A/N: hahahaha! It's ANOTHER flashback! Sorry I haven't updated sooner, I
just started school and the work load is BRUTAL. But anyway, I thought I'd
do something tonight because I was feeling discouraged by my algebra
homework (I swear they must make u do algebra in HELL) so I needed
something to cheer me up! so here's a flash back. No it wont tell u what
happened in the foster home. Wait for it.
Chapter Ten
ANGEL
Eric Monroe was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. At fourteen you are supposed to be a gangly, zit ridden freak with a squeaking voice and feet longer than your legs. Eric Monroe was none of these things.
Eric Monroe I couldn't say his name enough, write it enough, *think * it enough. Eric Monroe, with the big gray eyes and cute turned up nose with a smattering of freckles, cheeky smile, soft brown hair. Eric Monroe the smartest, nicest, coolest person I knew.
Eric Monroe, Sara's boyfriend.
Yup. That's right. Eric Monroe was Sara's handsome, nice, smart, funny *straight * boyfriend. Sara's boyfriend. My Sara. My black haired sister of the sad green eyes, a laugh like a little girl, a sigh like an old woman. My best friend, but if things had been different, if I'd been a girl maybe, I would have betrayed her.
I really made fourteen-year-old, self sick. And who could I tell? Not Sara obviously, Jimmeny *that * would have backfired!
That left Mother Mary, and I wasn't about to say anything to *her *, or Jordan. Jordan was sixteen, he was (in my opinion) all knowing. By that time we'd been living with Mother Mary for four years. In one year I'd have to 'go to work' for Jones.
I had one year to be innocent, Sara had one year left to be innocent. That is, if we ever were innocent.
Mother Mary was one of the Skip Mothers. The Skip Mothers all had 'homes' in the abandoned factories near a large dump on the East River. The Skip Mothers took street kids and runaways in, boys slept on the second floor, girls on the third, we ate on the fourth. The ground floor frequently flooded, so it wasn't good for much of anything unless you enjoy swimming around in toxic, sludgy, garbage water. During the day, younger Skip Kids were free to do as we liked. As long as we stayed with Mother Mary until we were fifteen, old enough to work, then it was a-okay.
In our minds, and in the minds of so many other Skip Kids, it was the perfect deal. Mother Mary (who looked nothing like the Blessed Virgin) took care of us, fed us, gave us 'beds', for nothing until we were fifteen.
At fifteen you left. At fifteen-boy or girl-you were obliged to work the nine to five for Jones. Jones got a cut of your trade, and he left his mark on you, but if you worked for Jones you made money and no one messed with you. Beat one of Jones kids up and you've got something coming! Last time a trick hurt one of Jones kids he was found beaten to death in a Dumpster.
Jones was insurance. We sold our soles to Jones, he gave us our lives. Working for Jones is the closest you'll get to finding a prostitute's union in America.
But back to Eric.
Eric wasn't one of Mother Mary's kids. He wasn't a Skip Kid period. He had a mother and he had a father and he lived in a row house in Brooklyn. We knew Eric because he went to PS 66 with us.
At first he was just another rich prep that cared to grace or squalid corridors and brave the fumes of the lunch room. Sara and I paid him no attention what so ever. Then one day he hit Sara with his bike, apologized profusely, dinked her to his parents coffee shop to get some ice for her ankle and a romance was born.
Which brings me, my dear, full circle. Back to the roof of Mother Mary's building, sitting on a milk crate next to Jordan, sharing a cigarette and getting ready to tell him my dilemma.
I coughed slightly, "Uh...Jordan?"
"Yesh, m'dear? How can I help you?"
"I...say you...theoretically, let's say, *theoretically * lets say...that you...had a crush on someone...off limits?"
Jordan quirked his left eye brow and then winced, he'd just pierced it and it was still sore. "Theoretically, eh?"
"Theoretically."
"How off limits?"
"Very very very very off limits. Out of orbit. Straight off limits."
That made him laugh. "Ang, you're a good looking kid, I think you could help convince him otherwise. Jimmeny, I've seen you do it before. Remember Alex?"
"Alex just needed a nudge. Alex was teetering."
He shrugged, "True enough. I had a feeling about him anyway."
"Back to the subject, Jordan!!!" I snapped.
"Right. Even if he's not teetering, you're damn persuasive. Maybe he's bi anyway."
That made me laugh. Eric bi? Jimmeny Cricket! The pope'd take a lover before Eric turned out to be bi!
"No it's not even likely. There's another problem, anyway."
"Another problem? Besides sexuality?"
"He has a girl friend."
"Yeah, so? Look Angel, if he's not gay and he's inaccessible anyway, why does it matter that he has a girl friend?
"Because I feel horrible for crushing on a friend's boyfriend!" I wailed.
"Shit." Gasped Jordan, "Shit shit shit *shit *! It's Eric! It's Goddamn *Eric * isn't it, Ang?"
"Maybe." I sighed.
