Angel Over My Shoulder (3 page)

“Faux-hawk.” Leslie rolled her eyes. “Just drive, bitch and stop gawking at me.” She reached into her pocket and handed her friend a pill. “Fentanyl.”

“OOO. Jackpot!” They both dry swallowed their pills while her friend pulled out of the drive way and headed to the impromptu house party. Leslie reached into her jacket pocket for a tape.

“Oh fuck NO, Leslie! We are not listening to that white-people-shit before the party!”

“Just listen to this one song. It’s not rock or anything. It’s kinda soft, a little mellow.” Missy protested a lot but Leslie knew that she’d be open minded enough to give it a try. “Just listen to the words. This group is called The Cure and the song is Pictures of You.”

The two girls drove silently, listening to the lyrics of the song. When it ended Leslie reached over and popped out the tape and then shoved it back into her jacket pocket.

Missy nodded her head. “It’s cool. Good song.” She glanced at Leslie all joking aside. “You don’t ever stop missing them, do you?” Leslie suddenly reached for a cigarette and lit it, pausing to take a long drag.

“No.”

“When you stopped talking for all of those years…was it because you couldn’t, or because you didn’t want to?” The two girls had known each other back then when she had been mute. Missy played with her even when Leslie just seemed to be sitting back and letting the world go by. They were long time friends, but they rarely talked about this.

Leslie took a while before she answered. Finally she spoke the truth. “I don’t know. I don’t think I even tried. I didn’t care enough to try.” They had never talked about what had brought on her muteness; not in all of these years…only what had stopped it; Uncle Monty. Uncle Monty was not going to stop what he was doing to her until she spoke; and so she did.

She came to a sudden decision, perhaps because the pill was working on her, or perhaps old memories had made her vulnerable. She looked out the window. “Sometimes I visit them. We sit around like a real family.” She paused, staring out the window, waiting for Missy to crack a joke and then she could change the subject and never bring it up again.

“You mean you visit them when you dream?”

“Yes!” Leslie turned in her seat and looked at Missy in excitement.

“Well it’s nice that you can dream about them.”

Leslie chewed her lip. “Yeah…but sometimes it’s like they never died and I’m a different person-”

“One without a bone piercing in your nose I hope.”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t have any piercings. It’s like a world where things are different because they never died.” She never thought that it was a real world. She knew it was a dream, or maybe a fantasy. Missy watched her with interest as they stopped at a red light.

“Do they look the same? Like you remember them?”

“I don’t really remember what they look like until in the dream.” It always gave her a jolt as she thought,
that’s my Mama, that’s my Daddy
. Waking up after was always bittersweet.

“Then it’s a good thing that you can at least see them in your dreams,” she said with a conviction that surprised Leslie. She had never thought to talk about these things with her friend and now wondered why.

“Do you ever dream about stuff that comes true?”

“Sometimes. It’s like, I’ll be doing something and then I’ll say, ‘damn, that already happened.’”

“Yeah, Déjà vu. But do you ever…see the same person in your dreams?”

“What do you mean?”

Leslie shrugged. “I don’t know.” She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. Then she just plunged forward. “There’s this guy that’s always in my dreams.”

“What guy? Is he cute?”

Leslie looked at her curiously. “You don’t dream like that? A dream with the same person who takes you places, shows you things?”

“It sounds like maybe he’s your Dad.” Missy pulled up along the curb near April’s apartment building and cut off the car but didn’t move to get out.

Leslie was shaking her head. “He’s always been there, even before my parents died. And he’s too young to be my Dad. Plus he’s white.”

Missy was blinking. “Is it Jesus?”

“Jesus? No! I mean, I used to think he was my guardian angel. But then he…”

“What?” She prompted. Leslie shrugged but was squeezing her hand into a fist until her short nails dug painfully into her palm.

“He showed me some bad shit, and didn’t try to help me.”

“Well Jesus showed people bad shit. And he makes you help yourself, doesn’t he?”

