Saint And Sinners: The King Angel Child of New York

by Tiana Laveen

  “Yeah! White boy!” the cookie faced boy exclaimed with the same excitement.

  “What old piece of shit is that you listenin’ to?” He snatched the ear pod off Todd’s ears, causing the boy to rub his reddened lobes. Frederick put it up to his own ears, and took a listen.

  “Oh, this some olllld shit! I heard this before!” He grinned. “I usually don’t deal with ancient pieces of equipment, but I’ll take this anyway. I kinda like this song.” He snatched the CD player out of Todd’s hands. The darn kid looked like he was about to cry.

  “That…that’s not mine. It’s his.” He pointed in Hassani’s direction. “You should give it back.” It was evident by Todd’s shaky voice, he was scared as hell. This time, however, Hassani, wasn’t.

  “Give me my shit,” Hassani said calmly, holding his hand out. Waiting.

  The moon-faced boy burst out laughing.

  “I ain’t giving you nothin’. Angel ain’t around here to protect your pussy ass and word has it, he ain’t even checkin’ for you no more.” Frederick pushed past Todd, almost knocking him down, and shoved his chest into Hassani’s. A strong, funny looking dude, Frederick was taller, with a reputation to mess someone up. Hassani recalled his punch all too well, but this time, he wasn’t backing down. Angel or not, there would not be a second time.

  “I said,”—Hassani gritted his teeth—“gimme my shit!”

  “You spit on me, man!” Frederick handed the moon-faced boy the stolen music player. “That’s yo’ ass!” He shoved his finger into Hassani’s nose and pushed him.

  “I’m getting the teacher!” Todd said, making to run away, almost tripping over his feet.

  “The doors are locked now, stupid!” The cookie-faced boy cackled as Todd ran around helplessly, trying to find an adult, hell, even another child that would assist. Once people saw Frederick, though, no peer was willing to assist and no teacher happened within sight.

  “Don’t touch me again!”

  And that was it. Frederick hauled back and landed a ferocious punch dead in the middle of Hassani’s face, forcing him to fall back. He tasted the blood gushing from his nose, over his lips. Before he could stop it, his eyes started to burn, his muscles tensed—yet all of this was for Todd, not for himself. He heard the boy cry out when the moon-faced boy grabbed him by the jacket, pushed him to the ground, and kicked him in the gut. Hassani held his nose, the warm blood now running all over his fingers. From Frederick’s expression, he realized he’d lost control.

  “What…what’s going on wit’ your eyes, man?” he asked cautiously, taking a few steps back.

  Hassani felt warm tears running out of his tear ducts. Embarrassed and humiliated, his anger level had never been so high in his lifetime. He stumbled to his feet, let his bleeding nose go. He took a few deep breaths, forcing the redness in his irises to subside. Then, he raised his fist and punched Frederick as hard as he could—right in the nose, too, forcing the boy to fall down in pain, writhing and twisting against the dirty pavement.

  “Now you know how it feels!” Hassani seethed, pointing down at the jerk. “That’s what you get! I told you to give me my shit back!” Hassani was now crying uncontrollably, shivering, shaking like a leaf as the realization of what really happened became painfully clear. He’d never been in a physical fight before, except for with Day-Day, but that didn’t count. His adrenaline was rushing out of control and his heart beat so fast, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he passed out.

  Frederick screamed out, cursing, wailing, while blood gushed all over his ugly face. Getting a hold of himself, Hassani raced over to Todd. By now, a crowd had formed, and in customary fashion, just as Angel had warned, no one lifted one finger to assist. Feeling a surge of energy, he singlehandedly plucked the moon faced boy off his friend like a piece of lint on a sweater. He hadn’t even noticed how he’d cast him several feet away, causing people to scream in wonder as the guy landed on his side, moaning and declaring his arm was broken.

  “You okay?” He reached down and helped Todd to his feet.

  “Yeah…but you don’t look so good.” The shaken up boy handed him his CD player back, now with a fresh scratch on the cover, thanks to Mr. Cookie.

