and Jeremy was and he thought I was so funny.
We danced and I gave him lots of school advice
like keep your pencils pointy
and ask your teacher how her weekend was.
Then Dad.
Dad was there
and he saw how it was
with all my sugar right there on the table
and he said, what are you doing?
what are you doing?
and I said, I don’t know I don’t know
I’m sorry I’m sorry.
But sorry wasn’t enough for how mad he was
and he yelled until I was too mad to be sorry
and I could see Dad was too sad about Mom
to be sad about me
and I watched his eyes give up as we shouted
until Jeremy cried and I stopped.
Dad watched me pack with given-up eyes
and watched me walk away.
He said, don’t come home till you clean up your act.
Call took me to his apartment.
He said, you can stay as long as you like,
said, you don’t need school.
So I stayed
and I didn’t even know I’d run away.
That was in September.
Now it is May.
I did not know how long it had been
since I came to Call’s place.
He does not have calendars.
I found out when I called to report Serena missing
and the police lady said,
when did you see her last?
I said, last church Wednesday
and she said, May 17 then,
and I said, May?
I said, I would like to report nine months missing
ha ha.
She didn’t laugh,
and I hung up.
In Call’s place the couch’s bones were broken,
its skin covered in scars and sores.
I should have known right away, looking at that couch.
I felt like I’d gone into free fall
and fell all the way down to the bottom
and found a whole place down there.
Call became my pretend first boyfriend
and gave me my first kiss.
I didn’t feel anything, but I let him,
kept thinking, hey, I’m kissing! I’m kissing!
I told him about my Jeremy and that I crazy loved him.
He said, you have a little brother? and he smiled.
I thought, wow, he likes kids.
After a while
Call said, Angel do you love me?
I said yes.
But do you really love me?
And I said yes.
Would you do anything for me?
And I said
yes
yes.
Now I know
in a single breath of yes, yes,
you can hear your soul
leaking out of your mouth.
A yes can change you inside,
make all the rules go sky-why-not . . .
All those clothes and dinners
and all that candy—
Call said, I’m out of cash,
can you help me out?
do you really love me?
At first it was just to be nice to a friend . . .
and then a friend of a friend . . .
As soon as I knew what Call had made me,
the first time a man said in a word what I was
and I couldn’t even say that’s not true—
as soon as that happened
I knew I could not bring that word home
even if I wanted to—
Jeremy and I weren’t even allowed to say stupid
or hate—
my dad would never allow a word like me.
I found out Call’s candy flies you down
tips you inside out
dumps you upside down
flies you through empty space
to the black hole in the middle of you
and you can’t stop
can’t stop
unless you want to vomit up whole planets . . .
I thought I hated my dad—
I thought he was mean,
treating me like a baby,
and I never told him where I was,
never called him
so he would worry.
But I didn’t know what mean was
until I found out the real Call.
That one word yes
gave Call all my words—
he knew when I said yes
that he would have my voice in a bottle,
that no one would hear me
again.
Innocence, that as a veil had shadowed them
from knowing ill, was gone . . .
I woke up in the night
and it was dark and the beginning of my day.
Call said, wake up Angel,
all the other girls are out there earning for their men,
man I wish I had a girl like that,
if only you loved me like that.
I was awake so fast,
looking for my shoes
only ones, no pairs.
My clothes were squashed to one side of the closet—
Call’s clothes took up all the space—
but my shoes covered the closet floor
and hid under the bed
and were piled at the door.
My face was hot
and the rest of me cold
my hips out of joint
my eyeballs filled with acid
and I thought, here I go,
and when Call said, I’ve got candy, good stuff for my girl,
I thought yes
and then I thought about my letter and my vow,
and I said ever so polite, no thank you.
He said, why, because of Serena?
He said, you won’t last long,
you don’t know how bad it can get.
He said, don’t make me wake you up again.
I picked out a pink ballet shoe
and an apple green sandal
and Call said,
I called some of the gentry for a meeting
at All-Night Kayos—they’ve got pork ribs on special
and I’ve got an announcement.
Meet me there after.
I wanted to say
okay okay give me candy,
so I can be floatable while I work,
but I didn’t.
I didn’t.
I went downstairs and through the store,
Slingin’ Ink Tattoo Parlour, to go out.
Tattoo—he’s the owner—
stared after me
wanting to needlework me,
wishing I could be his canvas.
He grabbed my arm, said,
don’t you wanna be my art?
won’t you let me choose?
not just copy some picture off the wall
but something out of my own head?
But Call says I’m supposed to be innocent,
clean baby-girl skin
no makeup
so dates can paste on any face they want
and I can tell new dates it’s my first time
and I am thirteen even though I am sixteen.
Sixteen doesn’t make as much money
as thirteen.
Serena was nineteen,
told dates she was sixteen,
told me she was a hundred down there.
Tattoo whispered to me,
I know what you are,
said, your skin could be the way
they know I’m alive.
I said, I am scared of needles, let go,
but Tattoo squeezed my arm hard, harder—
I remembered Serena’s tip
about staring and saying, angel, angel—
so I did.
I looked past Tattoo
and said, angel, angel,
and he let go
and spun around
thinking it was Call.
It wasn’t Call
and it wasn’t an angel either
but I got away.
Serena would have said, see?
That’s what saying angel does.
I passed the Carnegie library
at the corner of Hastings and Main,
which has a message board
and stained-glass windows,
one of John Milton.
I had never heard of John Milton
until John the john found me
and became one of my regulars.
He gets me to read him paradise lost
by John Milton, book nine, only book nine,
while he does his thing.
