by Marcy McKay
I holler, but sound long-winded, “HELLLP. MEEE. GODDD!”
Above it all, I hear a strange noise falling from the sky, but at regular speed, clink-clink-clink. I don’t know what it is.
A loud whoosh swoops by and kisses my cheek. Dazzling whiteness blinds me—bigger, brighter and a bazillion times stronger than any spotlight. My body and soul echo together like a forgotten dream, we’ve done this before.
The bright light shakes through me, then I see a long flash of gold. Reeling, I topple against the base of the Warrior Angel and rest my cheek on the statue’s stony feet.
Empty.
He’s gone.
Again.
One shriek stops everything. The wind howls so loud I swear the earth’s shaking. I freeze. It’s way worse than Diablo’s wailing wind. Miz Jesus cries like a tortured animal. She screams bloody murder. She cries like death, but I can’t see through the rain who’s beating her.
Clink, clink, clink.
The strange sound continues.
After forever, the bullet finally hits the column of the Warrior Angel in slow motion.
The knife still crawls toward stabbing me, but I can’t stop it. I’m going to die. Someone shouts and pushes me out of the way. Another shot fires.
Turdmouth slams into me at a creeping pace. I drift to the ground like a leaf.
“Noooooooo!” I want to stop the blade aimed at him, but have no hands.
Miz Jesus plunges the knife deep into his heart. Blood bubbles from his mouth. Turdmouth’s eyes lock with mine, then his roll back. He stumbles, sways, then drops.
I snap back into my body full force. Time moves normal again.
The bullet hits Miz Jesus straight through her forehead. She collapses by her husband. No-Brains barks orders. I’m crying out for Turdmouth, but it’s all too insane.
Clink-clink-clink.
Someone grabs me from behind. “It’s me,” says O’Dell. I feel him cutting through the tape to untie me.
No-Brains wraps his arms around me and O’Dell. Something giant and feathery sweeps by the three of us. It brushes my cheek again, like a peck from Mama. Perfect. O’Dell screams like a little girl. No-Brains jumps back and yells, “What the—”
The white light disappears as fast as the brightness started. The storm stops, too, but it didn’t taper down to a drizzle, then fade away like usual.
It evaporates in an instant. I hear a few more clink-clink-clinks, then the cemetery turns quiet. As quiet as the dead.
For a few seconds of forever, there’s no sound at all. We all just hang midair. As my eyes adjust, the full moon breaks away from the clouds. No-Brains is already down checking on Miz Jesus. My eyes don’t believe what they see surrounding her body.
Pennies.
Pennies from Burger Heaven.
There’s a bazillion coins everywhere. Did they make that clinking noise?
My wrists burn as I rush to Turdmouth’s side. His sweet body lays splattered in the mud. Wrapping my palm around his, I hold it close to me and listen to his slow, heavy breathing.
His eyes start to glaze over. He stares ahead, already looking into forever with Mama and Sugar. His breathing’s slow and heavy. He tries to talk, but nothing comes out.
I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop him from dying. I can’t save my best friend.
He whispers, “Say … my name.”
A small laugh escapes me, then I sob. “You’re Tommy. Tommy Tucker.”
I do something next I’ve never done before. It should’ve always been my choice and not stolen from me by some Moley-faced stranger. Our lips meet in a kiss, soft and sweet. He tastes like candy hearts, private jokes and fried chicken we shared along the way.
He’s smiling.
I swear I feel Tommy Tucker leaving me. His spirit drifts by, then up and away, headed to Burger Heaven.
I can’t stop crying. Tears of friendship. Tears of fun. Tears of a bazillion different “what ifs” and “might have beens,” they all splash love onto his grinning face. I whisper what he stamped onto my heart in pink from day one, “Miss you, Tommy Tucker. Miss you.”
CHAPTER 44
Inside God’s house, the door hangs open and sunshine floods the chapel. The rain has stopped. I hope the badness has, too. Me, O’Dell and No-Br—I mean Uncle Patty, sit huddled together on the first pew under these comforters, each wrapped like a pig in a blanket.
