you for taking me on the subway, and the date… It was needed.”

  “I took you on the subway alright,” he joked, drawing a laugh from her. “Actually…” He cleared his throat and coughed, then closed his eyes. “You took me on the subway. Damn, that was incredible. What an epic experience. Let me ask you something.”

  “Yeah?” She looked up at him, her head still planted on his chest.

  “What made you do that? You’re full of surprises, I tell you that much.” He grinned proudly.

  “I’m not really sure.” She nestled against him. “It just…felt right. I just took heed of how I felt at the moment, and…what I wanted was to have sex with you…taste you.” She twirled the fabric of his shirt around her fingers, bunching it just so. “I wanted to touch you where no one else is allowed to, except me. It felt forbidden and dirty, but I didn’t feel ashamed. I just wanted you.”

  “Hmmm, you wanted to touch me where no one else is allowed, except you?” he repeated.

  She answered with a nod.

  “Well then, that’s not just my cock, baby. That’s my heart, too. No other woman has me right here but you, baby.” He tapped his finger against his chest, over his beating core. “…And no one else, ever will…”

  *

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You comin’ or not?” Angel asked.

  Hassani glared at the entrance to the school. The American flag waved to and fro as if telling him to go inside and pushing him away, all at the same time. Yeah, that was how it felt…like being invited to a party then when you arrive, the cutest girl there asks, ‘Why are you here?’

  The school building was large and looming and the place he once had been curious and even excited about now caused him paramount anxiety. The days of the week had been a struggle, like fighting with Day-Day over the iPad. He didn’t quite fit in, didn’t quite belong. This was all new for back home he never had an issue making friends. Sure, there were a few instances with a classmate every now and then, but nothing like this. Matter of fact, other kids looked up to him despite the occasional bully that tried him. These tormenters were different. They were older, stronger, harder and colder; nevertheless, he was hopeful he’d find his groove, but the entire process proved a slippery slope. He could see no valley, ditch or crevice to fall within and hide. He sniffed and wiped his nose with his index finger, while his heart beat a bit faster.

  He looked back up the street. People milled about, drawing closer and pulling away. Where his father’s car had stopped, now another was parked. He took heed that Daddy was long gone. He’d never done such a thing, even considered it. Yet, now here he stood, wanting an out, an escape in the worst way. Yes, he wanted to disappear, and just maybe he could with no one ever finding out. He kicked a tiny, gray speckled pebble around along the uneven concrete. Hassani observed it roll here, there and everywhere. He wished that pebble could be the bullies; he wished that pebble could be his problems too, so he’d be able to beat the daylights out of them until they no longer messed with him!

  “You shouldn’t skip school.” It was the only thing he could think of to say to Angel’s question. His parents’ probable anger would be brutal should they discover the little plan. The prospects of Daddy getting his hands on him, and Mommy too, gave him serious pause and words of caution rang in his ears. He looked up at the boy with eyes welling with sincerity, and hoped that the discussion would then be over.

  Angel laughed coolly and leaned forward, placing one foot on a park bench that fronted the school and his other foot on the cold, hard cement.

  “All damn week, different mothafuckas have been tryin’ you. You’re fresh meat…but they don’t know what I know.” He pointed to himself, like he was smart. Like he was special. “One day, there won’t be nearly a mothafucka alive that will want to deal with you, put you in your place. In the meantime, it’s gonna be hell. People can smell the goodness in you. They will either want to get close to tha shit or destroy it. Either way, they become pests. Now, fuck all that for a minute.” He waved his hand casually, as if swatting a gnat away. “Don’t you want some peace for just a minute or two? You wanna keep fuckin’ around with these pussies or what?!”

