Saint And Sinners (47 page)

“What’s your name?”

“…Angel,” he said in almost a whisper.

“Don’t be afraid…” Saint attempted to soothe the situation. There was no way the boy
would offer the truth if he kept coming at him like that, like a ram ready to impale
him and throw his shredded remains in the nearest garbage bin. “I’m just upset that
you’ve been asking my child to play hooky with you…and I want to know why.”

“’Cause he needed it, dat’s why,” the boy snapped, sounding suddenly indignant. “People
are coming for him, messing with him. He didn’t want you and his mama to come up here
and embarrass him…you gotta remember how that is.”

Suddenly, Saint’s chest flooded with pain. He gritted through it, knowing it was emotional,
knowing he was reading the little guy…

So much pain…so much similarity…so much truth.

In that moment, that boy reminded him so much of Bomb. He shot Hassani a look. His
eldest stood there with a quivering bottom lip, silent tears streaming down his face
leaving a satiny finish in their wake.

“…Yeah, I remember how that was. But skipping school isn’t the answer, Angel. I saw
your drawings by the way.”

A brief silence ensued as the boy seemed to size him up, confusion reigning supreme.

“You went down to the tunnel?” he asked hesitantly.

“No.” Saint smirked and tapped his temple. “I saw it in my mind. You’re good, damn
good. You’re wasting away, you know that? All that talent…you need to do something
positive with it.”

The boy looked away, blushing a bit.

“Angel.” Saint looked over his shoulder, noting the fact most of the students were
gone. “No one picks you up.”

“Nah.” He shook his head, keeping his voice and head low as he kicked the ground with
his sneakers. “I take the subway home. My little brother goes to a special program
after school, so a bus comes and picks him up and some other kids, and takes them
over to the center and then home.”

“I’m sorry about your parents, Angel. Just because they gave up doesn’t mean you should.”

The boy’s mouth opened and he suddenly looked up into Saint’s eyes. He clearly wanted
to ask something, say a thing or two, but then he retreated back into himself and
looked away again.

He is completely open. He wants me to read him. He wants me to see it. He wants my
help…

“Look, tonight isn’t ideal, but what about in the next few days you come over to our
house for dinner, okay? I can pick you up after school and—”

“I ain’t no charity case!” he blurted, rage in his tone. He took a few steps back,
giving a safe distance lest Saint decide to physically attack at such a declaration.
“I don’t need your goddamn help. I was tryna help yo’ little bitch ass son!” He pointed
to Hassani angrily, popping his collar, a slight smirk on his face. Hassani’s mouth
dropped open, as if he wanted to scream and holler, but nothing came out except the
silent roar of hurt and astonishment. He recoiled into Saint’s leg, gripping the material
of his pants in a tight grip and sobbed even louder now, leaving a trail of wetness
against his knee.

“I was tryna help him! You think you better than me, than everybody, ’cause you multi-tiered,
huh? Well you ain’t! I ain’t scared of you!” He took more steps back as he continued
to talk shit. He stumbled, almost fell.

Saint didn’t feel angry—only pity for the boy. This was how Angel had trained himself,
to protect his heart. So many times he’d trusted adults, only to discover they really
didn’t give a damn about him, didn’t want him and rarely even saw him. He was done
with that, but a small part of him still wanted to believe Saint was different, yet
this overwhelmed him. He was so damaged, Saint felt like he may never even have the
chance to help restore his faith…make him whole again.

“I’m out, man! You ain’t got to worry about me talking to your little man again or
tryna lure him away from this lame ass school.”

“That’s good to know, Angel. Regardless, this is
my
son, and I needed you to respect that. Try to calm down so that—”

“He
couldn’t
come to you, so he came to
me
.” Angel cut him off, stabbed himself in the chest with his fingertip as he made his
point. The boy held his head high despite his rapidly pounding heartbeat that Saint
could clearly overhear. “Respect? Ain’t no such thing as respect! And it ain’t my
fault he ain’t wanna talk to you…
Fuck
you!” Fear dripped from his words. And with that, he ran off, looking over his shoulder
a few times until he disappeared behind the school building.

Saint stood there for a long while, looking at nothing. All of the cars were gone,
except his. He became aware once again of the cold wetness against his leg, as well
as the small form that shook against it, letting him know things had just gone from
bad to worse.

“Come on, Son,” he said quietly, gathering Hassani in his arms. “Let’s go home.”

“Da…da…daddy!” The boy wept as he tumbled into the car like an overturned pile of
laundry in a washing machine. “He…was all…I
had
! Now…I ain’t…got…nooooobody!” he blubbered, his heart now beating double its usual
rate.

“Baby, I mean, Hassani, you’ve got me and Mommy, okay?”

“No! You don’t…understand.” The tears continued to pour. “I know…I did wrong…but…now,
it’s going to be badder!”

“…Worse. It’s going to be worse,” Saint softly corrected as he pulled from the curve
and merged with traffic.

“You…can’t protect me. Only…only…
he
could! Now, he hate me! He don’t…want…nothin’ to do with me!” the boy wailed, falling
apart right there in the back seat. Saint shot him a look in the rear view mirror.
He’d never seen Hassani act like this before. Usually, his son was always trying to
pretend to be grown and too big to cry. Now…he looked exactly like what he was—a nine-year-old
little boy with the world on his shoulders, being crushed under the weight.

“Hassani…there are some things going on that you don’t understand. For one, Angel
is a very complicated child, okay?” he said sternly. “Secondly, what he said to you
also wasn’t true. He
doesn’t
hate you. He was scared, Hassani. He didn’t know what to do. I caught him by surprise,
and he felt like since you had someone like me in your life, you’d have no use for
him anymore. He didn’t realize you had a father like me, at least not at my level.
He felt worthless so he lashed out. Everything will work itself out, okay?” Saint
said calmly as he continued to pilot through the traffic.

