Saint And Sinners (41 page)

Daddy had asked how school was, and he felt so ashamed, for he looked that man dead
in the eye and lied with a straight face. Daddy looked at him in that strange way,
the face he’d make when he didn’t believe him, but he allowed him to pass through
without further questioning. He was relieved because as far as he was concerned, the
lies would simply have to keep coming out of his mouth, and he hoped and prayed Daddy
wasn’t reading him, trying to break into his thoughts to discover the messed up truth.

Either way, what could he do? If he went running to Mommy and Daddy, things would
be even worse. He’d be coined as a punk, a snitch, a little runt that couldn’t fight
his own battles. He already knew innately, practicing any tricks on his enemies would
be the wrong move, too. He could feel it in his bones, even despite Daddy’s warnings.
Something bad could happen, something much worse than what was currently going on.
Daddy had told him that is how most Angel Children felt; they knew the boundaries,
a knowledge engraved inside of them, and no one in their right mind wanted to find
out what the penalties could be. Regardless, Mommy would go crazy. She was already
under his nose so much, he could barely breathe. As soon as he’d come in the house,
there she was full of tight, suffocating hugs, not allowing Daddy nor anyone else
to get to his room before she unveiled a full line of questioning. Mommy tried to
beat him and Dad home and unfortunately, many times she was successful.

I’ll be glad when her job starts. She’s always in my face now.

Once he’d get away from Mommy, it would be Dakarai’s turn, his skinny butt standing
in the way with his scrawny chest poked out, getting ready to put on a performance.
Hassani was ritualistically subjected to Dakarai’s bragging about being the ‘big man
on kindergarten campus’, as Daddy would say. The little annoying punk was a New York
success; he even had the teachers schmoozed. His little sister wasn’t much better.
Everyone spoke about how cute she was—all the time. All Isis did was whine and complain,
and he was sick and tired of hearing her squeaky voice. To make matters worse, no
matter who did what, even if she was responsible for some mess, Daddy continuously
took her side. That pissed him off big time.

Her favorite pastime really got under his skin—begging. Isis pleaded for food, snacks
and sweets from the time she woke in the morning until the moment she was placed in
her bed. Hassani had never seen a child eat so much. Oddly enough, she was thin as
a rail but had a bit of a rounded gut on her. She reminded him of a stick that had
swallowed a beach ball.

If that wasn’t enough, she always wanted to play dress up and force him to be a part
of the nonsense. His brother and sister were no help to him whatsoever. It didn’t
matter though; he was the oldest, the one in charge. He had to handle this on his
own. The only problem was, the whole damn school was afraid of Angel, but Angel stayed
in detention so often, he rarely proved to be of any use as of late, either. People
found out rather quickly that Angel had taken up for him, saved his behind, but they
also knew that that boy was full of trouble and could do little to stop Hassani from
being shaken down as long as the principal had his foot on the rebellious young man’s
back. Hassani couldn’t figure out why Angel couldn’t act right. Why would someone
want to be in trouble all the time? Why couldn’t Angel follow the rules and stop making
scenes? He
needed
him for goodness sakes! No one else was protecting him, and he understood what Angel
had said was true. People
were
being drawn to him like a magnet and it no longer mattered why, it made his skin
crawl.

On the bright side, the renegade was now free and handing Hassani a complimentary
one-way ticket to Escapeville.

“You comin’ or not, man?” the older boy asked, repeating his initial question, his
upper lip topped with soft, black peachfuzz and his body smelling of strong cologne.

“Yeah…I’m coming.” Hassani turned on his heels and followed the guy a short distance
until they were walking side by side. He had no idea where in the world they were
going, but he felt safe with Angel. In spite of that, his stomach curled with anxiousness.
He’d never done such a thing, been so disobedient. He hoped and prayed Mommy and Daddy
didn’t discover his misdeeds, but…he needed to get away. They’d never understand.
Daddy would probably slam everyone to the ground, and Mommy would only treat him like
a baby and make a scene at the school.

Besides, he had questions for Angel, a hell of a lot of questions. Maybe this would
be his chance to ask. Angel stopped at a bus stop near what appeared to be a large
library and before Hassani knew it, the two were sitting on the hard, navy seats staring
out smudged windows with dirty words written in black and red marker across them.

