Note: The character, Angel Dumott Schunard, is not mine. He was created by Jonathan Larson, may he rest in peace. Also, the Times Square described in this chapter is how it used to be before Disney took it over.
HOW COULD WE LOSE ANGEL?
At Sixteen
"Stop, please. Ow! Stop hitting me!" I hold up my hands to shield the blows. It's no use, I'm just too fuckin' skinny.
He hits my face, my back, my arms. He kicks me. All the while he screams at me.
"How could you do this to your mother and me? Why are you being so selfish?"
Selfish?! I poured my heart out to them. I told them something that I thought they should know. It took a lot of goddamn courage to say it, too.
Selfish would be if I continued to live a double life. If I continued to live in secret and have my parents believe I was something I'm not.
He picks me up by the back of my shirt and drags me toward the door. All the while she just sits there and watches but doesn't do shit.
He opens the door and throws me out into a snowbank. I get up and, like a fool, I run back to the front door expecting to get back in.
The door is locked. I pound on it. I pound and pound until my knuckles bleed.
I'm freezing. I have no jacket on and I'm not wearing any shoes. She pokes her head out from behind the living room curtain.
"Ma, let me in!" I plead. "I got no jacket or shoes." She ducks her head back behind the curtain.
I wait, and I wait and I wait. She doesn't come to the door and she doesn't come back to the window.
I pound on the door some more. It opens slightly and she stares out at me.
"Ma, let me in," I say breathlessly.
"No," she says and slams the door.
"It's cold out here Ma! Let me back in, please," I beg.
"Go away," she says from behind the door. "You're not my son!"
Not her son? Not her son! How can she say that?
Pissed off, I pound on the door some more. Not because I want to get back in. But because I hate her.
"Bitch! You can go to hell!" I scream. I shove my hands in the pockets of my baggy jeans and walk down the street. It's 9:00 on a Sunday night.
My name is Angel Dumott Schunard. I'm Puerto Rican, French and German. My mom's from Puerto Rico, but her last name is Dumott because her ancestors came to Puerto Rico from France. My dad's German-American.
I gotta stop thinking about those people as if they're still my parents because they're not.
I'm walking down Flatbush Avenue trying to look as if nothings wrong. It's not easy since it's the dead of winter and I have no jacket or shoes. I bite my lip to keep myself from crying.
Only two more blocks 'til I get to Erich's. Erich will understand. I need to see Erich.
I'm in the alley behind his building. I make a snowball and throw it against his bedroom window. The light's on, but no one comes to the window. I make another one and throw it. A blonde boy pulls up the shade, sees me and opens the window.
He's so beautiful. He's the only one in this world who really knows me.
"Angel," he says in a loud whisper, "what are you doing here?"
"Can I come in?" I plead.
"Sure, come up the fire escape."
I climb up the fire escape and climb into his bedroom window. I pull the window closed. Erich gasps when he gets a good look at me.
"What happened to you?" he asks with genuine concern.
"Well," I say, on the verge of tears, "I did it. I came out to my parents."
"You're hand is bleeding!"
I look at my right hand. I had forgotten it was bleeding.
"Yea," I say. "I was pounding on the door trying to get back in."
"They threw you out of the house?" He asked, his blue eyes widening.
"Why else would I be walking around outside with no jacket or shoes?"
"Let me get a bandage for you hand, I'll be right back," he tells me. About five minutes later, he comes back with a bottle of peroxide and an ace bandage.
I take a deep breath as he cleans the wound. It starts to feel better when he wraps the bandage around my hand.
"Lay down," he says to me.
"Yes, Nurse Erich," I laugh. He laughs too. I lay down on the bed and close my eyes.
He stretches out on the bed next to me. I can feel his breath on my cheek. We put our arms around each other.
"I'm here for you," he tells me. I know he his. He's always here for me.
I must have dozed off because that's the last thing I remember. That is, before I hear heavy footsteps in the hall.
"Angel, wake up," whispers Erich. "Get under the bed." I do as I'm told. From under the bed, I see Erich go to his desk and open a school textbook.
The bedroom door is forced open. I see Erich's father's work boots.
"Erich," he says in a thick Polish accent, "what are you up to?"
"Homework, Dad," I hear Erich say.
He steps close to the bed. I inch away. I hear the rustling of paper.
"Erich," says his father, "I find this in kitchen. You know what it is?"
"It looks like a letter," he says nervously.
"Who write such filth?" asked the Polish accent. "What this means?"
"I don't know, Pop," says Erich.
"This better not be Sissy-boy's handwriting," the Polish voice rises slightly.
"Sir?"
"The Spanish one. The one what look like a girl." He means me.
"Angel?"
"Angel. Angel! Now what kind of name is that for a boy?"
"It's just a name, Pop."
"Angel belong in Christmas song. On top of Christmas Tree. Goddammit!"
"Um, Pop," says Erich, defiant but nervous. "I'm trying to study." I hear paper ripping.
"I rip this up and throw it in garbage," says the Polish accent. "If I find more like this, I rip them too. Then I kill the Spanish Angel." I hear the heavy footsteps retreating.
Erich pokes his head under the bed.
"Babe, come out," he says. "Now!" I crawl out from under the bed.
We stand facing each other saying nothing for a while. I'm afraid and I want Erich to hold me. I reach my arms out to him, he backs away.
"I can't," he says, his voice cracking.
I hang my head and look down at the floor.
"Sorry, Babe," he says regretfully. "But you gotta go. He'll kill us both." Erich's right.
"I know, Honey," I tell him. "But can I at least have a jacket and some shoes if I have to go back out again?"
"Sure," he says smiling. He's got a beautiful smile.