Up front, the forever light’s back on and shines down on the cross. The big, stained-glass window behind there sparkles all the different colors of the rainbow. I don’t want to like it since Mama never did, but I’ve got to start deciding stuff for myself.
I’m covered in filth. My cheek and shoulder are bandaged up, both throbbing from pain. The doctor said they were just “superficial wounds,” but I told her there’s nothing fake about ’em. They hurt for real.
CPS was supposed to take me last night. I should’ve gone to the hospital, but Uncle Patty made everyone come here so I could stay with him. He also hung a blanket over Miz Jesus’ graffiti on the wall, so I don’t have to see:
You’re dead
I don’t want to like Uncle Patty since people die and leave me forever, but being alone sucks. He couldn’t be in charge of this investigation since he’s family, but he broke the rules last night and went after me.
He said, “I’d already lost your mother to that monster. I wasn’t about to lose you, too.”
My pinky toe might like him just a smidge, but don’t tell. He’s almost positive I can live with him since he’s my only kin still breathing who’s not headed to the slammer, but we’ve got to go through the system first.
Me and O’Dell sip hot chocolate. There’s so many holes inside my heart I’m surprised I’m not leaking. I don’t even know how to make life better. He sits beside me staring into his cup. He looks like a wet dog who didn’t dry enough. I’m sure I look as bad. It’s also weird seeing him without tobacco crammed in his mouth, or spitting at me. Nothing’s right anymore.
While some lady cop talks to my uncle, O’Dell whispers to me, “You look like shit.”
“You are a shit.”
We both sort of laugh, then his smile falls away. He watches me so hard, with his jaw twisted up, that I worry he might know I’ve started my period, or other deep, dark secrets.
He says, “You know, none of this is your fault.”
That’s not what Miz Jesus said or how she made me feel. I didn’t know her and Mr. Jesus couldn’t have kids. They looked like the perfect couple. Yeah, Mama was wrong to hook up with a married man, but she was just sixteen when he rented this chapel. Mr. Jesus should’ve been the grown-up there. That’s what Uncle Patty said.
Turns out, Mr. Jesus only got a concussion, but he’ll still be behind bars for a long time for a lot of stuff. Not only did he like shipping girls into the country for Diablo to hustle on the streets, but he also liked spending donations from The Lord’s Power Hour in ways the law doesn’t see fit.
I pull the blanket around me tighter. O’Dell promised me that Miz Jesus and Diablo won’t be buried here. They’re not on this earth anymore, but I’m not sure I can ever dig ’em from my brain.
O’Dell stands and stretches. “Want more hot chocolate?”
“Sure.” I give him my cup. My memory still feels foggy about last night: angel wings, gold swords and coins falling from the sky. Crazy.
Since we’re alone now, I lean over to Uncle Patty and whisper, “How many pennies did you find out there?”
“What are you talking about?” His eyebrows tuck together into one, long worry like Mama’s.
“Didn’t you find—” His confused look makes me stop. “Never mind.”
I stare at the cuts, bruises and bandages on my body. I should let this go, but can’t. “How’d Miz Jesus look when you found her?”
“What do you mean?”
“How’d she die?”
“The bullet wound, of course. But then …”
“What?”
“It’s hard to explain. There were also strange bruises all over her body, but they seemed fresh.”
“What’d they look like?”
“All small, round and uniform. She was covered in them. I don’t know. They were about the size of a…” he shrugs.
A penny. I grin.
Three days later, the sun shines extra golden as me and Uncle Patty walk through the cemetery. He’s carrying my library book as we head toward the Warrior Angel. O’Dell and the other groundskeepers picked up all the broken twigs and branches from the storm, so it looks like nothing bad ever happened here.
The bullet hole in the statue’s column says different. I’ll never bust O’Dell’s chops again for how he keeps these grounds. He was there when I needed him most.