"Oh, Angel. Look, I know you feel bad. I know it's a nasty situation. But don't feel bad about the crush, it'll go away in time. It's not like you kissed him or anything."
"I feel like I should tell Sara."
"NO! No, don't do that. Really *really * don't do that. It'll make her feel like crap. Find someone else to like and let her enjoy Eric. It's your last year, Angel. Seriously, it's your last normal year. Get a nice boyfriend and enjoy it, okay?"
I nodded quietly and glanced over at Jordan. He looked so sad just then, like he wanted to cry. I'd only ever seen Jordan cry once, back at the foster home, his eyes'd looked like someone shattered them like glass and his mouth was very straight, you could barely see his lips. He took a deep drag on the cigarette and his cheeks sucked all the say in so he looked like a skeleton. I wondered if he'd ever really been a child.
"When are we gonna leave Mother Mary, Jordan?" I asked.
"As soon as you two are working we're gonna find a squat, I promise. We'll get out, maybe go to Soho or East Village, there are some squat towns there. We can work and pay our dues and be safe."
"Will we do that forever?"
"Nah. We'll save up money. When you don't pay taxes you don't loose as much cash, y'know? We'll save up and I'll start a music store. I'll sell tapes and guitars and stuff and everyone'll come and love it. You'll do something good too, Ang. Any ideas, so far?"
"I dunno what I wanna do. I'm not really good at anything. I think I'd just like to find someone who loves me, and live in a house with heat, and water that isn't rusty. A house I have to pay rent or mortgage for. If I had that, a legit home that I could take people into and say 'This is my house. Look it's nice' or something. I think then I'd be happy enough. What do you think Sara would want?"
"Kids." Said Jordan, "Lots and lots of *kids *."
I snorted, Sara was always talking about what she wanted to name her kids when she grew up, Eli, Tomas, Julia, Ingrid, Lucy, Ana, Laura, Jenny, Alan, Elia, Mark. She loved the name Mark.
"If I had a kid I'd name it Rice-a-ronni." I said.
"I'd name it Cheez-it."
"I'd name it Space Needle."
"I'd name it Sunshine Anorexia."
"I'd name it Bulimia."
"Schizophrenia."
"Bipolar."
"Border Line Personality Disorder."
"That's a mouthful!"
"Swan Hilda!"
"Apple Jacks!"
"Capn' Crunch!"
"Miller Light!"
"Tiajuana Ganjabhong!"
"Alice B. Pothead."
"Pothead."
"Break it up and it becomes Pot Head."
"HAHAHA!"
**
A/N: it's delicious it's not nutritious it's pointless and badly written and NOTHING happens but hey, its funny. And it tells you what they do for four years after they get out of that foster home. REVIEW!!
Chapter Ten
ANGEL
Eric Monroe was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. At fourteen you are supposed to be a gangly, zit ridden freak with a squeaking voice and feet longer than your legs. Eric Monroe was none of these things.
Eric Monroe I couldn't say his name enough, write it enough, *think * it enough. Eric Monroe, with the big gray eyes and cute turned up nose with a smattering of freckles, cheeky smile, soft brown hair. Eric Monroe the smartest, nicest, coolest person I knew.
Eric Monroe, Sara's boyfriend.
Yup. That's right. Eric Monroe was Sara's handsome, nice, smart, funny *straight * boyfriend. Sara's boyfriend. My Sara. My black haired sister of the sad green eyes, a laugh like a little girl, a sigh like an old woman. My best friend, but if things had been different, if I'd been a girl maybe, I would have betrayed her.
I really made fourteen-year-old, self sick. And who could I tell? Not Sara obviously, Jimmeny *that * would have backfired!
That left Mother Mary, and I wasn't about to say anything to *her *, or Jordan. Jordan was sixteen, he was (in my opinion) all knowing. By that time we'd been living with Mother Mary for four years. In one year I'd have to 'go to work' for Jones.
I had one year to be innocent, Sara had one year left to be innocent. That is, if we ever were innocent.
Mother Mary was one of the Skip Mothers. The Skip Mothers all had 'homes' in the abandoned factories near a large dump on the East River. The Skip Mothers took street kids and runaways in, boys slept on the second floor, girls on the third, we ate on the fourth. The ground floor frequently flooded, so it wasn't good for much of anything unless you enjoy swimming around in toxic, sludgy, garbage water. During the day, younger Skip Kids were free to do as we liked. As long as we stayed with Mother Mary until we were fifteen, old enough to work, then it was a-okay.
In our minds, and in the minds of so many other Skip Kids, it was the perfect deal. Mother Mary (who looked nothing like the Blessed Virgin) took care of us, fed us, gave us 'beds', for nothing until we were fifteen.
At fifteen you left. At fifteen-boy or girl-you were obliged to work the nine to five for Jones. Jones got a cut of your trade, and he left his mark on you, but if you worked for Jones you made money and no one messed with you. Beat one of Jones kids up and you've got something coming! Last time a trick hurt one of Jones kids he was found beaten to death in a Dumpster.