He goes into his closet and pulls out a pair of Nikes and his basketball jacket.
"Not your b-ball jacket!" I say.
"I got cut from the team when my grades dropped," he insists. "Got no use for it now."
I put it on. It's royal blue with yellow sleeves and has his name stitched over the left breast in yellow thread. I sit on the bed and put the shoes on. Good thing we're the same size.
I walk over to the window, but he grabs my arm.
"You can't go yet," he says. Before I can ask what he means, he goes over to his desk and opens his little safe and pulls out a wad of cash.
"What are you doing, crazy girl?" I laugh. He takes my left hand and puts the money in it.
"It's about seventy-five bucks, give or take," he tells me. "I want you to have it."
"I can't."
"Baby, you need it."
"But it's your money," I protest.
"Get yourself a room," he insists. " I want you to keep your pretty ass off the streets." He smiles at me with a twinkle in his eye.
I take the money and put it in one of the jacket pockets. Then, impulsively, I grab his face and give him a big kiss on the mouth. He doesn't fight me.
I pull away and look at him for a moment. He looks back at me, breathing heavily. The footsteps are heard again. Erich runs to the window and pulls it open.
"Go now, please!" he panics. "He'll have your head for sure if he sees you here."
I climb out of the window and run down the fire escape. When I get to the ground, I look up at his window and blow him a kiss. Expressionless, he pulls the window closed and lowers the shade.
I keep walking and walking until I find myself in Times Square. I'm surrounded by bright lights and loud noises. Noises that I ain't never heard before.
"Hey Sweet Thang, you look lost. Need any help? Heh, heh."
"Hey Baby, do you for five bucks."
Are they talking to me? I walk right past them without looking at them.
I hear sirens, loud music, gunshots.
I see signs for Peep shows, X-Rated movies, adult bookstores.
Finally, I come across a sign that says "Hotel".
I go in and approach the front desk. An old guy sits behind it, reading a newspaper.
"Yea?" he says without looking up.
"How much for a room?" I ask, nervously. He looks up at me and just stares for a moment.
"A little young ain't ya?" he asks. "Sure ya wanna stay here?"
"Sir, I just need a room for tonight," I plead. "I got money."
"Twenty dollars, then," he sighs. I hand him a twenty and he pulls a key off of a nail in the wall.
"Take the elevator," he says pointing behind me. "Second floor, third door on the right. Number 205."
I take the key and get into the elevator. It's the kind with a heavy gate you have to pull before the thing'll move. I push button #2.
I find Room 205 and open the door. The place is a fucking dump! But it'll have to do.
There's a small bed with a pillow and blanket in the far corner. A battered nightstand next to it. A sink in across from it with a medicine cabinet above the wall above the sink. A closet sized room with a toilet and shower stall.
I pull back the blanket on the bed and examine the sheets. They're dingy gray and dusty. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't sleep here. But these aren't normal circumstances.
Although there's a radiator in the room, it's cold as hell. I leave everything on, even the shoes, and crawl under the blanket.
I wake up some time the next morning. I think about going to school, but what's the point? Ain't been there in nearly two weeks. I hate the place. The only good thing about it is Erich. But he's been cutting lately, too.
What the hell, maybe Erich will go. After all, he's gotta kiss his Pop's butt so's not to appear guilty of whatever it is Pop thinks I do.
On my way out of the building, I pass the front desk and lay my room key down. The old guy is asleep and I don't want to wake him.
I look at the clock behind the desk. 10:30. Guess I won't go to school after all.
I grab breakfast in some dingy coffee shop. A cup of coffee and a donut are the only things that look appetizing in that place. The coffee shop has a pay phone. I decide to call Erich. Hopefully he ditched school today.
The phone rings about ten times before someone answers. It's his mom and she doesn't speak much English.
"Erich, please?" I say into the phone.
"You want talk to Erich?" she says, "I go see." Within two minutes, I hear Erich's voice.
"I can't believe your mom couldn't figure out it was me," I told him.
"Actually, she's standing right here," says Erich impatiently, "what do you want?"
"I wanna see you today," I tell him. "Seeing as we're both not in school today."
"I can't," says Erich.
"Why not?"
"Ma saw you running in the alley last night wearing my jacket. She told Pops."
"Aw shit! I'm sorry babe," I tell him. I'm so stupid. I should have gone in the other direction.
"Well, they were bound to find out sooner or later," he says.
"So, will I ever see you again?" I ask, my voice cracking.
"Don't think so," he says, with a sarcastic edge. "They're sending me to live with my grandma in Poland."
"Oh no!"
"And you can't write either," he snaps. "Pop says no contact whatsoever." Before I could say anything, he hung up. Determined to get an explanation from him, I deposited some more money and dialed his number again. His mom answered again.
"Please Miss," I beg. "Can I talk to Erich?"
"No!" she screams. "You no call here no more." Then she curses at me in Polish and hangs up.
I leave the coffee shop and just walk. I have no idea where I'm going. I don't even sense the two guys following me. Suddenly, one of them has me in a headlock.
"Gimme some money, faggot boy!" he growls into my ear. Before I can reach into the pocket of my jacket, the other guy punches me in the stomach. The jacket is stripped off me and so are the shoes. I'm back where I started.
I feel a kick in my back.
"Stay off the fuckin' street, faggot!" I hear someone hiss.
I cough up blood and try to get up. I hear another voice. One that's totally different from the other two.
"Hey, young man," says the voice. "You look like you're in pretty bad shape."
Finally, I'm able to sit up. I look up into the face of a well-dressed white man. He's smiling and his face seems to be encircled in light. Like a halo.