My Book of Life By Angel

by Martine Leavitt

  telling people to spray perfume on furniture

  and adopt a manatee

  and cook with balsamic vinegar and toasted hazelnuts

  and thyme sprigs and goat cheese.

  He said, this will be us someday.

  But all those ingredients ­were just a poem to me.

  He said, time to expand the business.

  Me first he ruined . . . whom will he next?

  To­night started out with the same dialogue,

  with Widow saying,

  you again?

  She said, I’m nobody’s babysitter

  fine by me you wanna get dead

  see if I care.

  She said, you watch out

  don’t you be thinking I’ll save you

  and don’t you get in that car there either

  I heard he’s a woman-­hater.

  She said, don’t step over that line.

  She said, what’s the matter with you? you dopesick?

  Call cut you off? why then?

  you want to feel it the way you did the first time? why then?

  how can you stand it?

  don’t you throw up around me,

  throwup makes me throw up.

  She said, how can you work?

  I said, when I’m clean I’ll find out your real name,

  and she said, guess.

  I said, is it Marnie?

  Lenora?

  Dorothy?

  Elaine?

  Widow listened to each name,

  trying it on,

  and

  no

  no

  no

  no.

  I said, Widow is a nice name

  and she said, too spidery.

  I said, call your mom.

  She said, I don’t remember my mom.

  She said, some date knocked my memories out of me

  but I bet if I hear my real name

  I’ll know.

  If I could remember my name

  I might remember my mom who gave it to me.

  Then came Mr. Mercedes pointing at me

  and Mr. Shiny Suburban who pinched

  and the guy who had his girlfriend on his cell all the while

  and the guy who had a Mickey Mouse watch

  and Mickey danced the ­whole time

  and the guy who asked me for a password

  and was sure I was a spy

  and the nice man whose girl was far away.

  The ­whole time I was shaking and sweating and coughing

  and one man said stop it

  but no matter how hard I tried I ­couldn’t stop

  shaking and coughing and yawning.

  He put his hand over my mouth

  until he was done

  so I could hardly breathe—

  and right then and there I gave up.

  I said, Widow, I’m done.

  I walked back to Call’s place same as always

  knowing he would give me give me give me

  all the candy I could take.

  I walked back to Call’s place

  thinking, I give up,

  thinking, I’m dying I’m dying,

  and me not knowing,

  just walking in the door,

  and there I found

  an angel.

  A little one.

  A little girl.

  Call said, you needed some help.

  He said, her name is Melli.

  His words replete with guile into her heart too easy entrance won . . .

  Melli, a little girl

  you could see her veins through

  and her eyelids?

  you could see the blue through

  and her feet?

  you could see the bones through

  and her hair?

  you could see the light through

  She was almost not there.

  I thought, if I blink

  I could make her go away—

  but no

  she was never gone, blink blink,

  she was there and there

  and what was I going to do?

  The air of this place

  could crush such bones

  such blue.

  I said, where did you get her?

  He said, group home ­here,

  nobody cares about those kids.

  I said, that’s not true—

  I said, I’ll work hard—

  I said, take her back

  it’s not right

  she’s too little—

  I said, if you got caught you would be in big trouble.

  Call said, all great businessmen take risks.

  I said please.

  He said, you need some candy,

  and I said, just a minute.

  I had to think, had to,

  but I knew I ­couldn’t think on Call’s candy.

  I said, in a minute.

  I threw up in Call’s bathroom sink

  so hard I thought bits of stomach

  slid out of my mouth

  and then I came back into Call’s living room.

  Melli.

  I was careful, didn’t move too fast around her,

  didn’t want to scare her.

  Call said, I need to go out,

  and he went into the bathroom

  and ran the shower, started singing

  something about little miss strange

  no one knows where she comes from—

  While Call sang in the shower,

  I asked her, how old are you?

  She put up all ten fingers

  and then one—

  same age as my little brother Jeremy.

  It’s okay, I said to her, my voice shaking, shaking,

  you can trust me—

  what’s group home?

  where are your parents?

  But my words went through her

  as if she ­weren’t solid

  and she didn’t answer.