Jones was insurance. We sold our soles to Jones, he gave us our lives. Working for Jones is the closest you'll get to finding a prostitute's union in America.
But back to Eric.
Eric wasn't one of Mother Mary's kids. He wasn't a Skip Kid period. He had a mother and he had a father and he lived in a row house in Brooklyn. We knew Eric because he went to PS 66 with us.
At first he was just another rich prep that cared to grace or squalid corridors and brave the fumes of the lunch room. Sara and I paid him no attention what so ever. Then one day he hit Sara with his bike, apologized profusely, dinked her to his parents coffee shop to get some ice for her ankle and a romance was born.
Which brings me, my dear, full circle. Back to the roof of Mother Mary's building, sitting on a milk crate next to Jordan, sharing a cigarette and getting ready to tell him my dilemma.
I coughed slightly, "Uh...Jordan?"
"Yesh, m'dear? How can I help you?"
"I...say you...theoretically, let's say, *theoretically * lets say...that you...had a crush on someone...off limits?"
Jordan quirked his left eye brow and then winced, he'd just pierced it and it was still sore. "Theoretically, eh?"
"Theoretically."
"How off limits?"
"Very very very very off limits. Out of orbit. Straight off limits."
That made him laugh. "Ang, you're a good looking kid, I think you could help convince him otherwise. Jimmeny, I've seen you do it before. Remember Alex?"
"Alex just needed a nudge. Alex was teetering."
He shrugged, "True enough. I had a feeling about him anyway."
"Back to the subject, Jordan!!!" I snapped.
"Right. Even if he's not teetering, you're damn persuasive. Maybe he's bi anyway."
That made me laugh. Eric bi? Jimmeny Cricket! The pope'd take a lover before Eric turned out to be bi!
"No it's not even likely. There's another problem, anyway."
"Another problem? Besides sexuality?"
"He has a girl friend."
"Yeah, so? Look Angel, if he's not gay and he's inaccessible anyway, why does it matter that he has a girl friend?
"Because I feel horrible for crushing on a friend's boyfriend!" I wailed.
"Shit." Gasped Jordan, "Shit shit shit *shit *! It's Eric! It's Goddamn *Eric * isn't it, Ang?"
"Maybe." I sighed.
"Oh, Angel. Look, I know you feel bad. I know it's a nasty situation. But don't feel bad about the crush, it'll go away in time. It's not like you kissed him or anything."
"I feel like I should tell Sara."
"NO! No, don't do that. Really *really * don't do that. It'll make her feel like crap. Find someone else to like and let her enjoy Eric. It's your last year, Angel. Seriously, it's your last normal year. Get a nice boyfriend and enjoy it, okay?"
I nodded quietly and glanced over at Jordan. He looked so sad just then, like he wanted to cry. I'd only ever seen Jordan cry once, back at the foster home, his eyes'd looked like someone shattered them like glass and his mouth was very straight, you could barely see his lips. He took a deep drag on the cigarette and his cheeks sucked all the say in so he looked like a skeleton. I wondered if he'd ever really been a child.
"When are we gonna leave Mother Mary, Jordan?" I asked.
"As soon as you two are working we're gonna find a squat, I promise. We'll get out, maybe go to Soho or East Village, there are some squat towns there. We can work and pay our dues and be safe."
"Will we do that forever?"
"Nah. We'll save up money. When you don't pay taxes you don't loose as much cash, y'know? We'll save up and I'll start a music store. I'll sell tapes and guitars and stuff and everyone'll come and love it. You'll do something good too, Ang. Any ideas, so far?"
"I dunno what I wanna do. I'm not really good at anything. I think I'd just like to find someone who loves me, and live in a house with heat, and water that isn't rusty. A house I have to pay rent or mortgage for. If I had that, a legit home that I could take people into and say 'This is my house. Look it's nice' or something. I think then I'd be happy enough. What do you think Sara would want?"
"Kids." Said Jordan, "Lots and lots of *kids *."
I snorted, Sara was always talking about what she wanted to name her kids when she grew up, Eli, Tomas, Julia, Ingrid, Lucy, Ana, Laura, Jenny, Alan, Elia, Mark. She loved the name Mark.
"If I had a kid I'd name it Rice-a-ronni." I said.
"I'd name it Cheez-it."
"I'd name it Space Needle."
"I'd name it Sunshine Anorexia."
"I'd name it Bulimia."
"Schizophrenia."
"Bipolar."
"Border Line Personality Disorder."
"That's a mouthful!"
"Swan Hilda!"
"Apple Jacks!"
"Capn' Crunch!"
"Miller Light!"
"Tiajuana Ganjabhong!"
"Alice B. Pothead."
"Pothead."
"Break it up and it becomes Pot Head."
"HAHAHA!"
**
A/N: it's delicious it's not nutritious it's pointless and badly written and NOTHING happens but hey, its funny. And it tells you what they do for four years after they get out of that foster home. REVIEW!!