Mommy's Angel (13 page)

“You know what you did, man? You sucked some nigga dick. That shit ain’t forgivable. I could probably get past you workin’ at a strip club and giving niggas lap dances and shit, but you put ya mouth on a nigga dick. A nigga you ain’t even know. You let that nigga take pictures of you and everything. I wanted to fuck that pussy up when he showed us those pictures in the break room, but I couldn’t ‘cause then they would have known that you was my girl. You know how embarrassing that shit would’ve been? I had to sit there and look at them niggas go crazy over pictures of my girl sucking some nigga dick. Yo. You don’t know how fucked up I felt—and still feel. The only reason you in here talking to me is ‘cause I wanted you to know and understand how dirty you did me.”

“I do know, and I do understand.”

“I don’t think you do. You come up here all cool and shit like it’s nothin’.”

“No, I didn’ t, Jamal. I know what I did was dirty, and I’m trying so hard to make you see that. I was high first of all, and second of all I was…”

Jamal cut me off. “What? You was getting high, too? What else was you doin’ that I ain’t know about? You was just a little freak on the side, huh? Stripping, getting’ high, suckin’ niggas’ dicks. You was probably havin’ threesomes, too, wasn’t you?”

“Jamal, stop, please. I really don’t want this to turn into no fight. I just want to explain myself.”

“How? How can you explain that shit?”

I didn’t know how to get through to Jamal. I was trying to make him understand my position, but it was damn near impossible. I couldn’t blame him, though.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“Jamal, you don’t know what I been going through at home, and I was in a desperate situation,” I started.

“I know what you was going through ’cause I was right there with you,” Jamal whined.

“Yeah, you were. But, you don’t know the half of it. It’s a lot of stuff I didn’t tell you.”

“So, what that mean?”

“I’m not saying it means anything. I’m not trying to make excuses. You know me, and you know I would have never worked at no strip club if I didn’t really need to. And as far as me getting high. I didn’t do it voluntarily. They had put E-pills in my drink, and I didn’t know it. I was out of character,” I explained.

“I know you go through a lot with ya moms and dem. But you always was straight up with me about everything. You told me you was workin’ at a hotel. I believed you. So it’s not like I knew you was workin’ at a strip club and then I saw the pictures. I was caught off guard all the way around. It was like you was playing me for a sucker the whole time.”

“I know what it might seem like, but trust me, it wasn’t like that at all. I didn’t want you to know because I got a lot of love for you, Jamal. You are the only person I got, truthfully.” I started to cry.

“That’s why I don’t understand how you could do me like that,” he said as he, too, shed tears.

I reached over and wrapped my arms around him. We cried together and there was nothing I wanted more than to be able to console him. I loved him so much and I never meant to hurt him the way I did. I wanted to make it up to him so bad. I grabbed his face and kissed him on his lips. He returned the kiss reluctantly. I started rubbing him all over his body, and he was doing the same to me. I wanted him so bad and I was glad he let me have him.

Jamal unbuttoned his jeans and I sat on his lap from the back. He slid into me and we did it right there on the couch. When it was over, I cried again, but out of happiness. It seemed like I had rid myself of so much tension. Just to be in Jamal’s arms again was fulfilling. I had missed him so much. He was all I needed. Nothing eased me like he did.

I had pulled my pants up, but left them opened. Then I cuddled up under Jamal. He was quiet like he was thinking about something. I didn’t want bad memories to work him up again, so I figured I would get his mind on something else.

“Jamal, do you love me?”

“Yup,” he said as if it hurt.

“I have something to tell you.”

“What?” he asked defensively.

“I’m pregnant.”

“Don’t play like that, Angel.”

“I’m not playing.”

“That fast? Come on now.”

“No. Not from just now. I’m six and a half weeks,” I told him, pulling out the piece of paper I got from the doctor’s.

Jamal took the paper and read it to himself.

“This is for real?” he asked.

“Um hum.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Is it mine?”

I was disappointed, but I guessed I had that coming. “Of course. Look Jamal, I swear on my brother I didn’t do it to nobody else. I know I messed up with you. But I’m not lying about this,” I told Jamal, looking him in his eyes.

Jamal didn’t say anything. He just placed my head back down on his chest. I took that as a good sign. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer. I got my baby back, I thought, and as long as that was, nothing else in the world mattered.