  I said, Melli, is that your real name?

  She nodded.

  I said, can you talk?

  She shrugged, looked down.

  Why don’t you talk?

  I looked in her mouth,

  she let me,

  and she had a tongue

  pink as a baby’s

  and I knew that mouth

  had never eaten fruit off the knowledge tree.

  I said, it’s okay, silent Melli—

  it’s okay.

  I said, Melli, where are you from?

  where do you live?

  I looked in the phone book,

  but Group Connect

  Group Sales Office

  Group Telecom

  Grout

  Grove

  no Group Home.

  I said, Melli, where is Group Home?

  What is it near?

  She looked away, looked around,

  looked sad that she didn’t know the answers to the quiz.

  I said, what’s your last name?

  I said, do you write, Melli? write your last name,

  and I gave her paper and she printed neatly

  Smith.

  Sometimes God thinks he is so funny.

  Call came in holding out candy,

  offered it to Melli,

  said, wanna try?

  I said, she’s too young,

  and he said, mind your own business.

  But he left her alone anyway.

  I held Melli’s hand and took her in the bedroom

 
and I whispered,

  don’t, ’kay?

  Trust me, Melli,

  sometimes one bite

  and everything’s different after that.

  I put her to bed,

  tucked the blanket under her chin

  like I used to with Jeremy

  and I lay beside her on top of the blanket

  and didn’t stare at her until she was asleep.

  Getting a little girl makes you stop pretending,

  makes you remember things,

  makes you sick

  makes you see

  makes you say

  this is what happened to me . . .

  When I wished for an angel

  this isn’t what I meant at all.

  She’s just a little girl.

  I caught Call looking at me

  looking at her sleeping,

  and he knew I was thinking, just you touch her,

  just you touch her.

  I said, quiet, so I didn’t wake her up,

  you don’t have to put her to work,

  I’ll make lots of money.

  Call said, this is just business,

  right, Angel?

  Someday I’ll be legal,

  someday the government will acknowledge

  this is just business

  and give me a license

  and I’ll pay my taxes like any other guy.

  He said, I’ll be a marketing guy, a retail man . . .

  I saw me and Melli, mannequins in his store window,

  mute and hard, undressed,

  but still wearing our shoes,

  still wearing our smiles.

  He said, you want your sweet candy now?

  And I said, no thank you.

  I used to be afraid that Call didn’t love me

  but now I knew I didn’t love him.

  Call said,

  she’s in for a million.

  You be her main girl, Angel.

  That’s what he said.

  He said, you be the boss of her.

  I said, I would never,

  and he said, you’ll do what I say,

  and I said, I’ll die first,

  and he said, okay.

  And then he showed me pictures,

  pictures of Jeremy

  at the playground

  sliding

  swinging

  hanging

  testing gravity

  pretending to die.

  Call said, I visited Jeremy a few weeks ago.

  I walked him home from the playground

  to keep him safe.

  He said, he’s cute, huh?

  and my heart was

  sliding

  swinging

  hanging

  and I saw the gravity

  of the situation.

  I laughed and said, what a brat,

  I ripped up the pictures one by one

  until just a Jeremy eye

  and a Jeremy mouth

  all in pieces on the floor.

  I don’t care, I said, I don’t care.

  But Call was smiling

  and I was dying for real.

  Then he showed me a stuffed blue rhino.

  I had seen that stuffed blue rhino before.

  I had bought this very stuffed rhino

  and given it to Jeremy.

  I took it from Call, smelled it, smelled Jeremy on it,

  grass and jam and sour milk,

  and my brain shook, I felt it rattle in my skull,

  right behind my nose

  like my brain came loose,

  picked right off the stem.

  Call said, if you leave me, if you take Melli,

  I’ll hurt Jeremy.

  Nothing bad will happen to Jeremy

  as long as you remember that.

  I said, why would you say something like that?

  and he hit me

  and that was the right answer.

  Call went out

  and I slept on top of the blanket beside Melli

  and I dreamed

  that Call stretched and shrank,

  stretched and shrank in his skin—

  I never knew what he would be next—

  a ­whale? a gnat? a wolf? a sea bird?

  a snake . . . ?

  every one could swallow me ­whole,

  that’s how small I was.