  “I’ll be okay, I just—”

  “Hassani!” He heard his mother scream out before bursting through the crowd like a football player. “Oh my God, Hassani! What in the world! A fight?! Oh my God!” Grabbing him by the shoulders, she carted him away as if he were being chased by the paparazzi. Hassani looked down at the black-top covered ground as they made their journey to the parked car. The blood continued to drip from his nose, leaving a trail of dime-sized red pools with each rocky step he took. The sweet smell of his mother’s perfume gave him peace, a sense of comfort. His face didn’t hurt as much now, and nothing really mattered at that moment. All the sounds around him began to subside—the kids’ voices, the cars driving past, and he couldn’t help but smile. Yeah, today had been a good day…

  *

  Chapter Twenty-One

  With the oyster-colored sheets wrapped around his naked form, Saint heaved in exhaustion. He leaned over, strained and groaned as he grasped his cell phone. He looked at the time, squinting in the darkness as his eyes adjusted. Frowning in frustration, he tossed the phone on the bed. It was four in the morning in L.A. The house was now almost completely empty, minus a chair or two. He didn’t fathom how depressed he’d feel in the place once it was gutted like a fresh fish.

  He’d walked in each room over and over again, worn memories playing out like old records, skipping and repeating on his favorite parts. The red room looked so bare devoid of its chains, ointments and swings, and now, only the crimson and black walls remained as a reminder of what once had been. He couldn’t let the place go just yet, hadn’t even put it on the market. For some reason, he oftentimes formed unhealthy attachments to cars and places of residence. He shrugged his shoulders and sighed with exhaustion. In five hours, he’d be back at the airport, returning to New York.

  Staring at the floor, he fell into a series of discombobulated musings. The shit wasn’t just a dream; he’d really done it. He rubbed his eye and reached down, grasping the letter in his hand. Turning the lamp on, he skimmed it, his heart racing as his emotions rocked the boat inside him, causing him to clutch the covers and dig his heels into the damn mattress. His entire body felt as if being slowly tortured by some invisible force. He needed to talk to her and prayed she was awake, or at least would hear his call. She’d had a hard day, and maybe she was even pissed at him. When she’d called him from the hospital saying Hassani had gotten into a fight, his first question was, ‘Did he win?’ This sent Xenia over the edge. Hassani’s nose wasn’t broken per se, but there was a small fracture the doctor said would heal on its own. In the interim, their son was given pain medication.

  He asked to speak to Hassani, and found out he not only beat up one boy, but two, and he’d protected another kid in the process. Saint was damn proud of him. Sooner than later, this had to happen. Hassani was going to get into it with someone, and he wouldn’t be able to back down. Though he’d told his son he didn’t want him fighting, sometimes a boy had to do what a boy had to do.

  Xenia snatched the phone away once she realized the two were laughing and joking about the matter. He tried to explain to the woman that Hassani was going to have to pay his dues, told her straight out that he was damn proud of their son. With that, he was met with the dial tone. He knew Xenia wouldn’t understand. How could she? She was Hassani’s mother, and seeing her son’s face covered in blood was not exactly how she preferred to end her afternoon. Regardless, he needed to speak to her.

  He dialed the number…waiting…waiting…waiting…

  “Hello?” came the sleepy voice, enclosed in a sleepy blanket of rasp.

  “Xenia, I’m sorry to wake you, baby.”

  “Mmmmm,” she moaned. He soon heard what sounded like her moving around, tossing and turning, trying to get her brain into focus. “Y
ou okay, Saint?” She yawned, a sound followed by the rustle of sheets.

  “I’m not really sure… I don’t know.” He gripped the letter a bit harder, accidentally wrinkling it on one side.

  “What’s wrong? Mmmmm…” she said sleepily.

  “Well, because of what happened with Hassani earlier, I didn’t have an opportunity to tell you what happened with me today. I uh, met with Roman today. Remember Roman? The cop that had come to our house to tell me the charges against me had been dropped?”

  “Oh yeah.” She yawned again. “How is he doing?”

  “He is doing really well, actually.” Saint ran his finger under his nose and sniffed. “So I invited him, you know, asked him to come to New York.”