  And it had been hell. The second day, it was the same old mess, just with different faces. When he arrived home, he had to hear more stories about how wonderful of a time his little brother was having. Dakarai’s second day was like…better than being locked in a toy store overnight. He was the life of the kindergarten party and had arrived home toting key lime flavored cupcakes and a silky blue ribbon for helping clean up after they’d made macaroni art pictures with Elmers glue and elbow noodles. That stupid picture was hung lopsided on the refrigerator, for the whole family to see. When he went downstairs to get some juice, he thought about tearing it off the plastic green clip and ripping it into little pieces. It would serve Day Day right for showin’ off. Day Day’s life was great while Hassani was covering a reddened bruise on his arm from one of his many altercations at recess.

  Daddy had asked how school was, and he felt so ashamed, for he looked that man dead in the eye and lied with a straight face. Daddy looked at him in that strange way, the face he’d make when he didn’t believe him, but he allowed him to pass through without further questioning. He was relieved because as far as he was concerned, the lies would simply have to keep coming out of his mouth, and he hoped and prayed Daddy wasn’t reading him, trying to break into his thoughts to discover the messed up truth.

  Either way, what could he do? If he went running to Mommy and Daddy, things would be even worse. He’d be coined as a punk, a snitch, a little runt that couldn’t fight his own battles. He already knew innately, practicing any tricks on his enemies would be the wrong move, too. He could feel it in his bones, even despite Daddy’s warnings. Something bad could happen, something much worse than what was currently going on. Daddy had told him that is how most Angel Children felt; they knew the boundaries, a knowledge engraved inside of them, and no one in their right mind wanted to find out what the penalties could be. Regardless, Mommy would go crazy. She was already under his nose so much, he could barely breathe. As soon as he’d come in the house, there she was full of tight, suffocating hugs, not allowing Daddy nor anyone else to get to his room before she unveiled a full line of questioning. Mommy tried to beat him and Dad home and unfortunately, many times she was successful.

  I’ll be glad when her job starts. She’s always in my face now.

  Once he’d get away from Mommy, it would be Dakarai’s turn, his skinny butt standing in the way with his scrawny chest poked out, getting ready to put on a performance. Hassani was ritualistically subjected to Dakarai’s bragging about being the ‘big man on kindergarten campus’, as Daddy would say. The little annoying punk was a New York success; he even had the teachers schmoozed. His little sister wasn’t much better. Everyone spoke about how cute she was—all the time. All Isis did was whine and complain, and he was sick and tired of hearing her squeaky voice. To make matters worse, no matter who did what, even if she was responsible for some mess, Daddy continuously took her side. That pissed him off big time.

  Her favorite pastime really got under his skin—begging. Isis pleaded for food, snacks and sweets from the time she woke in the morning until the moment she was placed in her bed. Hassani had never seen a child eat so much. Oddly enough, she was thin as a rail but had a bit of a rounded gut on her. She reminded him of a stick that had swallowed a beach ball.

  If that wasn’t enough, she always wanted to play dress up and force him to be a part of the nonsense. His brother and sister were no help to him whatsoever. It didn’t matter though; he was the oldest, the one in charge. He had to handle this on his own. The only problem was, the whole damn school was afraid of Angel, but Angel stayed in detention so often, he rarely proved to be of any use as of late, either. People found out rather quickly that Angel had taken up for him, saved his behind, but they also knew that that boy was full of trouble and
could do little to stop Hassani from being shaken down as long as the principal had his foot on the rebellious young man’s back. Hassani couldn’t figure out why Angel couldn’t act right. Why would someone want to be in trouble all the time? Why couldn’t Angel follow the rules and stop making scenes? He needed him for goodness sakes! No one else was protecting him, and he understood what Angel had said was true. People were being drawn to him like a magnet and it no longer mattered why, it made his skin crawl.

  On the bright side, the renegade was now free and handing Hassani a complimentary one-way ticket to Escapeville.

  “You comin’ or not, man?” the older boy asked, repeating his initial question, his upper lip topped with soft, black peachfuzz and his body smelling of strong cologne.

  “Yeah…I’m coming.” Hassani turned on his heels and followed the guy a short distance until they were walking side by side. He had no idea where in the world they were going, but he felt safe with Angel. In spite of that, his stomach curled with anxiousness. He’d never done such a thing, been so disobedient. He hoped and prayed Mommy and Daddy didn’t discover his misdeeds, but…he needed to get away. They’d never understand. Daddy would probably slam everyone to the ground, and Mommy would only treat him like a baby and make a scene at the school.

