by Tiana Laveen
Saint paused, feeling a burning in his eyes; only this time, his corneas were not changing colors.
“…It’s okay, Saint… This letter is beautiful. Take a breath and keep going, baby…” Xenia encouraged.
“Uhhh…Oh God!” he wailed. His muscles tensed as he bawled uncontrollably. His body drew together like a shrinking shadow while he brought his knees up to his chin, the letter in his twisted grip. The pain was unbearable. He felt the disappointment and the words stung—hurt worse than a swift kick to the gut. All of those women he bedded…all of them were, at one point in time, someone’s ‘Isis’…
He quickly wiped his nose and continued, the tears blurring his vision, but he pushed through.
“…To let you know that if a man is like how I was, please run. Do not look back,” he choked out, as if he were actually standing before her, letting the wall of shame come crashing down so he could be straightforward with the girl. “Do not pause, do not second-guess it. Run like your life depends on it. Isis, I was not a good person. I had good qualities, but they were drowned out by my philandering and risky behavior. Some men are rather proud of that sort of past. I was at the time, too. I didn’t find anything wrong with it. I chalked it up to two consenting adults engaging in sexual activity. I believed we both got what we wanted, but we actually didn’t, Isis.
I wasn’t fulfilled because a high eventually goes away and then you are out looking for your next hit. The woman wasn’t satisfied because many times I’d never call her again…and if I did, those were usually the women that were just as messed up as I was. I would contact women for a second, third and fourth helping, for one reason and one reason only. This, no doubt, made whoever I was victimizing that particular day feel used…because she in fact had been. Isis, I was disingenuous. I used women to make myself feel better. I destroyed their trust; I broke them down and violated their minds, bodies and souls. I assumed because I never pretended to be their man. I was honest about what I wanted, believing that was enough.
It wasn’t. You are old enough now for me to explain all of this to you. Having sex, making love, honey, is a spiritual experience. It isn’t just physical. When you give your body to someone, you are connecting with them and giving that person a piece of yourself that you will never get back. If it is with the right person, it won’t matter that they have it because you two will be as one, anyway. But if you give it to the wrong person, there could be painful repercussions. I know you are empathic. You feel things very deeply; this makes you even more susceptible to being hurt by such a person. I am not trying to scare you, Princess. I don’t use scare tactics to get my children to do my bidding. The truth is frightening enough.
No, what I am doing is being candid and offering you honesty, so that you may use it as an umbrella to help shield yourself from such situations. You are precious, Isis. From the top of your head to the bottom of your feet, you are a coveted and royal entity, a Diamond. Diamonds need special care, and they cannot receive it from a person who treats them as if they are cubic zirconia or some bubble gum ball prize piece of jewelry made of plastic. You need protection from the type of person I used to be, so that you may be with the sort of man I have become today…
“Yes…” he heard Xenia whisper in agreement. Though she only uttered one word, stated so softly he almost missed it, she wrapped that word in a blanket of sentiment. “That’s right, baby,” she added, giving him a hug through the phone, encouraging him, pushing him forward and out into the forefront.
I will be real with you, too, Isis, he continued to read.
I know you may not listen to everything I say. I know you may not listen to anything I’ve said in this letter either, but at least I tried—at least I wrote it out. Isis, I know how guys are because I am one. I know what we do to get what we want, and I know how we look and feel when we are genuinely in love and care for a woman. I know what we do and say when we want to be a good partner to our mate. I know all of this because of your mother, Xenia. I am now aware what it feels like to be in love, and to receive that love back, tenfold. What it feels like to make love, versus just have sex. Or what it means to miss someone with every bone in your body when they are away. And that leads me to what I promised to discuss earlier in this letter—that love story regarding your mother and me…
He cleared his throat, gearing up to go down yet another emotional road.
When I saw your mother for the first time, I immediately knew she was to be my wife. I believe most people cannot determine something like that. Before I met your mother, I’d heard of love at first sight, and though I didn’t personally conclude it impossible, I didn’t believe it was a common enough occurrence to stack any logistics and testing to. I could not confirm or deny its existence until I looked into your mother’s eyes. The very first time I stood in the radio studio where she worked, I could already envision how that woman and I were going to have some hurdles. Because once it became clear in my mind and heart who she was to be for me, her destiny in my life, I had no doubt I was dealing with someone who would not initially come to me willingly.
Isis, your mother did not originally take to me. Matter of fact, she was determined to never deal with me again. You see, we had a rough start. Our first interaction happened in the form of a rather serious off-air argument. It involved all sorts of angry outbursts, low-blows and verbal attacks. Of course, that is not the ideal way to begin with someone, but it is part of our history, and in retrospect, I believe it was completely necessary.
Your mother has her own background and I have mine, and that initially didn’t mesh well. But, deep down, your mother knew who I was as well. She realized this after that first meeting; despite how she convinced herself that I was the worse person in the world, deep in her heart, she determined I was coming for her, and I wasn’t going to stop until she gave me a chance. I just needed her to let me take her out on a date because I knew emphatically, without a shadow of a doubt, that Xenia Donnellson was to be mine.
She is the first woman that made me feel like I was just going to fall to pieces if I couldn’t get her. She is the only woman I’ve ever been in love with, Princess. I’ve cared for women, I’ve loved some women, but I was not in love with any of them— and there is a difference. With your mother, I experience all of these emotions simultaneously. I want for someone to feel that way about you too, Isis. You deserve a man who will wait for you if you are not ready to make love. You deserve a man who is patient and kind to you. You deserve a man who will not purposefully impregnate you without a ring and a wedding.
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…
*
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Do 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 che
st 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.”