  “Really? I’m surprised about that.”

  “Yeah, I can get into the reasoning later. But, in that conversation, we got to talking about what I do, my philosophies, things of that nature.”

  “Mmmm hmmmm.” She swallowed. “And how did he take that?”

  “I mean, at first, you know…” He leaned against the headboard and stared up at the ceiling, placing one arm behind his head. “He got defensive, but he wasn’t rude or anything like that. I was straight with him. I figured there was no need to play games, pretend or anything. He’d find out the truth soon enough, and I’m not ashamed of what I profess. I believe it all from the bottom of my heart.”

  “…I know you do, baby.”

  “So yeah, I told him the truth and we discussed it, talked it over. He understands where I’m coming from and respects me, that’s what’s most important. And I respect him, too. But…the conversation was draining.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it caused me to think about my past again, Xenia, and how that relates to our children, specifically Isis. Baby, something has been heavy on my mind and my heart, and…when I got back to the house, I wrote it all out. I grabbed a pen and frantically let my thoughts flow. I didn’t want to do it on the computer, type it out. I wanted to put in the work. A strange feeling… Anyway, it was so sporadic, that when I feel asleep, I thought I had dreamt the whole thing up, but I didn’t. It’s right here.”

  “Honey, I’m not following you. What did you write?”

  “…I wrote a love letter to Isis, Xenia.”

  A long silence followed, one that made him feel as if he was falling in a soft world, in slow motion.

  “I can hear in your voice that you’re upset.”

  “I’m not upset, Xenia… I’m just, shit…” He ran a hand over his face. “I’m sad right now. It’ll pass; it’s just the mood I’m currently in.” He slumped down onto the bed. “I know I can’t change my past. We’ve discussed this before but now that I have a daughter, it makes me feel responsible in some way for all the other little girls out there, gettin’ played.”

  “Hmmm, I understand that. You aren’t responsible, though. You made some choices that at the time weren’t the best, but we all mess up, Saint. The most important thing is that you learned from it and you try to help others prevent those same pitfalls. Without your former self, you wouldn’t be who you are today. Did you…want to read it to me? The letter?”

  “Well, yeah, but I know you’re sleepy, you probably don’t—”

  “Boy if you don’t read me that damn letter!” Xenia chuckled. “You know that’s why you called and woke me up. Stop playing on the phone.”

  Saint laughed lightly and opened the damn thing up. “Okay, okay…” He took a deep breath. “Here it goes…”

  To my Dearest Isis Ming Jae Aknaten,

  By the time you read this letter, you will be thirteen. I felt that was a good age to give this to you for a number of reasons that I hope will become apparent as you continue to read this. Maybe I’ll change my mind and give it to at twelve, or wait until you are sixteen, I’m not certain. It will depend on what is happening in your life and I guess it is silly in retrospect to prescribe a specific age. I’ve never done that with your brothers regarding certain information and I shouldn’t do it with you, either. This is hand written, so I can’t delete that, Princess. I’ll just have to leave it in there but you will get this letter when you need it most. Yeah, I think that’s better…

  Even though you are only three right now, I have no doubt you’re growing into an intelligent, vibrant and beautiful young lady. Yes, you are three years old and this is when I’ve decided to write this. I wish I could freeze each year of your life and make it double, but I can’t. You have to grow, get stronger and wiser, and who am I to try and disturb that process? You’ll always be my baby though, just like your brothers. All three of you are my babies, and I don’t have enough words in the world to describe just how much I love you. Of course your mother would probably disagree with that; she thinks I’m always popping off at the mouth, but I am really at a loss for the right vocabulary when it comes to you.

  At Xenia’s giggle, he paused and grinned, then continued to read the letter.

  Anyway, I felt the need to write you this letter because one of my missions as a parent, Isis, is to be forthcoming with my children. I wish to be honest, even regarding the topics some may feel are not appropriate to discuss with children. I can’t worry about what other parents are doing or thinking of me and the way I raise my children. I can only worry about making sure you three get the best from me. With that said, you know by now that your father is crazy.

