by Tiana Laveen
“Dumbing myself down?” the boy calmed enough to inquire, his eyebrow lifted in confusion.
“Yes, to dumb oneself down, Hassani, means that a person acts less intelligent than they actually are because a person or group they wish to impress appears more receptive to them if they pretend to be something they are not. And before you ask, deplorable means terrible, by the way. Now look,” he said, pointing in the boy’s face. “I’m going to need you to calm down. When I went up there yesterday to pick you up, and I pulled him aside to ask him to come by for a Saturday afternoon meal, didn’t he say he’d come?”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing.
“I have this under control.”
“Like you did at the school when you beat ’im up?!”
Hassani’s bottom lip trembled, putting Saint in complete, utter shock that his son had spoken back to him that way.
That fucking school is doing this shit to him… Welcome home, Saint. Goddamn it!
“Hassani, don’t play with me. Boy, who the hell do you think you’re talkin’ to? I’m the wrong one to try that crap with. You’ve tested the waters; don’t make me prove to you that you’ll drown.” Saint paused all movement as he stared at the boy, no doubt instilling the fear of God within the tiny one’s soul. As predicted, Hassani immediately shrunk away at his father’s words. “Watch your mouth. Just because I encourage you to speak up and share your thoughts doesn’t give you the right to be disrespectful. You can’t talk to me like you talk to your little friends…got me soundin’ like your mother now! I already told you after we got home that I should not have handled it that way. I was man enough to admit that, but I was angry, and I had a right to be! You were skipping school!”
Hassani hung his head and crossed his arms, pouting.
“Get out of here and get dressed, boy.”
Saint ran his hand affectionately over his son’s hair, patted him on his butt and pushed him in the direction of his bedroom door. His son walked out, slumped shoulders and all. Seconds later, Dakarai burst through the room, his orange and white Polo shirt buttoned incorrectly. He wagged his tongue, all red from devouring a piece of candy.
“Some boy downstairs!” he said loudly, as if yelling were necessary.
“Okay, thanks, Dakarai. Come here, let me fix your shirt.”
His son approached him, standing tall, his arms pressed firmly to his sides and his chin held high, as if he were in the military. Saint smirked as he re-fastened the boy’s buttons.
“Where’s your mother at?”
“Down there talkin’ to him. He look cool. Is that ’Sani friend?”
“Yes.”
“Want me to read his mind?”
“Absolutely not.” Saint didn’t make direct eye contact with the boy, but he knew the little mischievous one was staring at him.
“I was just playin’, Daddy.” The boy smirked, showing a missing front tooth, recently fallen out. Saint pinched his cheek.
“Yeah, go on downstairs and help your mother. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Okay!” Dakarai ran back out the door as fast as he’d come in.
Saint sat on the bed, thinking. He leaned forward, catching his reflection in the vanity mirror. A part of him still didn’t want Angel around. He resented the little street slick fucker. He was a damn thug! Who’d want that sort of influence around their seed?! On the other hand, he could see in his eyes that he genuinely cared about Hassani—the boy was already attached to him, and Bomb had made it loud and clear to him how that happens and why. Angel simply couldn’t help himself, and just like he had been completely enamored with Bomb, Hassani was reflecting his past right back in his damn face. The past and present had connected, crossing over one another like railroad tracks, replaying the tattered tapes of time.
It’s my pride…it’s my damn pride.
Saint ran his hand roughly over his face, his shoulders slumped. There was no room for his ego in this equation. He wanted Hassani to come to him, and him alone, for all of his needs, but it simply wasn’t possible. At the same time, he realized who Angel was, and denying his child that opportunity would be selfish on his part. Not only that, it could possibly have devastating effects. He had to extend the olive branch, lay his cards out on the table. The boy was now fourteen but, in some ways, going on sixty. Saint had been fascinated yet simultaneously perplexed by the young man until his meeting with Bomb… Then it all became crystal clear…
History was repeating itself, only this time, he had to trust that the story would unfold in a glorious manner, for though Angel had come aboard his ship helping steer the vessel, Saint was running this shit. This was HIS child, no one else’s, and he was STILL in charge and if you didn’t know, you better ask somebody…
*
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it!” Xenia smiled proudly as she bounced Isis on her knee and stared at the young man sitting across from her, laying it on thick.