  Besides, he had questions for Angel, a hell of a lot of questions. Maybe this would be his chance to ask. Angel stopped at a bus stop near what appeared to be a large library and before Hassani knew it, the two were sitting on the hard, navy seats staring out smudged windows with dirty words written in black and red marker across them.

  After about a ten-minute ride, they got off the bus. The doors swooshed open, causing him to squint against the rush of wind. His hair blew around a bit and soon, he was following the bomber coat-wearing guy, who walked like music was playing inside his head but no one else could hear it. Angel had swag…like Daddy. The guy slowed a bit, waiting for him to catch up. Hassani couldn’t help but walk slowly; the sights and sounds took him aback. He moved as if bombs may be underfoot, for when he gazed up into the sky, he felt he might be swallowed.

  Hassani found himself surrounded by tall, gray buildings that appeared lifeless and intimidating. The many windows—tiny, dusty squares—felt like eyes, with their shades half drawn or a dim light peering out from one or two. He looked past the towering places and took a gander at the gray sky once more. It crowded with clouds that looked like they were gathering for a meeting, threatening to rain down on the entire world. The things sucked in smog as if through a pipe, promising to deliver on their threat—spit down a storm that would leave anything in its way soaked to the bone.

  “Let’s go down in the tunnel. It’s ’bout to pour out here, man,” Angel announced, seemingly reading his thoughts.

  “Tunnel?”

  “Yeah, under I-87. I come ova here to think, man. It’s an old train underpass that they don’t use no more. Come on…”

  Hassani followed him under the thing, into what seemed to be another world. A dark world that smelled of wet Earth and rotten, fermenting fruit—a strange combination that made Hassani’s nostrils flare.

  Angel struck a match in the darkness of the passageway. Hassani looked around in amazement and from that little flame, he could almost feel the warmth, as if it had the power of roaring fire. The place glittered like gold; only it was graffiti, shining bright and beautiful. His new friend crouched down a little, trying to block a breeze from stealing his spark. Spray-painted pictures of elaborately drawn naked women, men shooting dice, a moving subway and people dancing lined the place. He traced a segment of the wall with his fingertips, amazed by what he saw. He’d never seen such detail. The darn thing seemed alive, depicting living, breathing people who could speak to him at any moment.

  “What do you call it again? You know, when somebody spray-paints on stuff, public stuff like walls?” Hassani questioned as he looked around in wonder. “Who drew dis?”

  “Taggin’.” Angel finally lit his cigarette but kept the flame alive long after. He set the lit match in a half smashed soda can then rifled through his pocket, his fingers moving about as if something were caught in the folds. “It’s gonna be dark in here. Let me find my lighter before that shit burns out,” he said with the cigarette bouncing between his lips.

  “You too young to smoke.” Hassani glared at him, suddenly seeing an old man trapped inside of a fourteen-year-old’s body. Something about Angel reminded him of his father. He surmised that was what gave him comfort. Or maybe because he stood up for him, garnered respect, or perhaps because the ladies seemed to love him. He had to smile inwardly at that last notion…

  Daddy always had women lookin’ at him. Whenever they went out, ’specially if it was just him and Day-Day. Women would stop what they were doing and point, like he was some superstar. Daddy never seemed to pay it any mind, but Hassani did.

  “I ain’t too young for shit.” Angel grinned as he gripped the newfound red lighter and what appeared to be a stick of incense. He lit it too and placed it in the can before extinguishing the match once and for all with a wad of spit. Hassani could tell by the way the boy moved, this was something he did often. He had even more questions now for Angel. Like, where did he come from?

  “So, little man, you like this taggin’, huh? I bet you could do it, too. You scored high.”

  “What scores?” Hassani glanced at him from over his shoulder, still taking in the pictures on the walls. He turned back to the artwork as he waited for a response.