  This time, Xenia burst out laughing, full on.

  “I’m sorry! Saint, you are a mess. You can’t even write a love letter to the girl without acting like a nut…too funny.”

  He chuckled in response and continued.

  I can’t help that though, Princess, but I can tell you I am truly crazy about you! There is not much that makes me squeamish or bat an eye, but if it pertains to my little girl, I do get a little nervous about the idea of having certain discussions with you. I know it may sound sexist, but with you, Isis, I take special pride. Your brothers will have a different experience as they navigate this thing we call life. Some of your occurrences will overlap; some will be unique, specifically designed for you.

  By the time you read this, we would have already discussed sex, sexuality, and intimacy responsibility as it pertains to your development from a girl into a young lady. You more than likely will talk to your mom more about the later, and I’d expect that, but you can come to me, too. I won’t be hurt if you don’t want to though. I realize daughters don’t necessarily want to discuss their body with their father; it may feel creepy to you so please don’t feel as if I am trying to make you do something you are uncomfortable with. I’m just letting you know I’m here, should you need me…”

  “I drew a smiley face right there, Xenia.”

  She laughed lightly. “…And I’m certain your prediction is probably right. Keep going, I’m listening…”

  “Okay…where was I? Oh yes…”

  You will need someone to talk to though, regardless, so I encourage you to speak to your mother or another professional adult who is educated in the matter. Isis, you need to confide in someone if you don’t choose to do so with me because in this world we live in today, it could be life and death. Speaking of life, the day you entered mine, I was forever changed. You will never understand, baby girl, what that feels like until you have your own children. The day you were born, I experienced emotions I didn’t even know I had. You were planned, Isis. I won’t disgust you by getting into the personal specifics regarding the matter—as candid as I am, I’m certain you wish to be spared the details—but please trust and believe, it was turned into an event. You did not come here by mistake. Your mother and I wanted you so badly and when I confirmed that you were a girl, she was unbelievably ecstatic. She’d wanted a little girl since we first started our family, Isis. I cannot tell you how much of a gift you are to her, and to me, as well.

  When I held you the first time in my arms, I died and was resurrected. You literally took my damn breath away, Princess. I looked into your eyes, and saw
a reflection of myself. You have your mother’s lips, but the rest of your face is all mine. I remember being surprised at how pale you were. Your skin is more like your grandmother’s, my late mother that you didn’t have the pleasure to meet—but I found you gorgeous, heaven sent. Now that you’re three, you have a slight tan with a golden hue, but you’re still light, bright and damn near white.

  “She is not, Saint!” Xenia protested merrily. “You are the opposite of color-struck; I don’t even know what to call it, what term that would be. I thought you were better than this! I’ve never heard you say something like that before,” she quipped.

  “I am not color struck! You know I have nothing against light-complexioned women. I dated plenty of them, I think they’re just as beautiful as dark-skinned women and you’re a perfect example. You’re not dark skinned, Xenia, so I resent that accusation.” He chuckled.

  “Mmmmm hmmmm! Talking about that baby like that!”

  “Xenia, you know it’s true!”

  “And she looks more like me than you… I see how you tried to slide that in, try to claim her under false pretenses. She looks exactly like her mama.” He could almost envision the woman rolling her eyes as she stated her case. Saint knew it was true, but the girl still had his eyes and he refused to give Xenia the satisfaction of agreeing with her…

  Smiling, he kept on reading…

  When you were born, you had a head full of soft black hair, and it was sweet smelling in a way I can’t describe. I’d run my fingers over your delicate face, feel those delicate, loose curls against my fingers. You were so mild, so beautiful, and so pure. You looked like a perfect little doll baby, as your mother called you. I could see Africa in your face, Isis. I could see Korea in your eyes. And I could see Egypt in your prowess. Speaking of Egypt, by the time you receive this, that situation would have been discussed with you and resolved, as well as the situation surrounding that whole ordeal, stated in a way that you can understand. That was one of the worst times of my and your mother’s life, because one of the best things that ever happened to us—you—was being challenged in one of the cruelest ways possible.