“Yes, it was delicious, Mrs. Aknaten. You are the best cook!” Angel grinned even wider, twirling a toothpick out the side of his crooked mouth while his hazel eyes gleamed like the ass on a lightning bug. Saint scratched under his nose, leaned a bit to the side and propped his elbow on the table, keeping his head up as he twisted his lips in disbelief. He was watching the choreographed action unfold while Hassani’s gullible behind sat there starry eyed and awestruck, offering Angel nervous giggles, obviously elated that the boy was really there, breaking bread at their table.
“’Sani said you gotta tattoo. How you get uh tattoo?” Dakarai asked around a mouthful of bread, his jaws stuffed like a chipmunk’s. “Mama said we gotta be eighteen tuh get tattoos. You isn’t eighteen. How’d you do that?”
Saint shot Dakarai a glance, but the little trickster paid him no attention. Dakarai’s latest obsession was tattoos, and he’d asked several times to receive one, stating he didn’t even cry the last time he got a shot at the doctor office…as if this suddenly made him eligible to be inked.
“Shut up, Day-Day!” Hassani hissed between gnashed teeth.
Angel kept quiet, simply offering the little boy a coy smirk as he gripped his toothpick between his digits and twirled it around like a ballerina between his lips.
“And on that note,” Xenia interjected as she glared at Saint, “I think we will leave Daddy, Hassani and Angel alone. Come on, Dakarai.” She rose from her seat, Isis in tow.
“Awwww!” the boy protested, crossing his arms as if that would make him adhere to the table, unable to be removed even by force. “Do I have to go, ’Sani?” Dakarai pleaded, knowing if he got permission from his big brother, he’d be in like Flynn.
“Yup. Get out.”
“Awwww! Mama!” Dakarai objected, but it landed on deaf ears.
“Again, it was nice meeting you, Angel.” Xenia reached over the table and extended her hand to the boy. Saint didn’t miss how the little hormonally imbalanced pervert immediately took a gander at her breasts, nicely showcased in her teal colored dress. The top was A-lined; cupping her tits like two scoops of caramel ice cream and it was more than apparent, Angel rather enjoyed banana splits… Xenia couldn’t help that she was well endowed and blessed in that area. She wasn’t dressed inappropriately, the girls simply refused to be completely hidden, but Angel had gone too damn far—Thelma and Louise existed for Saint’s eyes only.
“The pleasure was all mine,” he said, rising to his feet and gripping her fingers as if they were delicate rose petals—like he’d just been ripped from the pages of Snow White.
He invaded Angel’s privacy and seeped into his thoughts…
Damn, Hassani’s mama is MILF. She look good as hell. If I was a bit older, I’d try to get on that…
Saint was livid and amused all at the same time.
This ain’t no fairytale, you measly punk. You ain’t no damn prince! Who the fuck does he think he is? George Clooney? Ain’t this some shit. Yeah, go on, Xenia. I need to talk to this little son of a bitch…
Soon, the room was clear, minus Hassani and Angel, who sat there quietly as if they’d just arrived at church for a funeral.
“So…” Saint began. “Let’s have a man-to-man talk, Angel, now that you’ve been fed well, and got to ogle my wife’s breasts. Did you enjoy the scenery?” He smirked.
“Daaaaad!” Hassani’s eyes grew to the size of tennis balls, looking as if they’d burst right out of his head into the hands of Venus and Serena Williams.
Match! Set!
All this did was cause Angel to lean back in his seat, put his fist up to his mouth and obnoxiously laugh in that all-too-familiar way teenagers do…
Saint grinned, then cracked up laughing, too. He casually slapped his thigh and sighed.
“Yeah, it’s funny right? Well.” He looked out the dining room towards the den, then back at Angel. “It’s all pretty funny until someone gets hurt. Would you like to get hurt, Angel?”
The laughter came to an abrupt end.