I wound up calling Elaine and telling her that I was going to stay at my mom’s house over the holiday. She let me know that I was more than welcome to come back whenever I needed to. I figured since my mom was getting herself together and her house was done and Marvin wasn’t there and me and Jamal were on good terms, I would be all right staying back home. It wasn’t until the day after Christmas that we were all able to actually move back in the house, though. We had stayed at Aunt Jackie’s for the days before. We didn’t have much of a Christmas. My mom was able to get a few toys for Kindle, and she got Naja two shirts and me a lotion and bubble bath set, but that was pretty much it. None of us complained though. We were just happy to be together, without Marvin. It felt like we were starting over fresh.

I hadn’t been back to Elaine’s. but I spoke to her on the phone almost every day since I been gone. I kept telling her I was going to go by her house and visit, but I had been spending a lot of time with Jamal, so I kept putting it off. Me and him were slowly working things out. We had our ups and downs. Every so often, he would catch feelings about what I did and we would get into it. But for the most part, he was trying to forgive me. And being pregnant counted for something because he was trying extra hard to make it work for the baby.

It was the Monday after New Year’s and I had a doctor’s appointment. Jamal had taken off of work to go with me. I had my first ultrasound. Jamal’s face lit up when the doctor let us hear the baby’s heartbeat and watch it go up and down on the monitor. He looked at the pictures, which looked like nothing but darkness with specks of white space, the whole ride home. He was happy. It was January 2, and I remembered that Cat and Stacey said they would be back to work on that day so I told Jamal that when we got around our way, I wanted to stop by their store. I had so much to tell Stacey, and I knew she would have stories for me, too. Plus, I missed them two and couldn’t wait to see them.

Jamal and me got off the bus right in front of C&S’s. The door was open, but the gates were still pulled down over the window. Inside, there was an unfamiliar man sweeping the floor.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” the man said with a heavy Jamaican accent.

“Oh,” I said. “Do you know when Cat and Stacey are coming back?”

The man stopped sweeping and looked at me. “Do you know them?”

“Yeah. I’m good friends with them,” I told him with a smile on my face. “I know they were in Jamaica, but I thought they would be back by now.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry to tell you tis but, Stacey and my brudda Cat were killed in a plane crash yesterday.” Tears gathered in the man’s eyes.

“Huh?” I asked, hoping I heard him wrong.

He bowed his head and said, “I’m sorry.”

I put my hand on my chest. I couldn’t believe what I had heard. I grew speechless. Jamal stepped in and asked the man about funeral arrangements. But I hardly heard what was being said. I was in a state of shock. I wanted to break down and cry, but nothing came out. I was numb. I couldn’t and I wasn’t trying to register the information. That couldn’t have been true, I thought. God wouldn’t have done that to me.

M
y mom, Jamal, and me were walking up the block on our way to C&S’s. Cat and Stacey’s family planned a memorial for them in front of the store since they had their funerals in Jamaica. It was cold outside. I remember the weatherman saying it was only going to be twenty-three degrees and the wind making it feel like eighteen. He ain’t never lied, I thought as the wind whipped my face.

When we got to the store there was a crowd of people out there. Most were people we knew from the neighborhood. A few were Cat and Stacey’s family members, and there were a couple people out there I never saw before. On an easel was a blow-up picture of Cat and Stacey, and on the ground, surrounding it, were stuffed animals and flowers. I walked up and placed a rose and a sandwich bag with two dollars’ worth of quarters in it among the memorabilia. I took a moment to look at the items and then at the picture. I couldn’t believe that was happening—I was at a memorial for my two favorite people in the world.

Walking back to where I had been standing with my mom and Jamal, I started crying. I didn’t know what I was going to do without that store and without Stacey and Cat. Thinking about it made my heart ache, and then imagining how they died made it worse. I felt for them. I cried so hard I couldn’t stop. Jamal held me in his arms and my mom rubbed my back, but I didn’t feel any better. I did not want to feel that pain. It was too much for me. I wanted so bad to go smoke a blunt.

Cat’s brother, the man who told us about the plane crash, started off the memorial with the Lord’s Prayer. Some people recited the words with him, others, like myself, were crying and whimpering. After the prayer, a woman stepped from out the crowd to read a poem she had written. It described how Cat and Stacey touched her life. I wished I could write, because I would have written a poem for them, too. They had done so much for me, just them being there and letting me sit in their store for hours helped me so much. I was truly going to miss them. Another lady from the crowd read a poem, and then Cat’s brother asked that we have a moment of silence. Everybody bowed their heads. People quieted their cries, but not me. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to disturb the moment of silence, so I just walked away for a minute.

