Saint And Sinners (64 page)

You deserve a man who will build you up, not tear you down. You deserve a man who
will not degrade you, neglect you, alienate you or devastate you. I’ve listed a lot
of what you should require, and your mother will be the judge if I’ve ensured these
myself within the confines of our marriage. I am not telling you I’ve been the perfect
husband to your mother. What I have done, Isis, is tried damn hard to be just that,
though.

Each and every morning, I thank my Creator for her.

Each and every night, I look at her and can’t believe she is mine. Your mother and
I have had our challenges, but I have never deliberately disrespected her. I have
never intentionally hurt her, Isis. I have never called your mother a bitch, a whore
or any derivative of such, as is so common today. I have never cheated on your mother.
Have I called women bitches and whores? Yes. Was it the right thing to do? Most of
the time, it was not. I used the bitch word profusely and was reminded of such, during
a harrowing ordeal I recently endured. Nevertheless, to me, in my youth, it was just
normal vernacular—but it isn’t okay, Isis. Never accept that. Never accept being cheated
on, disrespected and abused verbally, emotionally or physically. Don’t participate
in any mind games he may wish to play, either. When you let a man do that to you,
you are telling him it is all right. You are telling him that you love him more than
you love and respect yourself. When I met your mother, Isis, she had negatively influenced
her past relationships.

What I mean by that is—she had dealt with the same type of men I am telling you to
stay away from. It was part of the reason why she initially didn’t trust me, and why
it was so hard for me to reach her, for her to let me get close enough to show her
I was sincere. I will let her tell you her own story, her own side to this, but please
believe, we had some challenges. Some were self-inflicted, some were not, but I love
your mother more and more each day.

Learn from your mother and my mistakes. Your mother had been hurt, repeatedly, by
men who were not genuine. She was giving much and receiving little in return. These
men had a sense of entitlement. Your mother is very loving, open and generous. For
these qualities, she was taken
advantage of. Her father, your maternal grandfather, was not in her life, which made
her even more susceptible to men that were predators…men like how I used to be. Isis,
I am in your life and I am your guardian, your first example of what a man does, how
he behaves and treats a woman. Judge me based on how I treat your mother—and then
seek that same treatment, if not better. Never. Settle.

Every day, I try to be a better person than I was the day before. It is a struggle,
but I try. I never want your mother to feel as if she made a mistake marrying me,
sharing her life with me, having and raising a family with me. I told her I would
be a good husband to her, and I meant that. You need a man who wants to make sure
you are happy, and you also need to care for your own mate with the same level of
tenderness. It is a two-way street. The day you get married will be bittersweet for
me. I will be exultant for you because you’d be in love. I may also experience a level
of misery because such would be more proof that you are not a little girl anymore,
and you no longer need me in the same capacity, to be your Cover. A Cover is the man
that protects you, Isis.

Once you marry, I have to take a step back and allow your husband to take over. I
know well in advance, that will be very difficult for me but I cannot emasculate him
by stepping in when he is fully capable of taking care of his wife’s—my daughter’s—needs
and desires. The day you marry, I hope and pray that I will be able to say, “She is
safe with him. She is okay.” I need to be able to say that, Isis. I need to know your
mother and I were a good example for you, and you did not settle for less than you
deserved.

When I give you away, I want to be happy about it! I want to hug that young man, your
new husband, and tell him to take care of my baby girl, and that I trust him! I need
to be able to go to sleep that night, and not worry, Isis. I need to feel like I did
my job so well, I am able to sleep like a baby! I cannot keep you as a little girl
forever, and I fear karma will try to make me pay, through you, for past transgressions.
What we do to others doesn’t go unchecked. When we knowingly hurt others, we must
pay for that. Anyone who knows me also knows the way to hurt me is to hurt my family.
My family is my weakness, my kryptonite. I am weak for your mother. I dare say, because
it sounds bad I suppose, but I am obsessed with her. If anything were to happen to
you, your mother or your brothers, it would hurt me deeply.

And honestly, in my opinion, that is the sign of a man who is truly in love with his
entire family. In conclusion, Isis, I want to tell you once again how much I love
you. Though this was difficult for me to write, for it involved revelations that are
cringe-worthy, I realize that, sometimes, in order to truly help a person, we must
be transparent in our own lives. This love letter is from your father to you, and
I mean every word in it.

May you have peace, meet a wonderful King and begin your own kingdom.

You will always be my Princess. But one day, you will also be someone’s Queen.

Love always and forever,

Daddy

Saint and Xenia remained quiet for a while. Heavy pressure clawed at his chest, not
unlike a heavy door falling atop his body.

“Saint.” Xenia blew her nose. “I had to pull myself together for a minute. That had
me in tears.” She blew her nose once again. “Anyway, that is a gift. It’s not just
words on paper, Saint, but a
gift
from your heart to our daughter. I want the same things for her as you do. Though
we can’t block all negativity from her, I have no doubt in my mind that you will have
her armed and prepared for whatever comes her way in regards to this. And you know
what?”

