AN ANGEL OF THE FIRST DEGREE
SUMMARY: ONE NIGHT, COLLIN'S DECIDES TO WORK UP THE COURAGE TO ASK ANGEL ABOUT HER PAST
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN RENT.
RATING: TEEN-M JUST TO BE SAFE. JUST TO WARN YOU, THERE IS VIOLENCE AND RAPE.
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Thomas Collins had had a long day. He had a whole briefcase full of term papers that desperately needed grading, but to tell you the truth, he just wasn't up for it. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. He hung his coat up on one of the pegs, and made his way into the apartment.
Angel was in the kitchen, standing over a pot of noodles, her front teeth resting in concern and apprehension upon her lower lip. She had never been one to cook, but always liked the idea of Collins coming home from work to a hot meal.
"Hey, baby," he said, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame.
"Mmm," Angel nestled into his arms, "Hey, sugar. How was work today?"
"Don't get me started. What's for dinner tonight?"
"Pasta…or at least, I hope. The noodles just won't cook! They feel rubbery and nasty."
"I am sure however they turn out, they will be fine," Collins assured her, planting a kiss on her shoulder blade, "How was your day?"
"The usual," Angel sighed, putting the lid on the pot, "I made about five dollars today. That should help a little, right? Maybe buy us some more groceries?"
"Yeah," Collins nodded, appreciating how much she tried to keep things together, "Hey Ange, do you know what tomorrow is?"
"April Fifteen?" Angel guessed, wiping her hands off on a dishtowel.
"Yes, your birthday."
"Is that so?" She asked, a small smile playing at her lips.
"You didn't forget your own birthday, did you?" Collins asked.
"Well…" Angel blushed, tossing the towel to the counter, "…it just never has been a big deal. It's just another day."
"No, no it's not," Collins objected, "it's another year, another year of us."
"Maybe," Angel sighed, crossing her arms over the little pink turtle-neck, "I never really got into the whole birthday thing."
"But when you were a kid…"
Angel stopped him, "When I was a kid, things weren't…things weren't exactly sunshine and rainbows, Collins."
"Do you want to talk about it? I mean, I hardly know anything about your life prior to meeting me. I want to know every detail about you, Ange. Everything."
Angel rolled her eyes, "I knew you'd ask someday," she said, "Come on, we might as well sit down for this."
She led Collins into the living room and gestured towards the couch. As he sat down, Collins couldn't help but wonder if he should have even said anything at all. Did he really want to know everything? All the pain and hurt Angel had endured? Could he endure it? Collins swallowed thickly, and knew that his was his Angel, her story was his story.
"Alright," Angel took a deep breath, "I was born on April Fifteenth in Chicago Illinois. My mother had immigrated here when she was seventeen. She needed to find work and took a job as a dancer in a club," Angel said, a small smile upon her lips, "She was beautiful, Collins. She had the prettiest black hair, and beautiful almond eyes. She was the most gorgeous thing I think I have ever seen. Mama danced at the club for almost a year, before one of the customers asked her out for drinks."
"She said yes, of course, and they went out. She was barely eighteen – younger than Mimi! After they had their drinks, he invited her back to his place where he raped her. Mama said he didn't, but I know the truth, Collins. If you ever met this man, you'd know too. She was too drunk to know what was happening, and too innocent and trusting.
About three weeks later, she realized she was pregnant. Louis Fernandez, my father, insisted that he would help her out. He bought her an apartment downtown. He even paid for the hospital bills when she gave birth to me. I guess she thought Louis was a dream come true, and he might have been. I only ever knew one side of him.
Mama quit her job at the club to stay home and take care of me, her little Alejandro. Louis worked as a contractor, and had enough money for us to get by. We were all living together when I was little. I remember Louis coming home so angry all the time and I didn't know why. Was it something I had done?"
Angel paused to take another deep breath and Collins placed a hand over hers.
"It's okay, Ange," he assured her, "You're here with me."
Angel nodded and continued her story, "I remember one night, I must have been about four, I was sick. I kept throwing up and Mama was up with me all night. He came into the bathroom where we were, and grabbed her by her hair, dragging her out. The door slammed shut and I heard shouting and yelling. I knew he was mad about me, angry that I was sick and keeping her away from him. I remember hearing her crying and sobbing. She never came back to the bathroom. I stayed there with the door locked all night, terrified he would come and take me next. In the morning, after he had gone to work, I got up and found Mama wiping up something red from the floor. She had bruises on her arms.
I was young then, but I knew that Louis had caused them. I knew he had hurt my Mama. Things didn't get much better. When I was six, Louis came to my bedroom. He was drunk, I remember the smell, and yelling about how I was a waste of his money, a waste of his time. It was the first time he ever beat me," Angel's voice cracked a little and she blinked back tears, "I was so scared, that I soiled my bedding. It made him hit me even more.
