by Tiana Laveen
“He’s here because of me,” Xenia sobbed. “He took the bullet…for me.” Raphael held her free hand as they both silently stood watch over Saint for the next half hour.
Latrice walked into the room and hugged Xenia. “He woke up. God is good. Raphael, give her a few moments alone with her husband, Honey.” Latrice and Raphael left the room, leaving Xenia alone with her wounded soldier until he awoke and could see her face, receiving the peace he so desperately needed.
* * *
Xenia stood back, confused, wishing desperately she could understand what Saint’s father was saying. Raphael had indeed found him. He was in Egypt and returned home as soon as he learned what had happened. His voice was muffled behind the closed hospital door.
She finally heard Saint respond. “Open the door.” A few moments later, Saint’s father opened the hospital door. Xenia stood outside at the threshold. She looked at Saint’s father, a carbon copy of her husband, only two inches shorter and with smile lines and silver hair.
“Of course I knew,” his father continued their conversation. “Did you still believe I was disappointed in you? You’re my son!”
Saint looked at Xenia and smiled faintly. She wasn’t sure what to make of his facial expression. She suspected it was embarrassment. Saint never spoke much about his father. All he had said was that at times their relationship was tumultuous, and large gaps of time would sometimes pass in which they wouldn’t contact one another.
“Come here,” Saint’s father demanded as he looked at Xenia. His voice carried the same power as Saint’s, deep and authoritative, without the gentle edge, however. Xenia slowly walked into the room. Saint’s father took her gingerly by the elbow and placed her right in front of Saint. Saint looked up at her.
“I understand you’re my son’s wife. It would’ve been nice to have received the news from some place other than the television!” his father scolded. “Since you seem to have so much influence over him,” he shot his son a threatening look, “I want you to tell him that he must, for once in his life, be in the land of reality.”
Xenia looked at her father-in-law with bewilderment. “Sir, I’m not sure I follow you.”
“Saint believes he’ll walk again. He doesn’t seem to be the least bit concerned about his prognosis. All he cared about was that you were OK. If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t even be here. Please don’t take what I’m saying the wrong way. What I mean is, with what he does, this Black woman preoccupation, marriage and sex business mess, he should’ve never married. It’s not safe for anyone he loves to be around him. He put you in danger as a result of his own selfishness!” Saint’s father yelled. “You can’t have a normal life if this is what you’re going to be doing, Saint. You wanted a wife, and look what you brought to her feet! She could be dead because of you!” Saint looked weakly up at his father, silent, as though he were looking through him. Xenia closed her eyes and exhaled as she talked herself into not going off on this man who stood before her. He was, after all, her husband’s father.
“Mr. Aknaten, I’ll have to respectfully disagree with you.” Xenia bent to kiss Saint lightly on his slightly parted lips. Saint smiled, slowly lifting his hand up and placing it gently around Xenia’s neck. He brought her closer to him, pecking her lips as he breathed heavily.
“I promise you, I’ll be able to walk again,” he said. Xenia noticed his speech had improved in just the last hour.
“Saint, please don’t worry about doing anything for me. Do it for yourself. You already risked your life for me.” Xenia rubbed the top of his hand as she held it. Saint’s father crossed his arms and looked down at the floor.
“When he was little, Saint told me that he wanted to be a superhero,” his father said as he cracked a smile. “When he was ten, he told me he liked dolls. I didn’t see how he could be so boyish on one hand and so sensitive on the other. I immediately thought he was gay once I discovered a pile of Barbies in his room. Come to find out, it wasn’t that at all. He was fascinated with their anatomy and was actually girl crazy. It had nothing to do with wanting to be one. He had even drawn nipples and pubic hair on them.” They all laughed. Saint smiled, keeping his eyes closed as he listened to his father talk. “His mother felt I never understood our son, and she was right. I love him with all my heart, but I’ve never understood him. Sometimes it seemed like he was doing things just to shock me.” Xenia sat down on Saint’s hospital bed and listened as her father-in-law spoke, hanging on to every word. Saint moved his arm towards her, intertwining her fingers with his.
“He was a good student – straight ‘A’s, but always in trouble. It was shameful to have to get calls about my son’s behavior when I was teaching at the very school he was acting out in. Honestly, he only listened to his mother, and even she sometimes couldn’t get through. I don’t know if it was boys being boys, but Saint seemed to get some sort of sick satisfaction out of upsetting me. Then after his mother passed, the joy, the light that was within him dimmed. I was happy about it initially,” Mr. Aknaten said, followed by a sigh. “He was no longer a show-off. I didn’t realize that his change from being extroverted to withdrawn and serious was his way of trying to manage the pain of his mother’s death. I just thought he was maturing, growing up. My son died the day his mother died, and this new person came to be, a person I thought I had more in common with. He was no longer sensitive. Nothing seemed to faze him anymore. He took everything seriously. He didn’t joke anymore. He didn’t find humor in the simple things in life. He was almost robotic. I never wanted him to lose his spirit, I just wanted him to take life seriously,” Saint’s father said as he sat down in the orange chair and crossed his legs. “Saint,” he called out.