  I dreamed that it was all a dream . . .

  But when I woke up she was still there.

  Hate stronger, under show of love

  well feigned . . .

  She was lying silent beside me,

  staring at me, not moving,

  and it was people’s lunchtime

  so I said, you must be hungry.

  I got up and in the bathroom threw up

  maybe bits of spleen

  and my shoulders ached like the time Call beat me

  because I said I was too tired to work.

  It was like my back and shoulders

  remembered everything.

  But Melli had to eat.

  Call said,

  now it’s my turn to stand on the corner,

  collect names for my petition.

  I said, take your time.

  Good luck.

  Goodbye.

  He said, take care of her,

  she’s your retirement plan.

  She’s ­here so you can be the baby mom,

  have my baby someday.

  So take care of her.

  I said, yes I will, and I did not lie,

  top ten.

  And he locked us in.

  I looked in the kitchen and found

  pasta

  white bread

  salt

  instant potatoes

  vanilla ice cream

  milk

  cottage cheese

  cauliflower

  plain yogurt

  bananas

  cream of wheat

  mayonnaise

  mozzarella

  and sponge cake.

  I said, Melli, are you hungry?

  I gave her a mozzarella cheese sandwich

  with mayonnaise

  and milk to drink

  but I ­couldn’t eat anything.

  Melli sat on the broken-bone couch in a ball

  silent, silent—­whatever I said to her

  she didn’t answer.

  I said, Melli, when you’re a kid

  you think if you break the rules

  you will die.

  But one day you break the rules, and you don’t die,

  and then you think you’ll never die.

  You dump all the rules and you’re so light you float.

  But you can get so high

  there’s no air up there.

  You can get so high there’s nothing to see but clouds

  that rain you down.

  Don’t, ’kay?

  Don’t take Call’s candy, ’kay?

  I said, who runs Group Home?

  what’s her name? do you remember a name?

  but she just shrugged, shook her head.

  I said, what’s your daddy’s name?

  Write your daddy’s name,

  and she wrote Mike.

  The phone book had lots of Mike and Michael Smiths

  but none of them ­were the dad of Melli.

  No one was the dad, brother or uncle of a Melli.

  After a while I started not understanding the word no.

  It sounded strange to me.<
br />
  Michael Smith number I don’t know said no,

  and I said yes?

  He said no,

  and I said what?

  He said, what part of no don’t you understand?

  I said, the first part

  and the last part.

  I said, Melli, what about your mom?

  Write your mom’s name—

  so she wrote Sue neat and careful

  and the phone book had lots

  of Sue Smiths too.

  I called every S, Sue, and Susan Smith

  and none of them had misplaced a little girl.

  But Suzanna Smith had a dog named Melli,

  named after a distant cousin—

  she hadn’t seen that cousin in twenty-­three years

  which made Suzanna cry.

  Melli lay on the couch

  and looked at me

  and didn’t care that a dog had her name.

  I said to Melli, time to listen up.

  All the little children in the world aren’t lucky

  and Melli, you are one of the unluckies.

  I’m sorry, but it is so.

  I’m sorry to tell you that

  but you have to help me, Melli.

  I’m not feeling so good.

  But Melli was silent, silent.

  I thought, what am I going to do?

  what am I going to do?

  Right then Call came back.

  He said, I’ve been trying to call,

  he said, no more phone privileges,

  and he smashed me into the wall

  and Melli started to cry.

  I said, don’t be sad, Melli, don’t cry.

  It ­doesn’t hurt . . .

  Call said, ripping the phone jack out,

  from now on I’ll use my cell.

  Later I whispered to Melli,

  ha ha things on me that have been broken

  by Call and by dates:

  nose,

  finger,

  toe,

  ear­drum.

  But angels don’t break, Melli, I said.

  Angels are bendy.

  Ha ha, Melli. Ha ha, right?

  Don’t cry, ’kay?

  Call said later, I forgive you,

  said, ­here’s your candy.