I’m wearing brand new everything: sneakers so white they sparkle, jeans that no one else’s butt’s ever worn, and my coat’s even got real, fake rabbit fur on the collar. It’s silver like Mama’s but doesn’t look like her coat. Still, it’s movie starrish in its own way. Uncle Patty’s not rich, but he wanted me to have new clothes, so I let him.
The Street Killer didn’t murder One-Leg Larry after all. He got into a helluva fight with one of those vets and went off on another bender. Poor guy, his world’s ruined. Maybe we can sort of adopt each other since we’re flipsides of new coin: a daughter with no mama and a daddy with no son. It’s the least I can do to repay Tommy Tucker.
My lucky penny wasn’t with my other cash, but he didn’t steal it. I must’ve lost Mr. Lincoln somewhere else. I don’t what Tommy Tucker did with my cash, but he more than doubled my money. I can pay back Corn Dog, for sure and Uncle Patty’s going to open me a savings account, too.
I’m not sure how long I’ll live with my foster family, the Ratliffs. He’s a plumber and she’s a school teacher. She bought me stuff for my bloody panties and even showed me how to use ’em. They’ve also got three little boys who think I rock snot, so I don’t mind hanging there a while.
The Ratliffs let Uncle Patty visit every day. He always brings a photo album with all sorts of pictures of him and Mama growing up. He tells funny stories, too. Sometimes, they make me feel better, but sometimes they make me feel worse. Still, having him around means keeping her around, too, and I need that. Besides, I’m tired of running. It doesn’t solve a thing and just wears you out. The streets only ruin people. Look what happened to Egypt.
I want him to take me to visit Mai Wong, but her parents still don’t know about me, so …
My uncle hangs back to give me some space. He’s staring where Miz Jesus died. His brain’s working overtime, trying to find a possible answer for an impossible situation. All I know is that I had an angel for a mama, a devil for a daddy, plus a whole lot of hocus-pocus in between.
I open the angel book from the library. I’ll get my own library card when we move in together. I’ve looked at these pictures nonstop the past few days—the bright, beautiful colors still dizzy me. They show tons of angels, each with different names and jobs, but they share one thing in common.
They’re badasses.
On the Michael page, he doesn’t look dark and still like the Warrior Angel here. The Michael in the book is all shiny and colorful, like a moving rainbow. I love what Uncle Patty read to me about him:
Michael, whose name means “who is God” is the Chief Angel of the Lord and the greatest of all the angels. Not only is he the deliverer of the faithful, the angel of repentance, but also the conqueror of Satan.
That makes him king of the badasses.
My Warrior Angel isn’t so flashy. His dark, granite palms stay stretched out, begging toward Burger Heaven. We’re all beggars, deep down. Uncle Patty never held a “NEED FOOD” sign like me and Mama, but he was craving love just the same.
Michael’s stony feet feel as hard and cold as ever. There are no angel wings flapping now, or gold swords swishing through the night.
I whisper, “Are you God?”
He doesn’t answer. He just watches me with his black moon eyes.
I’m still not sure about God, but someone or something saved me from death the other night and more than once along the way. Maybe I shouldn’t hold one against the other.
Turning to go, I take a few steps when another whoosh swoops behind me. I whirl around extra fast to catch him, but the statue just stands there, same as ever. A penny sits at his feet, and not just any penny, either.
My lucky penny.
It’s the 1966 coin Mama gave me all those years ago. I lost it when I thought Turdmouth stole my cash. There’s the blue dot by Mr. Lincoln’s head. It still knows me like Mama always knew me, too.
Uncle Patty stares up at the clouds, so I slide the coin into my jeans fast, beside the penny from Moley’s backseat. Who can’t use double luck?
By the time we walk through the Historic Section, it’s warmed up so much that I tie my jacket around my waist to cool off. There’s a green tent off a ways for a funeral with ETERNAL PEACE written across the top in white. Mama can’t be buried yet. She’s still evidence.
