My Book of Life By Angel (10 page)

A
nd after that Call,

sudden and loud,

saying I have an interview with a reporter tomorrow—

he heard about our petition

and wants to write an article on us—

­we're going to be news—

can you believe it, Angel?

It could be so good for us soon,

just have faith in me,

and he hugged me and said,

don't leave me, Angel, don't leave,

and he meant, don't make me kill you.

I said, look, Call, look,

and I gave him the money

I'd taken out of Daddy Dave's wallet,

there was lots extra,

so I said, this is for two.

Call said, good business, Angel-­girl,

and I said, I'm all about customer ser­vice.

He kissed me and carried me to bed

and he ground out some tribal—

but under the mattress,

there with my book of life

the watch

the wallet

the tie pin

the plan
.
.
.

How are we happy, still in fear of harm?

T
oday is the day, Call said.

He practiced reporter questions with Asia.

Asia said, what if he asks you how would you advertise?

Call said, the Dutch have display windows—you can get any size, color. It's much safer for the customer.

Yes, said Asia, pretending to be the reporter, but isn't it true that in the Netherlands the number of child prostitutes has tripled since legalization?

Call said, I don't see the connection. Isn't it all just harmless fun? Just think about all those girls competing for your business—the possibilities.

Call and Asia laughed at that one.

Asia said, okay, get serious ­here, how will you staff your business?

Call said, it's an employment option for the poor.

C
all said, did I do good?

I said, wow, Call.

It's going to be all good from ­here, Angel,

I promise,

we'll start new.

I said, I know, it's true.

I said, if you don't lock us in, I'll get groceries

and cook you something red

to celebrate.

He hugged me and left, wearing good clothes

and carry­ing his names in his almost empty briefcase

and leaving the door unlocked

and the rhino guarding the door.

I
had to wake Melli up

and she didn't want to—

she wanted to stay in her dreams

where she didn't know Call or me.

She woke up silent as a kitten,

yawned silent,

and I said, today is the day.

I pushed off the mattress

and there

my book

the wallet

the watch

the pin—

and Serena's envelope.

The envelope was full of Serena's going-­home money.

I put it in my pocket and said,

thanks, dead Serena.

I
stuck the tie pin in my book of life,

stabbed right into a blank page,

and the book with the pin and Daddy Dave's wallet and watch

and Serena's money

went in my almost empty purse

and I said, ­here comes the end of the story, Melli—

here we go.

I said, don't be scared.

Call says police like doughnuts—

I bet they have doughnuts, hey Melli?

You like doughnuts, Melli?

We walked to the Police Station,

capital P capital S,

and the rain fell like tinsel,

each drip a ray in the dusk,

each splashed into puddles like moons,

made slow-­motion flowers of light

that rain from the sea,

still with salt in it,

still smelling of shark,

my boughten flip-­flops spangled with droplets

like sequins—

I walked with Melli holding my hand.

W
e passed the Jimi Hendrix shrine,

him singing about a girl who walks through the clouds

and rides with the wind

and says take anything you want from me—

and when we ­couldn't hear him anymore

I talked to Melli about how

maybe an angel could be around any corner,

corners could be tricky like that,

and that's all I needed to be happy,

was the odd suspicious-­looking corner.

I said, ­we're almost there.

Don't worry, it's my story now.

A
t the front door of the Police Station

­were receptionists behind bulletproof glass,

up high like queens, grumpy queens,

so we went out and walked around looking for other doors

and found where the cop cars ­were parked—

We found the side door

which needed a swiper card,

so we looked in Daddy Dave's wallet,

and what do you know—

Melli did the swiping

and we walked into the Police Station

bold as can be,

like we ­were somebody's princesses

like we ­were girls whose faces

would be on a missing ­children's poster

like maybe it was supposed to go this way.

A cop, a young one with white hair, said,

what have we got ­here?

I said, this is Melli Smith.

­We're ­here to see Dave.

He said, got a few Daves ­here,

why don't you come on in and tell me if yours is ­here.

W
e followed the young officer with white hair

and he said, what's your name? and what's your last name?

and is this your sister?

and then we saw Daddy Dave sitting at his desk,

wearing a tie but no pin, ha ha, and no watch.

I pointed.

Daddy Dave looked up and the other cop said our names,

said, these girls say they are looking for you.

Friends of yours?

Daddy Dave went angel-­wing white

and pretended not to know us

without his tie pin and his watch.

Melli's hand was shaking, so was mine,

and I said, hey Daddy Dave.

The other cop looked at him hard.

Daddy Dave said, do I know you,

and I said, remember Melli Smith?

I bet she belongs to somebody.

I don't want her to end up with Mr. P.

He stood up and waved his hand for us to come closer.

I said, so the white-­haired one ­couldn't hear,

if you take her home

and tell Call you did it yourself

without it being my idea,

and you will because of this and other reasons—

and I showed him his wallet.

I said, sorry, I have my brother Jeremy to think about.

He said,

I don't know what you're talking about.

I whispered, yes you do because of tie pins.

I said, just take Melli home, please.