Call said, poetry, that is twisted,
but okay because he pays so good.
The pay phone is the border
between Eastside and Chinatown—
I walked past
and just like that
I was in China.
I passed the Jimi Hendrix shrine
fenced in an alley,
fake grass and plastic flowers
and posters of Jimi
and his music playing
and Jimi singing about angels coming down from heaven
and staying for tea and stories—
I thought, that’s what happens
when you start looking for an angel.
I walked to my corner
at the gate of ten thousand happinesses
and I stared at my shoes while I walked,
stared at them walking me there again.
That’s how I get to my corner
at the gate of ten thousand happinesses
every time.
I stood on the kiddie corner
where I always do,
just a line in the sidewalk
between me and the midtrack.
Widow works the midtrack
on the other side of the line.
Widow waits for men
who are not into little girls like me.
She says, at least I’m not a lowtrack girl.
Widow says to me all the time,
I don’t feel anything
care anything
it’s just a big whatever—
I’ve got the menu memorized
makes no nevermind to me
who cares?
But she cares if I cross the line in the sidewalk.
Widow yells at me if I come too close
but she and I talk
on our own sides of the line.
I said to Widow,
do you think an angel really came to Jimi Hendrix?
I heard him singing about it in a song,
an angel coming for tea.
That would be cool if an angel came to me . . .
Widow laughed,
she thinks I am so funny,
laughed and said,
we’re the last ones on earth who would get an angel.
I thought, maybe the last ones on earth
are the ones they come to.
You can think about stuff like that when you’re waiting,
when you don’t work by sun
when you have a little dark to stand in
some moonlight to walk in
ankle deep down the street
so no one sees your mismatched shoes.
When Widow wasn’t looking I leaned back
so my face didn’t go over the line, not my nose or chin,
and I stretched my toe right over her line,
the line between kiddie corner and midtrack.
She didn’t even look at me,
she just knew,
yelled,
you watch out for that toe,
one night I’ll cut it off.
How did she know?
She talks like that, but she watches out for me.
She has always helped me out
just like Serena did
only not as nice.
Two men walked by Widow and said,
I wouldn’t take that for free.
They said, hey ugly,
they said, waste of oxygen that one.
Widow, she stood like a queen,
back straight, chin up, silent,
breathing oxygen,
looking hot.
After the men were gone
I said, Widow, how do you keep your figure?
you look so good . . .
She said, the Jenny Crack diet
and she cracked up.
And then the tourists came out—
Widow calls them hoons—
rich kids, kids with cars
who want to see the poorest postal code in the country.
They threw things at us
bleach
spitballs
eggs.
I said, ignore them, don’t pay attention.
I willed her with my eyes to have dignity.
I said, I’m thinking angel, angel, which has powers.
They won’t touch you.
And they didn’t—everything fell at our feet.
Serena would have said,
see? see?
Widow said to me, you are a freak.
She said, don’t you step over that line.
A van with tinted windows drove by, slowed,
and Widow called, hey Angel! come here!
So I walked toward her and the van moved on.
As soon as it was gone
Widow said, hey, stay on your side of the line,
and I said, but you called me,
and she said, don’t you get into that van
and don’t think I care if you do.
Widow said, I got a bad feeling about that van.
She said, pay attention—
you wanna be the next one to go missing?
Widow said, everyone on the street is saying there’s a killer
but the police say no.
She talked about a Mr. P,
who she has heard whispers about,
and how Mr. P has a van.
It is true girls are missing. That part is true.
Not just Serena.
Widow told me Debra is missing—
she played guitar and piano
and sang like Janis Joplin
and dreamed of going to Nashville.
Dawn is missing—
her father died with his head in her lap when she was five.
Dianne is missing—
she was a nurse’s aide who couldn’t support all her kids
and welfare wouldn’t help
because she had a job and too many kids
because they don’t pay for that many kids.
I said to Widow
Call says in the business
girls go missing all the time
and it doesn’t mean a thing.
They run away or they go to rehab
or they g
o to jail or they get sick—
Widow said, Dianne would have called her kids.
She’s not missing, she’s dead,
someone killed her,
you think about that.
I said, don’t worry, Widow, you are safe with me around.
She said, just because your name is Angel
doesn’t mean angels are real.
She said, I’m an atheist thank God.
I said, Widow maybe you have had a traumatic experience.
She said, I’ll give you a traumatic experience,
said, I bet Angel’s not your real name anyway.
I said, it is hard to believe but try.
I said, Widow what is your real name?
She said, guess.
So I said,
Linda?
Susan?
Debra?
Janice?
Kimberly?
Maxine?
What is it, then?
She said, no, no, no,
and her face turned from mad to sad.
She said,
I don’t remember.
I wish I could remember.
And then she was mad again,
said,
why do all the crazies come here,
you keep your sweet baby face out of my space
or I’ll cut it up for you.
I said to Widow,
Serena told me I was her charm.
She said I had a glow.
Widow said,
that glow is just you going neon on contraband,
and if you were Serena’s charm
where is she now?
I said, Serena will be back.
She wouldn’t go without telling me.
Serena taught me the ropes.
Yeah, Widow said, the ones we hang ourselves with.
Widow said, you think Serena is missing gone
but I say she got a date with Mr. P
and she’s dead gone.
She said, who’s gonna be next?
Someone’s gonna lose the lottery again any day now.
But then Widow got a date and she said to me
before she drove away,
stay off my tar,
and then a car stopped for me.
Shall I to him make known as yet
my change . . . ?
Call says it’s just business
My Book of Life By Angel Page 2