Mama held me in her arms that morning and told me not to anger 'Papa' she said that I needed to stay out of his way and not do anything to upset him. I tried to stay out of his way, but never managed to. I became his punching bag. Things got worse when I got older. I realized I was different from all the other boys in my school and in my neighborhood. They all liked sports and were into action figures and basketball. I preferred sitting alone to going outside to pay.
Mama noticed this. She asked me once what was wrong, why I didn't want to go be with the other children. I told her I had nothing in common with them. I must have been about twelve. Mama asked me, if I could do anything I wanted right then and there, what would be. I told her that I wanted to be different. I told her I wished I could be pretty like her.
She smiled at me and said something about boys not being pretty, boys are handsome. She told me I was handsome but I knew it was a lie. Mothers are required to say those sort of things, aren't they? When I looked in the mirror, I knew I wasn't handsome. I had rosy cheeks and big, round eyes. I was very thin and not muscular at all. Mama told me it was just because I hadn't hit puberty yet.
Puberty was scary. I suppose it always is for everyone, but for me, I think it was worse. I began to see boys different. I started to enjoy sitting by the window and watching the boys play basketball. They looked good in their uniforms, Collins. I guess that's when I first knew.
One day, Mama and Louis had gone out and I was home alone. I was about thirteen. I snuck into the bathroom and got out some of Mama's makeup. I had locked the bathroom door, and slowly applied the eyeliner, the mascara, the blush…it was so…enjoyable. When I was done, I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. I looked like me for the first time in my whole life. I was who I was meant to be, Collins.
Well, of course Louis and Mama came home early. Louis saw that the bathroom door was locked. He had an issue with locks. Louis was the type of man who adored power, and locks took that away from him. He began to pound on the door, yelling at me to unlock it. I begged him to wait as I tried to wash off the makeup, but he broke down the door. He saw me standing there, half my face done up in makeup, half of my face dripping with water.
He grabbed me and called me a fag, he said I was a disgrace and that no son of his would ever be a girl. He began to hit me over and over and over and over again. I must have blacked out because I don't remember the rest, but when I woke up, I had red lash marks all over me and welts.
Mama was sitting on the edge of the tub when I finally came through. She looked and me and just shook her head. She got down on the floor, cleaned up my blood, and asked me if I could see okay, and if I could move. I think I had a few fractured bones, but I was able to stand. She told me that was good, and left. I stayed in that bathroom, not knowing what to do.
I knew I could run away, I wasn't stupid, but I couldn't bear the thought of leaving Mama behind. At least with me there, Louis would hit me and not her. If I left, she'd be the only one. I couldn't do that to her, she was my mother, Collins. So I stayed.
Mama made me go and apologize to Louis. I told him that I was sorry and that I would never do that again. He told me that I best not, and handed me a beer. Told me it would ease the pain. Of course, after that, everything was different. Words like fag, and freak became common words in my house. Louis knew what I was, and he wasn't about to let me forget it. I began to hate myself. I wondered why I couldn't just be normal. All I wanted was a normal life. I had never asked for this.
That was the same I week I first cut myself," Angel rolled up the sleeve of her shirt to reveal a handful of scars sprinkling her arms.
"I always wondered," Collins admitted, "but didn't want to say anything."
"Well," Angel sighed, "Now you know. Mama found out about a month later. She asked me why I was doing this to myself. I told her that I hated myself for being this way and that I'd never be happy if I had to live so confined to the way she and Louis wanted me to be. She asked me why I didn't just leave and I told her I couldn't leave her. I invited her to come with me, I begged her even. She just shook her head. 'No, Alejandro, I can't do that. I love your Papa too much to leave. You are my little Angel, you know that, right? You have always been my little Angel. Now, it is time for my little Angel to find his wings.'
That night, while Louis was at a bar, Mama helped me leave. She helped me pack my clothes into a small backpack. Before I left, she handed me a picture of herself and a fifty dollars. She apologized for it not being much, but told me it was all she had. After hugging and kissing goodbye, I walked to the bus station and never saw her again.
It was about eleven at night, and the streets were dark. As I rounded a corner, a man approached me. He asked me where I was going. I told him New York, it was the first thing that came to mind. He asked me how much money I had. I knew better than to give him a straight answer, so I just said, 'enough.' He then told me he could help me. He said New York was an expensive city and that he could double it if I did what he wanted me to. I didn't know what, but I agreed. He led me to the ally and got to work.
It was the first time I had ever been raped before," again, her voice cracked, "And I can still remember every detail – the way he smelled, what he tasted like, the pain, the soreness, the dizzying feeling, my voice catching in my throat, everything. When he was done with me, he threw a wad of cash at me and told me, 'you weren't bad, whore.'