“Jesus doesn’t have a New York accent. And he doesn’t wear blue jeans and CHUCKS.” She opened the car door and began walking up the sidewalk with her hands jammed into her jacket. Missy locked the car doors and caught up with her.

“Maybe he’s a hip Jesus.” Missy was joking now and Leslie relaxed a bit. “The new-age Jesus for cool people.”

“He’s too cute to be Jesus. He doesn’t age, either. He’s like…my age now; eighteen, maybe even a little older, but not much. But he’s always been that same age.” She pictured Angel in her mind. “He’s got brown curly hair and sky blue eyes. He is really cute, but not like a model or anything. He’s not big, he’s not small, a little skinny but with muscles, you know? Like an athlete. And he’s got this hair on his face but not much. It’s like he’s too young to grow a beard. I guess that’s how I know he’s younger.”

“You make him sound real.”

“He’s not,” she said quickly and tossed her cigarette butt to the sidewalk.

“Have you ever fucked him?”

“What?!” Leslie almost choked on her laughter. “No! I’ve known him since I was a kid! And besides, I don’t see him anymore.”

“Too bad, since you never did it with a white guy he could have been your first.” Leslie was no virgin, very much the opposite. But sex was the last thing she wanted from Angel.

The two friends finally reached the door to the apartment. One was dressed in skinny jeans, combat boots and a leather jacket with a Mohawk. The other wore a fashionable suede mini skirt, matching suede halter, cream colored heels with hair lengthened by a yaki weave.

Missy rang the bell. “We forgot about the liquor,” she whispered to Leslie.

“Fuck them. We got our high-on.” Besides, she didn’t need her stomach pumped again. April opened the door with a broad smile on her face. It fell away when she saw Leslie. Her eyes quickly scanned the Mohawk before she laughed out loud.

“Oh my fucking god!” April screamed.

Missy grabbed Leslie’s sleeve before she retreated and dragged her into the apartment. A few other people laughed, though several gave her admiring looks. Leslie shrugged inwardly. She wasn’t doing it to impress them or anyone. She shoved her hands into her jacket pocket and concentrated on the feel of the pill she’d taken.

It was just beginning to numb her senses enough for her to be able to disregard the laughter. She headed to the table where the liquor and plastic cups were located. There was also a cooler of beers on the floor. She stooped to get one and felt someone behind her. It scared her enough to almost cause her to drop the can. She swung around only to meet the eyes of Derek.

“Oh…” She hesitated. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He said. He was holding a plastic cup half filled with some liquid. Derek was very cute dressed in Levis, a blue thermal shirt and Timberland boots. His short afro was shaped to his head and cut out perfectly.

“I wanted to tell you that I like your Mohawk.”

She smiled and then looked down and popped the tab on her can. “Thanks.” She sounded like one of those shy geeky kids that she always stared at in school. They always knew all of the answers to the questions, but if you said hi to them they mumbled and ducked…or maybe they only did that with her because she looked like a freak to them—to most people. Was Derek telling her that he didn’t think she was a freak? She peeked at him.

He leaned forward and whispered, “April wishes she could come out and be original like you.”

Leslie glanced out to the room. There were only about ten other people present. Rap was blasting from the radio and the smell of weed was in the air. April was sitting on the lap of some thug. And Leslie realized that she looked no different than any of the other four girls in the room; long fake hair, long fake nails, and clothes from a rap video shoot.

Leslie gave Derek a look that was half disbelief and half-way hopeful. “April is one of the prettiest girls in school.”

Derek sipped his drink, eyes lingering on her. “To each his own.” He retreated back to the couch while Leslie’s heart went racing. Missy came over to her.

“Slut.” She grinned. “Go sit next to him.”

She shook her head slowly. Maybe when the Fentanyl and the beer mixed and she wasn’t feeling like such a dumbass, but not until then.