Jamal followed me a couple stores down. He wrapped his arms around me and rocked me back and forth. At the least, I was thankful he was there. There would have been no way I would have got through that by myself.

“It’s all right,” Jamal whispered. “They’re in peace, now, watching over you.”

I wiped my face and looked up at Jamal. “That’s bullshit,” I told him, angrily.

Before he could say anything, it started to snow. Out of nowhere snowflakes were falling from the dark sky. Jamal looked at me and said, “It’s not bullshit.” He picked a snowflake off my nose. “See, that’s God.”

I put my head back on Jamal’s chest and tried to feel what he said. But it was hard. Just like it was when I lost my brother.

“I just want to say thank you all for coming out here and taking part in this with us,” I heard Cat’s brother say.

People started walking away, going back to their lives. Cat’s brother took the picture of Cat and Stacey down and put it in the back of a minivan. My mom started to walk toward Jamal and me. Her face was twisted up. “That’s a damn shame,” she said to us.

And that was it. Cat and Stacey were gone. They were just memories. That shit hurt.

I been back home for a couple months and things were better. My mom was going to N.A. meetings every week and she took Naja and me to a few. Hearing the other people’s stories, I understood more about addiction and the crazy, sometimes cruel, things it made people do. I realized that no matter how bad I had it, there was someone somewhere who had it worse. With that, I was able to forgive my mom for the things she had done in the past and move on. I just hoped she stayed clean. I, myself, was taking advantage of having a functional household again. I did some research to find out how I could get back in school and all I had to do was take a test. The test would determine what grade they would put me in. I was scheduled to take it in a week after I enrolled in my neighborhood school. Of course I wasn’t able to go back to my old school, but school was school no matter where it was. I just wanted to finish ninth grade.

I woke up one morning and I didn’t feel sick. I went to the bathroom to pee. Naja and Kindle were both in school. I went downstairs, and
The Price 1s Right
was on TV, but nobody was in the living room watching it so I turned it off. My mom was in the kitchen cleaning.

“Why you turn my TV off?” my mom asked as soon as I entered the kitchen.

“’Cause wasn’t nobody in there watching it. That’s wastin’ electricity,” I told her.

“You worrying about the electric bill like you pay it,” my mom said, wiping the inside of the refrigerator.

“You should be happy. I’m tryin’ to save you money.”

“Child, please. Aunt Jackie hooked me up with one of Hasaan’s friends, and he turned the electric on for free. I don’t gotta pay no monthly bill no more,” my mom bragged.

“Oh, well, in that case,” I said as I walked in the living room and turned The
Price ls Right
back on.

“What you cleaning all crazy for? We having an inspection or something?” I asked, grabbing a box of cereal out the cabinet.

“It’s spring cleaning time,” my mom answered.

“Oh.” I got out a bowl and a spoon and poured me some cereal. “Mom, pass me the milk out of there.”

My mom paused her scrubbing and handed me the carton of milk.

“You must not have morning sickness, you drinking milk.”

“No. I feel fine today, thank goodness. I think it’s because I’m in my second trimester now.”

“Well, good. You can go to the Laundromat,” my mom assigned me a duty. “I have a couple loads for me and Kindle. You can get you and Naja’s stuff together. Just don’t go over five loads. That’s all I got enough for until next week.”

“Why? What happened to your money? Didn’t you just get ya stamps?” I asked, overprotective of my mom’s spending. I was concerned she might have relapsed.

“Yeah. But I bought food. Plus, I lent Aunt Jackie some money to pay her rent. She goin’ pay me back when she get her money next week.”

“Don’t Aunt Jackie get Section Eight?” I inquired further.

“Yeah, they pay most of her rent, but she still gotta pay two hundred out her pocket.”

“A three-bedroom house for two hundred a month, I wish.”

“I’m tellin’ you. I wish I could get Section Eight, shit, I would get another house. Let them give me Section Eight, I’ll get a vacation home down on the beach like in Wildwood or something, rent that bad boy out for like a thousand dollars a month, give the landlord the little hundred to two hundred and keep the other eight or nine for myself. I could get rich off that shit.”