After about a ten-minute ride, they got off the bus. The doors swooshed open, causing
him to squint against the rush of wind. His hair blew around a bit and soon, he was
following the bomber coat-wearing guy, who walked like music was playing inside his
head but no one else could hear it. Angel had swag…like Daddy. The guy slowed a bit,
waiting for him to catch up. Hassani couldn’t help but walk slowly; the sights and
sounds took him aback. He moved as if bombs may be underfoot, for when he gazed up
into the sky, he felt he might be swallowed.

Hassani found himself surrounded by tall, gray buildings that appeared lifeless and
intimidating. The many windows—tiny, dusty squares—felt like eyes, with their shades
half drawn or a dim light peering out from one or two. He looked past the towering
places and took a gander at the gray sky once more. It crowded with clouds that looked
like they were gathering for a meeting, threatening to rain down on the entire world.
The things sucked in smog as if through a pipe, promising to deliver on their threat—spit
down a storm that would leave anything in its way soaked to the bone.

“Let’s go down in the tunnel. It’s ’bout to pour out here, man,” Angel announced,
seemingly reading his thoughts.

“Tunnel?”

“Yeah, under I-87. I come ova here to think, man. It’s an old train underpass that
they don’t use no more. Come on…”

Hassani followed him under the thing, into what seemed to be another world. A dark
world that smelled of wet Earth and rotten, fermenting fruit—a strange combination
that made Hassani’s nostrils flare.

Angel struck a match in the darkness of the passageway. Hassani looked around in amazement
and from that little flame, he could almost feel the warmth, as if it had the power
of roaring fire. The place glittered like gold; only it was graffiti, shining bright
and beautiful. His new friend crouched down a little, trying to block a breeze from
stealing his spark. Spray-painted pictures of elaborately drawn naked women, men shooting
dice, a moving subway and people dancing lined the place. He traced a segment of the
wall with his fingertips, amazed by what he saw. He’d never seen such detail. The
darn thing seemed alive, depicting living, breathing people who could speak to him
at any moment.

“What do you call it again? You know, when somebody spray-paints on stuff, public
stuff like walls?” Hassani questioned as he looked around in wonder. “Who drew dis?”

“Taggin’.” Angel finally lit his cigarette but kept the flame alive long after. He
set the lit match in a half smashed soda can then rifled through his pocket, his fingers
moving about as if something were caught in the folds. “It’s gonna be dark in here.
Let me find my lighter before that shit burns out,” he said with the cigarette bouncing
between his lips.

“You too young to smoke.” Hassani glared at him, suddenly seeing an old man trapped
inside of a fourteen-year-old’s body. Something about Angel reminded him of his father.
He surmised that was what gave him comfort. Or maybe because he stood up for him,
garnered respect, or perhaps because the ladies seemed to love him. He had to smile
inwardly at that last notion…

Daddy always had women lookin’ at him. Whenever they went out, ’specially if it was
just him and Day-Day. Women would stop what they were doing and point, like he was
some superstar. Daddy never seemed to pay it any mind, but Hassani did.

“I ain’t too young for
shit
.” Angel grinned as he gripped the newfound red lighter and what appeared to be a
stick of incense. He lit it too and placed it in the can before extinguishing the
match once and for all with a wad of spit. Hassani could tell by the way the boy moved,
this was something he did often. He had even more questions now for Angel. Like, where
did he come from?

“So, little man, you like this taggin’, huh? I bet you could do it, too. You scored
high.”

“What scores?” Hassani glanced at him from over his shoulder, still taking in the
pictures on the walls. He turned back to the artwork as he waited for a response.

“The teachers were talking about you. You’re a natural. I saw your portfolio… snuck
in Mrs. Turpin’s room. How long you been drawin’?” Angel blew out rings of smoke.
It couldn’t be. A cool chill ran up and down his arms.

…So much like Daddy…

Hassani surmised that might have been how his father moved around and acted at such
an age…

“Since I was a little kid.”