Later, she did and it felt good to sit next to him and to talk and bob her head to the music. She almost pulled out The Cure’s tape--almost, but she wasn’t quite that fucked up. But she was obviously somewhat fucked up because Bobby Caldwell’s Open Your Eyes began to play and she jumped up yelling, “Ohhh, that’s my song.” Her Mama and Daddy used to sing it and she had a moment of nostalgia.

Leslie closed her eyes and moved to the mellow tune, singing softly, feeling her parents through the lyrics and familiar beat. She tuned out the voices of her school mates as they speculated about Bobby Caldwell being a white man that sang jazz as good as any black guy could. Of course that brought up Hall and Oates, Boz Skaggs, Teena Marie and other blue-eyed soul musicians. April broke the mood when she stated that she hated how white people were always trying to claim what had been created by blacks as their own.

“I’m a play y’all some real music! Let’s see white people try to do this!” She put on a De La Soul album. “Listen to this shit; this is on the NEW tip.” Me, Myself and I came on and Leslie sank back into the cushions of the couch. Everyone was dancing and swaying to the beat exclaiming about how white people couldn’t hang with De La Soul. When Eye Know played she smirked. Derek gave her a curious look and she just shook her head. She didn’t even bother to tell them that De La Soul had used the beats from Steely Dan’s Peg.

His arm slipped around her as the night wore on. Derek was cool but most girls wanted the bad boys. He wasn’t bad and that was cool by Leslie. As a matter of fact, it was perfect.

It was summer and no school the next day. They partied until well after one, and then Leslie began to worry that her grandmother might wake up and wonder where she was. Before they left, Derek gripped her hand without saying anything. Leslie stared into his brown eyes before smiling shyly. Yeah…

When Missy dropped her off in front of her house, she barely waved goodbye. She hurried up the porch stairs and unlocked the door. Paranoia had set in and in her mind she pictured her grandmother pacing the floor worried, or worse...

But the house was quiet. She peeked into her grandmother’s room. It still smelled closed up and stuffy, the TV still reflected a faint light, and her grandmother’s chest still rose and fell.

Leslie shut the door carefully and went into her bedroom. She slipped out of her jeans and climbed into her bed wearing just her shirt and panties. She didn’t bother with her piercings or washing off her makeup. She just wanted to sleep, and maybe dream of Derek.

Soon her body relaxed and she drifted into a deep sleep. Before long she found her silent wish had come true. She was back at the party and Derek was sitting next to her. They were laughing and having fun. She felt really good for the first time in a long time, until she saw Angel perched on the table that held the liquor. He was sitting Indian style with his elbows propped on his knees and his head resting in his hands--watching her as he always did.

She tried to ignore him but his eyes followed her every movement until she had no choice but to stand up and walk over to him. When she did, the pleasant dream was over, the room disappeared and Angel began pacing restlessly.

It had been years since she had greeted him with any type of kindness. The days when she was happy to see him had ended long ago.

He began walking away, knowing that she would follow, and of course she did. Not because she trusted him, that too had ended. She just knew that whatever he wanted her to see he would force her to see one way or the other.

Suddenly they were walking through a crowd of people. It was as if she was walking in the wrong direction, against the tide of people and they watched her curiously. She remembered this feeling. This had happened before! Her chest rose and fell painfully as she and Angel finally came to a stop, staring into the distance where well dressed people stood atop a hill. A minister was speaking words that she could not hear.

Leslie licked her lower lip and felt her lip ring against her tongue. No, she wasn’t five years old here. She was eighteen.

“No.” She said simply. “I will not see this.”

Angel didn’t acknowledge her words. And seamlessly they were no longer watching an internment, they were in a familiar church and there was but one casket present. Beside the casket was a large portrait of her grandmother.

Her breath cut off completely in a panic. She looked around suddenly. Somewhere there would be the other her. She needed to see how old the other her was! Maybe she would be in her thirties or forties because then she would have enough time to make amends!