“Look, Angel,” Saint said calmly as he leaned forward and stared at him, not batting an eye. “It’s just a matter of respect, okay? This is my house, my castle. I know you aren’t blind but you got caught slippin’. Never let a man catch you lookin’ at his woman’s assets. You aren’t as smooth as you think you are. You young boys don’t know how to handle your shit.”
Angel’s lips parted but nothing came out. He’d swallowed whatever smart comment he wanted to come back with, yet Saint realized at that point he wasn’t as dumb as he looked.
“Let me show you how to do this shit right, okay?” Saint got to his feet. He reached over and plucked out two apples from a wooden bowl set in the middle of the long table.
“Huh?” Angel questioned, his brow arching in confusion. “Do what right?”
“Hassani, hold an apple in each hand, lift your arms up a bit and bring your palms together.”
“Awww Dad! I don’t wanna do this!”
“Do it! You’re lucky I am not making you model the damn things. Now do as I said!” Saint snapped, while Angel stifled a laugh. Hassani begrudgingly did as he was told, looking as if he were wearing a bra made of the red, delicious fruit.
“Okay, now look at the apples the same way you were looking at my wife’s breasts.”
Angel gulped, suddenly turning red.
“What’s wrong? You didn’t mind doing it just a second ago. What’s changed? Go ’head now, pretend they are a pair of breasts that belong to my wife,” Saint instructed sharply, pointing at the damn things.
“Daddy, please stop talking about Mommy’s breasts! Please!” Hassani’s voice cracked with anxiety. The apples shook in his tiny hands while he held them up as if in archery class, and though Saint found the whole damn thing hilarious, for the sake of his child’s peace of mind, he backed off a bit.
“Okay. Angel, just pretend they are breasts on any pretty girl you may see.”
Angel gulped, and barely nodded in understanding as he looked at Hassani’s hands.
“See, you did it all wrong again. What you should have done is look into Hassani’s eyes, then within a blink of your eyes, without moving your head, glanced down and went right…back…up to his eyes! Like this, now watch.”
Saint looked at Hassani and began to talk in a real smooth voice. “How are you doing today, Hassani?”
“All…alright,” Hassani said timidly, the apples still shaking in his trembling hands.
“…And now I’m done. My son didn’t even see me look down at those damn apples, but I did—twice to be exact!” He pointed to Hassani. “It was so fast, so suave, no one was the wiser. How can I trust you to look after my damn seed when you can’t even check out some goddamn tits without getting busted?!”
Angel’s face morphed into something Saint had never seen before. If he had to guess, it looked like a combination of anger and admiration.
“You tha mothafuckin’ man!” the boy finally blurted.
“Stop cursing in my goddamn house! I’m the only curser up in this mothafucka! Now sit your narrow, street crawlin’, train hoppin’, ganja smokin’, young hoe in training tappin’ ass down. We have business to discuss!”
Saint took his seat and Angel eagerly followed suit, while Hassani sat between them, still holding tight to the apples.
“Hassani, you can set those down,” Saint said in almost a whisper as he smiled at his son.
Hassani leaned over and placed them gingerly on the table, his lips shuddering as if he was chewing on a piece of lard.
“Hassani, I wish to have a word with your friend. If you even look like you are going to interrupt, we will have this discussion elsewhere, without you being privy to it. In other words, keep quiet. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Sir.” Sulking, Hassani sat back in his seat, his head lowered like a droopy cherry hanging from a stem.
“Now look.” Saint clasped his hands and leaned forward. “I invited you here to let you know that despite how this upsets me, I know my son needs you.” He placed his hand on Hassani’s shoulder. “I know what you are; I know what you’ve been doing. I know every damn thing about you…and don’t you forget it. Despite that, I also understand that you care about my son and that you ran away from him because you were afraid of me. You were afraid I’d hurt you.”
“I ain’t afraid of nobody and—”
“Save it.” Saint briefly closed his eyes and put his hand up as if completely exhausted. “Angel, you can’t mind fuck a mind fucker and you are far too young to try to play with the big dogs right now. Let’s not waste each other’s time. You’re not on my level, and that’s not an insult because only punks feel the need to degrade a child. I am simply saying that you are a baby in my eyes, and until you earn your dues, there is nothing you can formulate in that head of yours, then utter, that would remotely strike me as factual unless it actually is. Now are you ready to be real with me or not?”