Angel’s face transformed into that of an amused joker on one of Grandma’s playing
cards. Only thing missing—the colorful, bouncy hat with the bells ringing on the ends.
His face split into a crooked grin, and then it faded, as if he’d given second thought
to laughing at such a notion. “You
still
a little kid, but I get it.”

“I ain’t little, though.”

This made the guy laugh so loud, it echoed in the tunnel, causing Hassani’s face to
flush in humiliation, an emotion that mixed with a fair share of frustration.

“I used to be like that too.” The boy plopped down on his black pleather book bag
and leaned forward, gripping the cigarette a bit tighter between his two skinny fingers
as if he needed a moment to rest. “I wish I had some kush right now, damn.”

“What’s kush?” Hassani scratched behind his ear and curiously cocked his head to the
side.

“Ahhh shit.” Angel grinned. “You green as fuck, son. They don’t teach y’all
shit
out in L.A., huh? L.A. got some of the best kush according to my brova, man. Your
parents keep you hella sheltered I see, shit. Can’t say I blame ’em though, you got
to be protected, as blood rich as you are.”

Hassani felt as if he were listening to another language being spoken. He couldn’t
make heads or tails of the mess, but he didn’t want to appear stupid, too young, or
like a mama’s boy. He’d already made an idiot of himself a time or two. He ran his
hands up and down his arms when a shudder made comfy in the crossfire of his bones.
It was cold down in the tunnel, and his teeth began to chatter, but he didn’t dare
complain. He had to prove to Angel he wasn’t no little kid, that he could handle himself.

“…And you can dance. Someone told me about your audition. Lil’ nigga, you can dance
your fuckin’ ass off. Where you learn to move like that, huh?”

“My daddy…”

“Yo’ pops can dance, huh?” His brow rose. “You lucky your old man is in your life.
Is he the one that drops you off in the morning, in that cool ass silver rocket ass
lookin’ Lamborghini?”

“Yeah…” Hassani gripped his jacket tighter around his body. He needed to piss badder
than a racehorse, but kept his trap shut.

“That’s a limited model. There was only like twenty of those motha fuckas made…lucky
man. I thought he was the damn butler or something!” Angel cackled. “He just pull
up real cool like. He don’t look at nobody directly in the eye ’cept you. I tried
to peep him out, but he never glanced in my direction and when he would look head
on, he had on sunglasses. You get out, he wave real quick to you, and then he out.”
He snapped his fingers.

“How you know…how you know what I am?” Hassani stuttered over his words, but he felt
compelled to move forward—he’d had enough. He wanted Angel to like him; he even enjoyed
it a bit when the guy talked about his drawing and dancing, pumping him up, making
him feel a tad bit special. But he was feeling cold and uncomfortable, and there were
too many troubling things going on—unanswered questions—and he needed a resolution.
Now.

Angel collapsed a bit further onto his book bag, as if he’d been drinking. He seemed
to lose his balance when he slumped against the wall, then got into a groove of a
position, settling just so. He almost seemed to disappear into the scenery and it
grew dark around his frame. Were it not for his vibrant hazel eyes and bright teeth,
he may have been eaten by the shadows, and only his voice burped out for Hassani to
hear.

“…I could smell you. We gotta certain scent about us, you know. Yours is
strong
.”

Hassani sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

He was certain a cold was coming on. If Mommy got word of that, she’d shove chicken
noodle soup down his throat and make him stay in bed all night. He’d rather be in
an insane asylum. Mommy was a good mommy but she worried too much. She still treated
him like a baby. Yet at times…he was still happy about that. Although he complained,
on the worst days it felt kinda good to have her soft body squeezed up to his. Mommy
smelled good, and her smile was pretty as California.

“I’ve heard about that, but I can’t smell you. I wonder why?”

“’Cause you ain’t old enough yet, that’s why. Your sense of smell will get stronger.
In a few years, you’ll know. I don’t get to see people like me that often…at least
not in school. It’s nice to run into one for a change.”

Hassani shoved his sneaker-covered foot back and forth as he got lost in the moment.
He felt the pebbles under his foot and wondered if they felt bad because he was stomping
them. Yeah, more pebbles, more stony fragments… He felt like a pebble, too…