Saint looked over at him. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry I came in here so angry. I was just scared. I can’t afford for something to happen to you. You’re all I have left of your mother. I’m glad that you’ve found someone who makes you happy. I just wish you’d see the big picture sometimes. Even though you’re a grown man, I feel like I have to protect you from yourself,” his father explained.
Saint winced as he tried to sit up. “No, Baby. Don’t do that,” Xenia said as she hopped to her feet. Xenia grabbed the thin, stiff hospital pillows behind Saint’s back and plumped them up as she layered them behind his neck and back. She reached for the lever on the side of the bed, slowly elevating him upright.
“Thank you, Baby,” Saint began. “Dad, you and I are nothing alike, and I don’t apologize for that, and neither should you,” Saint said bluntly. “You think what I do is obscene. I believe the word you used was ‘grotesque’ at one point in time. You’ve never had problems with me dating Black women, but you said I didn’t need to go around flying a flag about it. You haven’t seen what I have, and you haven’t gone where I’ve been. If you did, you’d understand why I do what I do. I can’t sit around this hospital feeling sorry for myself and just accept what someone tells me if I don’t want it to be true. The doctors don’t know me. They don’t know my drive. They aren’t my god. I don’t have to accept what they say because they’re doctors like me. We all make incorrect assessments and assumptions no matter how educated we are.”
His dad shook his head. “Saint, you’re the type of person who’d flap his wings all day believing you can fly. You’d jump off a building and be surprised when your guts splatter.”
“No, Dad. I’m the type of person that would invent and build an airplane. Nothing is impossible in my eyes. If I never walk again, it won’t be because I didn’t try. I’m not giving up. I have a life to live. I have a wife to protect and love. I want children some day, and I won’t let anyone stop me from getting what I want. You’ve never understood that the world I live in is different than your reality, and it doesn’t mean I’m insane or naive. You were proud of me as long as I was doing what you expected. You didn’t want a son who cursed all the time, talked about sex, and seemed vulgar in your eyes. I can understand that, but I have to be me. You’ve
told me several times I was a disgrace. I always knew you loved me though. You always told me you did and took care of me. I’ve accepted that we aren’t one in the same and will probably never be close. You said just now that you were afraid I wasn’t going to make it, because I’m the last part of mom. What about being afraid I wasn’t going to make it because I’m the last part of you? You’re the walking dead. You no longer did the things you loved after Mom died. You no longer played chess. You stopped going to your favorite cafe to read and have your tea. I never heard you laugh or saw you crack a smile. I was still alive, but it didn’t matter. You barely noticed me after her death. I’m the living crippled, but I refuse to accept it. I won’t lie here and die,” Saint declared.
Saint’s father shot up and stormed over to him. He leaned down close to his son’s face, almost nose to nose, “But if she had died,” he cut his eyes sharply over at Xenia, pointing to her stomach as he knelt low, “you’d understand my pain, much – much – better!” his voice shook. Saint’s eyes met his father’s. They stared at each other, tension building as each moment passed. Saint could feel his father’s sorrow. It seeped into his unevenly beating heart and gripped it with the sadness, fear, and anger only a grieving man could manifest.
“You’re right,” Saint conceded. “You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry,” Saint said humbly.
His father stood up and thought for a moment. “Just like your mother.” He rubbed his son’s hair back as tears fell down his cheeks. “Always betting too much, no matter how the deck is stacked against you.” He kissed the top of his son’s head.
* * *
CHAPTER 10
Two weeks later…
“I’ve got nothing but time on my hands,” Saint said to himself as he flinched in pain. He looked at the pain pills on the table and shook his head. Xenia had helped him lie back on the couch. He listened to her in the kitchen, the pots and pans rattling as she tried to find the colander to strain pasta for dinner that evening.
“I still can’t find it,” Xenia called out. “Are you sure it’s in here?” she asked.
“Yeah. It’s black.” He opened his laptop and immediately noticed he had received a new email from Raphael. He read it.
To: Saint Aknaten
From: Raphael Jenkins
Subject: Now you can’t escape
Saint,
I know you hate it when I start off convos like that, but when I was looking at you the other day, it reminded me of what a strong person you are, and I had to bring this up again. With everything that’s happened, you need to look at your faith and life. I’ve been begging you for years to look at yourself. We’re more than best friends, we’re brothers. I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t bring this up. I know that the calling of your life is bigger than you want to realize sometimes. I’m not talking about the meetings, conferences, your books – none of that. I’m talking about the shit you’ve been able to do, the freaky shit, since I’ve known you. And when I say ‘freaky,’ I’m not talking about the sex shit either. I think you know what I’m talking about – the dreams. Something bigger is going on here. I want to sit down and talk to you. I can’t stop thinking about some of the stuff we experienced as children, especially right after your mother died. It seems that pain caused you to see things you hadn’t seen before. I need to talk to you about something I saw happen in the hospital. Xenia never left your side except to call your father, and when she did, I was there and saw you levitate above the bed again. It happened for only a split second, but it was the same shit I saw when you ran away from home and were living with me for a few days. I told you that first night you were up in the air. You knew it was true but told me I was high or making up stuff. I could see in your eyes you knew it was true, and you’d done it before. It would’ve normally scared the shit out of me, but I already knew years ago that something was going on with you. I’m not afraid of you. I actually feel safe with you. I also saw smoke come out of your mouth the week before we flew out to L.A. I turned away because I knew you wouldn’t want to talk about it. You can’t keep running from this. Now that you’ve got some time and are at home, I think this is a good opportunity for you to look at this closer. I want to help you and I’m not going to drop it.