Angel huffed, leaned back in his chair and gripped the arm, lost in his own deliberations. Finally, a smile creased his face. Well, more of a smirk.
“Yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m ready, man.”
“I’m ready, Saint, or Dr. Aknaten. I’m not ya man,” Saint reprimanded.
The boy sighed and threw his head back in exasperation. “Yes, I’m ready, Saint.”
“Good. Now, first things first.” Saint clicked his tongue against his inner jaw and shook his wrist, causing his Rolex to slightly spin. He grabbed hold of it and readjusted it as he continued to speak. “As guardian of my son, you are now accepted into this family. You don’t have a father, and I know you don’t like me because I expect you to conduct yourself a certain way and no one has ever cared enough about you to make you follow rules. All of that is neither here nor there. This is the situation we have, and it’s settled. With that said, I understand that, at times, me interjecting could pose a conflict of interest; therefore, I cannot offer to adopt you, or anything of that nature. You have to stay your path, and I have to stay mine. Regardless, if you need something, you come to me, do you understand?” Saint pointed to himself.
“Yes…”
“Fine. Next issue. I understand that you smoke a bunch of illegal shit, not including the cigarettes. That will need to stop. No Angel Child Guardian of my son will be high. It impairs you to the point where someone can do something to Hassani while you are under the influence. You are either in or out, okay? You want to watch over him, but now, you need to watch over him. Treat him as you treat your younger brother, only not under the influence.”
“What?! You trippin’, man! I mean, Saint. I can’t stop smoking! It’s the only thing that calms me down and it’s my inspiration for my art!”
“Really? How would you feel if years from now, you happened to be high, Angel—even more invested in your habit—and someone stabbed Hassani in the chest, because you were off doing your thing? How would it make you feel that, because you were somewhere getting lit, the person the Creator assigned to you to govern had been injured,
or worse off, killed due to your neglect and addiction. I’m realistic about this. I know people will be gunning for my son, especially once he gets older!” He quickly glanced at Hassani, then back towards Angel.
“Angel, you are at an advantage. You, too, are an Angel Child. My Guardian was not. He was not able to sniff out trouble the same way you can, but he was pretty damn observant, all the same. I ended up getting fucked up, fucked over and fucked around, and do you know why?”
Angel hesitated than shook his head.
“Because my Guardian, a damn good one too up until that point, was high as a damn kite more times than not. He lost track of me, and all sorts of bad shit began to happen after that. On top of that, I found out that to this day, he has a terrible hole in his heart now, one that I cannot repair! He has everlasting guilt! I don’t want you to end up that way. He has it, because I was out in the open, vulnerable. I don’t know if you are aware of this or not, Angel—especially since I had to do a little Q&A with my clique to educate myself on the matter—but once a multi-tiered Angel Child lays eyes on his or her Guardian, and that Guardian lays eyes on them, and they accept their relationship and wish to cultivate it, that’s for life. It is binding, like a blood bond. The only time that changes is if the Guardian dies.
“So that means, since you two chose each other, if you both decide to move forward—which it is obvious you both desire that or you would not have accepted my lunch invitation—word is bond. I am going to keep it one hundred with you.” Saint slapped the table as he gritted his teeth. “You are not the type of person I would have chosen for my child, Angel.”
“Really?” The boy laughed lightly. He turned away nonchalantly then faced Saint once again, his eyes hooded and his head cocked to the side. “And here I thought I was your favorite person in the whole, wide world.”
Saint ignored his smart-ass comment and continued on. “You have a lot of problems, but you also have a lot of potential. You are hardheaded, flippant, defiant, manipulative and angry. Your anger is misplaced, but I understand it and you have a right to feel that way. You’ve been through the shit nightmares are made of, so please understand I’m not judging you for that. You are also getting into trouble though, messing yourself up early. You’re acting out, because no one acted in your favor. If you get a record, they will throw you in jail; worse yet, prison.