“Dat’s a good plan. How you get on Section Eight?”

“It’s a bunch of bullshit involved. You gotta be homeless just to get on the waiting list.”

“Oh.” I finished my bowl of cereal and got dressed to go to the Laundromat. I wanted to go as early as possible before it got crowded. I gathered up Naja’s bag of dirty clothes and the few outfits I had and put them in the trash bag with my mom and Kindle’s stuff. I put the bag in the cart along with the soap powder and bleach. Then I dragged it out the door and down the steps. The weather was nice compared to the cold snowy days we had in January and most of February. It felt like that early March cold where you needed a coat but not a hat and scarf.

I walked up to Newton’s. It was a few people in there, but there were plenty of washers available, which was why I went early. I put the white clothes in first, and as I was putting the darks in something told me to check the pockets to my jeans. Inside one I found a business card. It had information about an outreach program on it. Then a vague image of the man who gave it to me popped in my head. I held on to the business card and planned to call the number later, but I was bored waiting for the clothes to wash so I fulfilled my curiosity and called from the pay phone in the Laundromat.

“Hello, Street to Runway, how may I direct your call?” the professional woman’s voice greeted me.

“Hello, may I speak to a…Ron Washington?” I hesitated because it was funny how the man had the same last name as me.

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Angel Washington,” I answered.

“Please hold.”

The woman must have thought I was related to the man because she didn’t ask the other question that usually followed “Who’s calling?” which was “What’s this is in reference to?”

“Hello, this is Ron,” the man said when he picked up.

“Hi, I’m Angel Washington, I got your card a while ago and I wanted to know more about your program.”

“Well, Ms. Washington, first, let me ask you this, is your grandmother’s name Edith?”

“No,” I replied reluctantly, not knowing the relevance of his question.

“Oh, well I guess we’re not related,” he joked.

I chuckled at his not-so-funny humor.

“I’m just joking. I’m in a good mood today. But anyway, Streets to Runway is a nonprofit organization I started to help get women runaways, prostitutes, and drug addicts off the streets and back into society as functioning and productive citizens,” he explained. “It’s a modeling agency that caters to outreach programs. For example, our women are called on to host community events, assist at job and health fairs, and speak at schools, prisons, detention centers, rehabs, etcetera.”

“Oh, okay,” I said.

“Do you mind telling me where you got my card from?”

“A friend of mine gave it to me,” I lied.

“Oh, well, if you’re interested in seeing what we’re about, please come down to the office. You can drop in any day of the week between nine and one and then again between two and five. We will gladly give you or your friend more information. Okay?”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Oh, and the address should be on the card. We’re in Harlem.”

“Okay. Thank you,” I said.

“Thank you. Bye now.”

I hung up the phone and was intrigued. I was interested in finding out more. I made a mental note to go down to the office that next day. I figured I would see about getting a job there, maybe something part time just to have a little bit of money to help my mom out and to save up for the baby.

It took about three and a half hours to wash and dry the five loads. I went home and called Elaine.

“Well, hello,” Elaine sang.

“Hi, Elaine,” I sang back.

“How are you?”

“I’m doing good. What about you?”

“I’m hangin’ in there.”

“Listen,” I said. “I want you to go somewhere with me tomorrow.”

“Where?”

“It’s right in Harlem. Not too far from you. It’s a modeling agency.”

“You wanna model?” Elaine grew excited.

“Well, not really like model like magazines and fashion shows, but like speaking to kids and helping people out and stuff.”

“Oh, okay. Well, what time do you want to go? I have to take the kids to school at seven thirty. So any time after that will be fine.”

“We can go from nine to one or two to five. I was thinking being there at like ten. You know I like to handle all my business early to beat the traffic.”

“You and me both. Well, okay. That’s a plan. How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s doing good. She’s still going to meetings and stuff, so…”

“Good, good. Well, I’m glad you called me, but my stories are on, so call me in the morning okay?”

“Oh, okay. No problem. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Bye-bye.”

I borrowed a black blouse from my mom, ironed it, and hung it up. I laid my jeans across the banister in the hall. I was ready for the trip to the agency. I felt good about it.

Knock! Knock!
The bang on my bedroom wall woke me up. I reached down to the floor and placed my hand on the phone. It rang almost instantly.

“I’m up,” I answered on the first ring.

“What time you have to be down there?” Jamal asked.

“I’m trying to be there by ten.”