– Raphael
Saint grimaced and deleted the email.
“Found it,” Xenia called out as she started the kitchen faucet water.
“OK, Baby,” Saint responded. Raphael’s email lingered on his mind. Saint looked occasionally at the television. He had memorized the room, remembering when he was standing, walking around hanging the pictures. He looked over at the love seat across from him and recalled bending Xenia over it, having his lustful way with her much to her delight. He looked down at the floor by his corner fireplace, recalling their conversations on his faux bearskin rug, as they lie naked together, blissful after another love making marathon. He turned away quickly and looked back down at his computer. He opened up his browser and typed in “psychic soulmate.” He spent the next hour reading all that he could. His eyes shot back and forth as he scanned the information, going from page to page, website to website. He clicked on one more.
“Saint, dinner is ready. I just need to put your salad in a bowl, and I’ll be right in,” Xenia said as she looked for utensils to toss with.
“OK, Baby. Thanks,” he responded, his eyebrows furrowed as he read his computer screen.
A psychic’s quest to find his or her soulmate is sometimes more complicated than one could imagine. Many psychics don’t arrive at their full potential until after the age of thirty-five. At this time, they have acquired enough life experiences to accept and appreciate their gifts. Thus, the time for finding a mate is optimal.
When the psychic’s subconscious is in overdrive, he/she may unknowingly send signals to their soulmate. This may manifest itself as the psychic moving to a location he/she has never been. It is also common for the psychic to pray for his or her soulmate, hoping to touch that person wherever they may be. Psychics with particularly strong abilities are often times able to dream of their soulmate and cast the dream to the object of their affection so that he/she may see them before actually meeting. This is called a “soul-connect love letter” and is quite powerful. The person on the receiving end always remembers the dream and feels the sender’s love. He/she may already know the person, but often not well.
Saint closed his eyes tightly, causing small lines to appear across his forehead as he rubbed his cheeks roughly with his hands.
‘I can’t believe this shit,’ Saint thought. ‘I’m buggin’ out. Xenia had the same dream as I did. Did I really do that? Shit, of course I did. We met right afterwards. Raphael, I hate you for making me think about this!’ Saint read on:
A psychic with these abilities may not realize the power he/she has until learning the heart communication language. “HCL” is what psychics are able to do with their soulmates. By placing their hand over their lover’s heart as their lover reciprocates the gesture, the psychic can read the mind of their beloved. The psychic can sometimes do this with others as well, but it will always be strongest with their soulmate and with children produced with the soulmate.
“That’s it – no more – computer off.” Saint angrily slammed the laptop closed.
“Hey, Baby. Here you go,” Xenia said as she walked into the living room with Saint’s food on a wide black tray. Saint moved his laptop and avoided eye contact. She handed him a cold bottle of water before setting the tray across his lap. She sighed as she looked down at him. “Are you OK?” she asked.
Saint slowly looked up at her and took her hands in his, “Now I am,” he responded.
* * *
Her low-rise jeans continued to fall below her middle thigh as she struggled to keep them up while helping her husband.
Saint looked over at her and smirked. “Where’s your belt?” he asked. “You have ‘plumber’s crack,’” he joked.
“Oh, hush! I have no idea where my b
elt is. That’s the problem with having only a few clothes at your house. I need to go shopping for a few more things after I make sure you’re settled.”
“You’ve lost weight. You need to eat.” Saint ran his hands along the wheels of the wheelchair, trying to brace himself.
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Xenia said as she helped him up. “You need to stop trying to do everything yourself. Now be still.”
“I don’t want another bath, Xenia. I want a shower.” He lie on the floor, pulling his shirt over his head. His angel tattoo now had a bullet hole through the left wing.
“Saint, I can’t hold you up that long, Baby. You’re heavy. Let me call your nurse and see if she can come back over.” Xenia turned to grab the phone.
“No,” he grabbed her arm. Xenia looked at her husband lying helplessly on the ground. She bent down to try to hoist him up. “No!” he yelled. “Don’t call anyone anymore to help me, and don’t try to help me yourself, either.” Saint struggled on the cold bathroom floor, moving his arms down, removing his pants and underwear until they were bunched around his ankles. The single goldfish in the bathroom aquarium swam back and forth, the blur of its orange body moving about. Xenia moved to take Saint’s clothing the rest of the way off. It was impossible for her to not notice his fifteen-pound weight loss. His face was more drawn in despite his aggressive attempts to eat larger meals and lift hand weights.