  “The teachers were talking about you. You’re a natural. I saw your portfolio… snuck in Mrs. Turpin’s room. How long you been drawin’?” Angel blew out rings of smoke. It couldn’t be. A cool chill ran up and down his arms.

  …So much like Daddy…

  Hassani surmised that might have been how his father moved around and acted at such an age…

  “Since I was a little kid.”

  Angel’s face transformed into that of an amused joker on one of Grandma’s playing cards. Only thing missing—the colorful, bouncy hat with the bells ringing on the ends. His face split into a crooked grin, and then it faded, as if he’d given second thought to laughing at such a notion. “You still a little kid, but I get it.”

  “I ain’t little, though.”

  This made the guy laugh so loud, it echoed in the tunnel, causing Hassani’s face to flush in humiliation, an emotion that mixed with a fair share of frustration.

  “I used to be like that too.” The boy plopped down on his black pleather book bag and leaned forward, gripping the cigarette a bit tighter between his two skinny fingers as if he needed a moment to rest. “I wish I had some kush right now, damn.”

  “What’s kush?” Hassani scratched behind his ear and curiously cocked his head to the side.

  “Ahhh shit.” Angel grinned. “You green as fuck, son. They don’t teach y’all shit out in L.A., huh? L.A. got some of the best kush according to my brova, man. Your parents keep you hella sheltered I see, shit. Can’t say I blame ’em though, you got to be protected, as blood rich as you are.”

  Hassani felt as if he were listening to another language being spoken. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the mess, but he didn’t want to appear stupid, too young, or like a mama’s boy. He’d already made an idiot of himself a time or two. He ran his hands up and down his arms when a shudder made comfy in the crossfire of his bones. It was cold down in the tunnel, and his teeth began to chatter, but he didn’t dare complain. He had to prove to Angel he wasn’t no little kid, that he could handle himself.

  “…And you can dance. Someone told me about your audition. Lil’ nigga, you can dance your fuckin’ ass off. Where you learn to move like that, huh?”

  “My daddy…”

  “Yo’ pops can dance, huh?” His brow rose. “You lucky your old man is in your life. Is he the one that drops you off in the morning, in that cool ass silver rocket ass lookin’ Lamborghini?”

  “Yeah…” Hassani gripped his jacket tig
hter around his body. He needed to piss badder than a racehorse, but kept his trap shut.

  “That’s a limited model. There was only like twenty of those motha fuckas made…lucky man. I thought he was the damn butler or something!” Angel cackled. “He just pull up real cool like. He don’t look at nobody directly in the eye ’cept you. I tried to peep him out, but he never glanced in my direction and when he would look head on, he had on sunglasses. You get out, he wave real quick to you, and then he out.” He snapped his fingers.

  “How you know…how you know what I am?” Hassani stuttered over his words, but he felt compelled to move forward—he’d had enough. He wanted Angel to like him; he even enjoyed it a bit when the guy talked about his drawing and dancing, pumping him up, making him feel a tad bit special. But he was feeling cold and uncomfortable, and there were too many troubling things going on—unanswered questions—and he needed a resolution. Now.

  Angel collapsed a bit further onto his book bag, as if he’d been drinking. He seemed to lose his balance when he slumped against the wall, then got into a groove of a position, settling just so. He almost seemed to disappear into the scenery and it grew dark around his frame. Were it not for his vibrant hazel eyes and bright teeth, he may have been eaten by the shadows, and only his voice burped out for Hassani to hear.

  “…I could smell you. We gotta certain scent about us, you know. Yours is strong.”

  Hassani sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  He was certain a cold was coming on. If Mommy got word of that, she’d shove chicken noodle soup down his throat and make him stay in bed all night. He’d rather be in an insane asylum. Mommy was a good mommy but she worried too much. She still treated him like a baby. Yet at times…he was still happy about that. Although he complained, on the worst days it felt kinda good to have her soft body squeezed up to his. Mommy smelled good, and her smile was pretty as California.