Hassani said nothing. Instead, his poor little body slumped on the leather seat like
a crooked letter ‘C’, causing his seatbelt to twist awkwardly around his form. He
continued to tremble and sob, breaking Saint’s heart.

“…And I won’t tell your mother, okay?” He shot him a quick look in the rear view mirror.
No, those plans had to be cast away considering the new circumstances. “I was going
to, until I figured out what was going on. It wouldn’t help, only make her upset and
more worried. She doesn’t need that. She finally found a nanny…starts her job soon.
I need her to be calm, at peace, not worried about you.
I’ll
worry about you enough for the both of us right now.” He gave a slight smile, but
it quickly faded.

“You can’t…help me…Daddy. Nobody can help me…but me, and Angel…”

An icy chill crept up Saint’s chest upon hearing his child’s words.

“We can do this
together
, Hassani.”

“No.” Hassani sat up a bit higher and wiped his reddened eyes with the back of his
hand. “We can’t. And you know… we can’t. You might be the best Angel Child in the
world, Daddy, but… that isn’t enough… I gotta prove myself, and…can’t nobody else
do it for me…” The boy sobbed loudly, a new gush of tears rolled. “Not even
you
…”

*

“Do you like
those tiny oranges, baby?” Xenia held up the plastic red bag of succulent citrus
fruit and waved them above Isis’ head like a carrot overhead a ravenous rabbit.

“Yeeeeeahhhh, Mommy!” Isis smiled wide and nodded vigorously as she grabbed for the
thing.

Xenia relished these times with her little girl, just the two of them out on the town,
shopping and having fun. She’d discovered some of the most adorable shops for children’s’
clothing, and the boutiques really called her name. This was the kind of day memories
were made of, and she treasured it all the more. She cocked her head to the side and
gave Isis a good once over.

She’s growing so fast. Where did my itty bitty baby go?

It would be a while before they got to do such a thing again on a Wednesday afternoon.
Her job at WOR 710 would soon start and she’d already been to the station several
times to simply observe and sit in. The employees there were right up her alley, sparking
her vocational juices with their enthusiasm. And she delighted in the fact she’d actually
be getting her own show—starting new.

She continued to browse the bins of garden-fresh produce, stopping here and there,
collecting juicy lemons and zesty green limes along the way. Pausing every so often,
she’d bring one to her nose and inhale its aroma. They smelled almost as good as the
ones in California. She glanced at the sticker on the limes and saw ‘organic’ written
above it, then tossed a few in a plastic sack.

As she approached the bread aisle, she noticed two attractive African American women
huddled close together, laughing raucously. Xenia cast them a surreptitious sideways
glance, very much recalling the way she was at twenty-five, the age they both looked
to be about. This was her first time in this particular grocery store, so she was
learning her way around. She’d been tempted a time or two to track down an employee,
but instead, decided to turn the experience into a fun hunt. Besides, this way she
wouldn’t miss any sales and cool items of interest.

As she looked here and there, she thumbed through cellophane-wrapped loaf after loaf,
desperately searching for the Honey Wheat Brownberry brand she and Saint so enjoyed.
As she continued her search, she couldn’t help but overhear the two young ladies conversing.

“Yeeees, girl!” One of them women cackled while grabbing a loaf of white bread and
turning it a million different directions, possibly looking for the expiration date.
“I had to set her straight for her own good. I couldn’t let my girl go out like that.
There is nothing
that
guy could have done for her. They all see us the same.”

“Exactly! He work in sales, so you know he was full of crap. Calling us monkeys and
all sorts of mess probably behind her back. Some of these women are falling all over
these white men like they really want our asses. They don’t. The idiots just think
the grass is greener on the other side, but those women act like these white men are
Gods ’cause they show a little interest but it’s all an act.”

A lump formed in Xenia’s throat. She gently rubbed the back of her neck, feeling suddenly
out of sorts, disturbed by it all.

“So what did she do?” the other women asked.

“April? She told his ass, ‘No.’ She turned him down, thank God. That would have been
a damn mess. I don’t know who he thought he was asking her out on a date this weekend,
like she was going to fall for that crap and have his mother turn around and tell
him not to bring that colored girl home.” She laughed. “You know some of them still
like to call us colored. It ain’t just reserved for southerners.

“I know, girl.”

“The real tripped out part is where April lives… like he’d be going to Bed-Stuy to
pick her ass up. Yeah right!” She laughed as she tossed a package of pre-made biscuits
into her cart. “So anyway, what are you doing this weekend?”

“Nothing.” The lady shrugged. “I didn’t make any plans.”

“Okay, I’ll invite April over then. She doesn’t have anything going on either.”

But she could have… She could have if you hadn’t interfered with your
defeatist thoughts.

She took a good hard look at the women. Though nice in appearance, their eyes were
dull. They’d run a long race, only to find themselves still at the starting line.
Xenia knew that feeling; she knew the condition they suffered from. And to add insult
to injury, they’d continue to be ill, and the sickness would get worse with each passing
year.

Xenia found the bread she was looking for, angrily ripped it off the shelf, almost
indenting its perfect form, and tossed it in the cart. Yanking the damn thing forward,
she barrelled past the two women, almost knocking them over.

“You need to watch we’re you’re going, lady!” one of them called out.

“She looks familiar… I’ve seen her somewhere before,” the other one said.

Xenia felt their heated stares on her as she continued on her way, wanting to get
as far away from them as possible.

“Oh,” one of them burst out. “She must’ve overheard us! Did you see that little girl?
I think her is daughter mixed!” Their voices grew fainter as she drew closer to exiting
the aisle.