O’Dell told me and One-Leg we could bury Tommy Tucker anywhere we want here. One-Leg wants me to choose. Everyone thought I’d pick some place fancy like by the Main Mausoleum, but I want him buried back in the Nobody Section ’cause it’s still my favorite spot. They gave Sugar back to his owners, so the groundskeepers will dig deeper to make a proper grave for my friend. Besides, the UNKNOWN NEGRO needs a buddy for all eternity, and there’s no one better than Tommy Tucker.
Miss you…
Sad starts to well up inside me again, but something knocks all the thoughts from my brain. I stop. I’ve walked by this headstone a bazillion times before. It’s a light-gray rectangle, with three names under one giant name in the middle:
NOBLITT
These are my people—Grandpa Patrick and Grandma Samantha. There’s one, tiny purple flower blossom in front of their grave, promising that spring’s not too far away. Warm after the cold, good after the bad.
I say, “You’re named after your daddy.”
He nods, but doesn’t say anymore.
I get to spend the rest of my life learning my family’s stories—each filled with happy, sad and glad. I’ve been so hypnotized by my grandparents, I just now noticed the third, new name on there. I can read it all by myself:
Corrine Daniels
A Loving Mother
October 17, 1983 – February 15, 2010
“How’d you get Mama’s name on there so fast?”
“I didn’t do it.”
I spot O’Dell across the road. He’s watching us from his monster riding lawn mower, the motor rumbling. He looks like himself again in his green jumper and big wad of tobacco in his mouth.
The Butt Munch sees us staring at him and ducks his head fast. He cranks it into gear, then drives off the other way, roaring through the cemetery.
I holler at him as he leaves, “What the hell, O’Dell?”
My heart soars up high, higher than Burger Heaven, knowing he did such niceness for me. He made Mama a Somebody. I guess she was all along.
Uncle Patty says, “I’ll leave you with your mother.”
I give him my angel book. He wanders off through the graves, touching different headstones as he walks along. I’m still not sure how she went from that starry-eyed girl to living on the streets, but maybe me and Uncle Patty can figure it out together. Or not.
Sitting down, I run my hand over her chiseled letters like when she first taught me my ABCs on Miz Elsie’s grave when I was little. “Hey, Mama. Thanks for helping the other night. Now I understand why you hated Mr. and Miz Jesus so much. They deserved each other.” I scoot closer and whisper, “Don’t tell your brother, but he’s not so bad.”
Tears inch up my throat again and I let ’em ’cause I miss her so much. “Hey umm, listen, I’m probably going to live with Uncle Patty for good and might even eat spaghetti with O’Dell’s family. Did you know he’s got five younger brothers? I can
’t wait to see all those little O’Dell’s, but don’t worry about me over there. It doesn’t mean I love you less, ’cause I don’t. You’re with me everywhere I go.”
I lift my head and feel the sunshine warming my face like she’s kissing my cheek now. It’s been a week since she held me last. That’s the longest ever, but I’ve survived somehow. I don’t like it. I still wish I had her and Tommy Tucker back, but what we want and what is aren’t always the same.
They’re both gone forever. Sugar, too. My heart knows the truth about Mama now. She wasn’t perfect, but who is? We both tried our best and that’s what counts. I may have grown up out here with the dead, but life is for the living.
I take out my two lucky pennies and set ’em on Mama’s grave. One for her and one for Tommy Tucker. Everyone can use extra luck. There’s enough to go around—the sun shines on us all.
I whisper the three words I’ve needed to say most to her, “I forgive you.”
Across the cemetery, there’s another green tent set up for another funeral. It happens all the time. A baby is born. A man dies. Life and death, death and life. The circle rolls all around us. As round as a penny.
As I hobble back to Uncle Patty, those same sad, mad and glad feelings come back at Mama for leaving me and all the things she never told me. At least they’re a little lighter this time, and lighter is always easier to carry.
Ask any homeless person.
It’s okay that I gave away both my lucky pennies. I’ll get a bazillion more dollars to buy me that little, white house with red shutters and a dog named Sugar. Someday.
There are more coins out there for the taking. Lots and lots. Love rains down on me like pennies from Burger Heaven.
The End
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