“What?”

“I couldn’t have picked a better husband and father for our children. You make sure
you don’t chicken out and not give her that letter.”

“I’ll give it to her, I promise.” He nodded with a sad smile.

“I have an idea.” She yawned. “I have a little ballerina jewelry box that I bought
for her, that I was going to give her this Christmas. I will save it, you can put
the letter in there, and we will give it to her when you think it is appropriate.
How does that sound?”

“I like that a lot, baby. I like the fact that it is inside of an object you selected
and bought for her, and I am putting something of importance within it.”

…Like the conception of a child…

“That’s a really good idea, versus me just handing it to her when the time approaches,”
he added.

“Perfect. Well then, it’s settled…and make a copy of it, too.”

“I will…” He yawned himself this time. “Go on back to sleep, honey.” He gently laid
the letter down on the bed beside him. “I’m going to try to sleep for about an hour,
then get ready and head off to the airport. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay, honey. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Sweet Dreams, my beautiful Queen, and thank you for my children,
Xenia. Without you, I wouldn’t have had a proud daddy moment when I found out Hassani
kicked that bully’s mothafuckin’ ass!”

“Goodbye, Saint!”

…Dial tone…

*

“D
o you know
in all of my business trips here, I’ve never been this close to her?” Xenia’s hair
blew around in the wind, her curls whipping about, wild and free. Saint continued
to move around her, pretending to be a professional photographer for the day. He snapped
here and there, taking the photos of his wife standing on the ferry as they approached
the Statue of Liberty.

“I hope you are all stretched out, baby,” he said between shots. “I’ve only done this
one time previously. It is 354 steps up to her crown. When we get off here, get ready
for a work out. You are going to hurt!” He laughed.

“I’m ready!” She smiled and made a muscle pose, Hercules-style, tickling his funny
bone.

Forty-two minutes later, Xenia was patting at a thin veil of sweat with a tissue along
her hairline, a goofy grin on her face. The tour guide directed her, Saint, and another
couple to various windows so they could see the view from various vantage points.
At one window, they could see her torch; at another, the profile of her face. Saint’s
height proved to be an issue. He crouched here and there, trying to find a spot to
stand fully erect in the damn thing. It was worth the effort though. Xenia was happy;
she was at peace.

“We’ll have to bring the kids. Dakarai and Isis couldn’t do this walk right now, but
in a few years they probably could,” she said dreamily, looking in awe at the spectacular
view down to the base of Liberty Island where people moseyed about, looking the size
of ants.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” Coming up behind her, he rested his chin on
her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist. Silence reigned for a while. He
looked around, noting the other couple had left. The tour guide told them to take
their time and stepped out of the enclosure, at the top of the long spiral of winding,
metal steps.

“Xenia, I had a really strange dream last night.”

“Really? You slept soundly. Or at least appeared to. Tell me about it.” She stroked
his arms that he tightened a bit around her navel.

“I dreamt I was fighting the Devil; only, he wasn’t frightening, or anything like
I imagined. Lawrence and Jagger were fighting, too, but their opponents weren’t visible.
All the Angel Children seemed to be fighting ghosts, Xenia. I just don’t get it.”

“Hmmm.” She rested her head against his chest and, with her fingertips, made delicate,
swirly traces around his hand. “That kind of sounds like you were maybe fighting yourselves,
like a shadow of yourself.”

“That’s an interesting take on it. Like…our dark side, so to speak.” He paused to
think. “Yes, it could have been something like that. Let me ask you something. You
know how you and I have talked a little bit about gangs, the gang lifestyle, and what
not. In a way, like I told you, the Demon Children of New York are like a gang, and
so are the Angel Children. Well, there is no like, they pretty much are if you go
by the textbook, official definition. If you were an active gang member, Xenia, how
would you, hypothetically speaking of course, deal with someone from an opposing gang
that had made it his business to basically stalk you for years, and keep shit going?”

“Well…” She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “First of all, stalking for
years would not have happened if you lived by the street creed. You’d have one time
to stalk, two times for me to see the pattern, and the third time either I or my crew
would take care of you. That is just how it worked and you only got it to roll out
like that if you were lucky. Some people would smoke you on the first observation,
even without proof. Now hypothetically speaking, I can pretend that your example really
played out, but I think I’d need a bit more information.”

“Ok, well, let me pose it to you this way. What would you think, as a Blood, if you
realized this person had been doing this stuff since you two were kids? Like, they
were at different places but you didn’t realize it until afterward?”

“Well, then that person then has shown me they are obsessed with what I’m doing. I
am worth
more
to them alive than dead because if it has been years, if they really wanted to kill
me, I’d been dead by then, especially if I didn’t even know they were around me most
of the time. Either that…or they needed more information before they took me out of
here, or the third possibility, they were told by someone higher up to not touch me,
at least not yet.”