I said it ever so polite

because you can do that

when you've got a watch and a wallet and a tie pin.

The white-­haired officer had walked away,

and really fast Daddy Dave took us into another room,

and his face white as paper

and not even any words.

He grabbed my purse and dumped it out,

the notebook and Serena's money,

and took his wallet and watch

and held my purse upside down and shook it hard,

said, where's the pin, where's the pin,

said God's name over and over

but this time it was a real prayer.

I said, first Melli
.
.
.

that's all I said.

W
here's the tie pin?

He was praying his mouth off,

but I was silent as Melli.

Daddy Dave said, you're in trouble, girl,

you have no idea.

He tried to take Melli, but she held on to me

and I held on to her

and he tried to pry her off

and she squealed one perfect high note.

I said, you don't say much, Melli,

but when you do, it's good.

I said, I have to know she's okay

and you have to tell Call it's your idea

because of my little brother Jeremy.

I said, I'll still play your game,

I'll pat your back when you're done.

Daddy Dave said, if I don't?

I don't want to be on Call's bad side—

I've got family, too, you know.

I said, maybe you will get a plan.

I said, hurry, that man with the white hair,

he's going to wonder how I got your tie pin.

Daddy Dave grabbed my arm hard hard hard

and then he dropped it and went out.

I
picked up Serena's money

and my book and put them back in my purse

and we waited.

Melli touched the bruises welting on my arms

and it felt so good to sit with my hand on hers,

but I ­wasn't just sitting,

I was believing,

I breathed beams.

Daddy Dave came back

and slapped a file on the table.

You think they're going to believe a girl with a record?

He showed me,

and there it was—

shoplifting.

He said, you stole my tie pin.

I said, Serena knew shoes ­were gonna be the death of me.

I
said, I made Restitution.

He said, don't you think they'll know what you are?

Why do you think they'll believe you?

I could arrest you right now for kidnapping,

he said, his voice all shaking like he was dopesick.

You're in trouble.

The white-­haired officer came to the door, peeked in,

said to Daddy Dave,

what about that phone call couple days ago

from a lady reverend

about two young girls who came to church—

didn't you say you'd look into that?

The white-­haired officer said to Melli,

will you come with me?

To me he said, don't worry, we'll take care of her,

she'll just be in the next room.

I ­wouldn't have let her go

if he hadn't said that

and if his hair ­wasn't white

which was just because it was my story now.

I nodded and she went

and I called after, I bet she likes doughnuts.

And then Daddy Dave did a search on me

and there in the Police Station

it was worse than any street.

H
e did not find the pin, ha ha,

because he was not interested

in reading my book of life,

no he did not care to read,

which was one miracle,

and then another miracle came

after I was dressed

and the white-­haired officer poked in his head

and said, ­we've got something on one Melli Smith,

a photo.

I've put in a call.

He said to Daddy Dave,

this is going to be interesting,

and he left again.

I
found out that when you get a miracle,

you don't jump up and down,

you don't scream,

you just relax into a universe that's got your back.

You just want to live and see what happens.

Daddy Dave said, okay, you got what you wanted,

was it worth it?

we'll see what Call has to say about this.

I said, the plan is for you to say

it was my idea, Call,

my idea—

you ­can't keep little girls like Melli, Call.

Then I'll give you back your pin.

Daddy Dave said, I already phoned Call.

We'll see what he thinks about you now.

We'll see what he does to your brother.

I just lost that pin, you picked it up.

You're just a little thief,

shoes and tie pins,

just a thief.

I
looked at him

with the miracle at my back

and Melli almost saved,

and I said, you told Call I was ­here?

But the tie pin—

I ­couldn't breathe in that room made for searching,

I ­couldn't share the air with that man.

I jumped up and grabbed my bag and ran to the door

and Daddy Dave grabbed me

and me fighting back

like I could kill him

never mind God's top ten,

scratching his hands that grabbed me

scratching so I could feel his skin

peeling into my fingernails

and all his dirty words pouring out of his mouth

and me saying, in vain!

and, angel, angel—

then I was out of the room, swallowing air

but not enough—

I ­couldn't get enough air,

and I could see Melli eating a doughnut, white,

and I could see Call coming toward me

Daddy Dave behind me

saying

there he is

and it's your own fault—

and then

there she was

my angel.

The world was all before them,
where to choose
.
.
.

I
thought she would be

all floaty and filmy,

all fragile ghost-­bones that break,

all dandelion-­seed hair and weightless—

but no.

She was stone, fixed, forever
.
.
.

Her words dripped into my ear—

each drop weighed a star.

She said, Angel,

when God reads your book of life,

boy, are some people ever gonna get it.

I
said,

Jeremy,

and she said,

Call's pocket,

which I did not understand,

which I thought was angel talk.

I said, I don't want to hurt anymore.

And she said, it will be all pillows.

I
was surprised by this angel—

I was surprised by how pale my believing was,

how shrivelled up and shrunk,

how stingy

compared to knowing.

I was surprised by this angel

who said,

see?

see?

And then she was gone.