I was only thirteen, Collins. Thirteen! But I suppose it's the bad stuff that makes you the toughest, right? Well, I hobbled to the station, paid for my ticket, and waited for the bus to arrive.
It was a long trip, but worth it. When I got to New York City, I felt a sense of peace, like this was where I could finally be free to just…be. I didn't know what to do or where to go, so I just walked down the streets hoping to find someone that could help me. That's when I met Dumott Shunard.
Dumott was a drummer who sat up his little pickle-tub out on the street corner. He had run away from home too, and he was gay. Like me. I finally felt like this could be it, you know? Like, for once, I wasn't alone. Dumott took me to his apartment, gave me a warm meal, and offered up his couch. He was never anything sexual to me, Collins, but I loved him. He was dying of AIDS just like we are, and was living life to the fullest. He had no regrets, he was just happy to have each day he could.
Dumott lived another five years. In those five years, he taught me how to play the drums. We both had a little duo going to earn cash. He also taught me the importance of loving life. No matter how bad things get, he'd always say, they could definitely be worse. Dumott was the one that suggested I change my name, my identity, everything. I chose Angel for Mama. We were really close, true family, Collins. He died when I was eighteen and it nearly tore me apart.
I had lost everything. Seeing him die scared me. I knew AIDS was a possibility for me as well. It could happen to anyone at anytime. It was terrifying. I went back to the rundown apartment, sat here on this couch, and just cried. I didn't know what to do. The next morning, I grabbed the pickle tub, and sat myself down on the street corner and played. I was sobbing and playing as hard and as angrily as I could.
It was also the best drumming I had ever done. People clapped when I finished. One man even offered me a scholarship to some music conservatory. I told him no, I said that I didn't want that. I was happy playing for me and only me. I didn't need a crowd to come hear me play.
So every day, for two years, I sat out there and banged my drums. One night, I was playing and it was really cold and I almost decided to go home. I forced myself to stay and finish playing. There was a beat in my head that just had to get itself out. So I stayed on that corner and played and played. No matter how frozen I was, I didn't pack up and go home. I played until someone finally interrupted me.
He was coughing and looked pretty horrible," Angel grinned, "but I thought he was the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life. So, I helped him up and brought him back home. You and me, Collins, we've been everything ever since."
Collins realized then, that the tears that had flooded his eyes at the beginning of Angel's story were now spilling out and streaming down his cheeks like rapids.
"Oh, Angel," he said, gripping her hands, "I am so…"
"Now don't you dare go and say sorry," Angel interrupted, wiping her own tears away with the back of her hand, "because I'm not. If it wasn't for Mama being so stupidly in love with Louis, if it wasn't for his hatred and drinking and beatings, if it wasn't for that man that night in the ally, if it wasn't for meeting and losing Dumott, I would have never met you. My whole world would be different. Where would I be without my professor, huh?" Angel asked playfully.
"You were so young," Collins shook his head, "to go through so much."
"Hell, it made me stronger," Angel shrugged, "I owe myself to that hell. It made me who I am today. You wouldn't want me different, would you?" A small smile played at her lips and her eyes widened in mock-concern.
"Of course not," Collins brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, "You are one hundred percent perfect and I wouldn't have you any other way."
Steam suddenly filled the air and the angry sounds of boiling water interrupted them.
"Oh shit!" Angel cursed, "I completely forgot about the pasta!" She ran to the kitchen to survey the damage. Pasta had spilled out all over the stovetop and even onto the floor. Steam stung at her eyes. "Damn it," Angel put her hands on her hips, "What will we do about dinner now?"
"I can take you out?" Collins suggested, "Somewhere nice with white table cloths and fancy dishes and candlelight. It'll be an early birthday celebration, a celebration of you, Miss Angel Dumott Shunard, because it seems to me that there just hasn't been enough of that in your life."
Angel smiled happily, "Oh sugar, you should know by now that I don't need white table cloths and fancy dishes and candlelight. Let's just get something from the Life Café tonight. I feel like eating in."
"Are you sure because we can…oh!" Collins eyes widened as Angel smiled with sheer amusement.
"You know, for a professor, you aren't all that bright, are you?" Angel teased.
"Bright enough to know I don't deserve you," Collins grinned at her, kissing her cheek gently.
"Bullshit," Angel rolled her eyes, "Let's go. I want to hurry and get back so we can get onto dessert."
"Hey Ange," Collins stopped her.
"Yeah?"
"I love you more than you can ever imagine, you know that, right?"
"Of course," she smiled back, "And I love you more than you can ever imagine…hence trying to hurry so we can get back and…"
"Okay, I'm right behind you!"
FIN.