The Letter (1st draft)
As daylight began to lighten her bedroom, her mother fought back a strong unfamiliar urge to stroke her daughter’s face. Angel’s medium brown skin a mixture of her caramel pigment and that of her father’s Caribbean darkness.
It had been missing for an unknown number of months–this look of tranquility softening anxiety lines Angel felt were being chiseled into her high forehead. She’d taken again to wearing bangs. Not one for total artificiality, at least, not at age 23.
Her mom lowered her aged body to kneel before Angel on the floor. She had already asked all to leave the bedroom and give them a little time alone. Time she’d never realized she needed.
Barbara dropped her head onto her daughter’s lap. Took one of Angel’s hands from the letter and laid it against her own cheek. Then Barbara wept honestly, as she’d never wept before.
*
I watched her, as one would an exuberant puppy. Fascinated by her energy and enthusiasm for life in general. My life cut detoured by her mistaken arrival. People were drawn to her like that cute puppy. Always wanting to carry her away with them on some adventure of theirs. And she always obliged them, as if duty-bound to make their life the happiest she personally could.
One such person darkened our door. He was tattooed and bearded. Not someone Angel usually hung out with, but quite pleasant in conversation and manner. I began to see the appeal.
However, he brought into her life emotional issues. Issues that began to erase the brightness in her eyes. That tightened the smile on her face. I did what I felt she expected of me. I gave her space. Didn’t ask questions. Just told her that I was always there for her.
“Thanks, mom,” she’d say. Then, with a quick hug, she’d be out the door and on her way. I’d watch from the screen door, her with him, in deep discussion. Rather, her listening, while he laid some animated story on her. Rarely did they drive anywhere.
The neighborhood wasn’t bad. Tattooed men and women seemed to exist everywhere. And an ability to walk the streets was actually a privilege. Shops were just around the corner so driving wasn’t a necessity. But, I did wonder, “Does Rene even own a vehicle?”
“I’m going to ask Angel when she gets back,” I decide on my way back to the kitchen. “Though, does it really matter?… He is a bit younger than her. Maybe he’s saving up.”…
*
Angel is shut up in her room again. By her sad jazz, I think that Rene must be gone again. I wonder what demons he’s fighting. I hear his agitation always when he speaks to her.
“Or is he seeing someone else?”.. There are so many young men calling me mom that he should be grateful that Angel is with him. Although, I wish she’d take up with one of them. Rene’s conversations always seem too perfect. Makes me uncomfortable….
*
Angel seems to be shriveling up. I can’t get her to eat anything more than a salad. After coming home from the bank, she just sits with me for awhile to watch episodes of “Blackish” as if to distract herself and satisfy me. But I see her constantly slyly checking her phone.
Where is he and what is he doing?… Didn’t she learn anything from me?… Will she really repeat my mistakes?
*
I love seeing Angel smile. Though, it isn’t nearly like before. And with her head always down looking at that screen…
*
“Mom! Mom!”
I rush to Angela’s room as fast as my arthritic bones will carry me. “What is it, Angel?”
Angel leaps off the bed and shows me her phone’s screen. “Read this!”
“Honey, you know I can’t see that. What does it say?”
“Rene just texted me. “Do you want to marry me?”
I’m flabbergasted!… “Do You want to marry Me?” I think. ” What kinda question is that?” But I smile on cue. “Honey. Wow… ”
“I am going to text him right back… Yes! Yes! Yes!
I am so happy!”
*
It seems that maybe things have cooled off between Angel and Rene. I want to ask. But think better if it.
*
“Angel! Would you get the door?”
“Sure, mom.”
I listen to Angel drag herself down the hall.
I wait to hear her response.
“Mom! Mom!” she screams for me, running back to my room. “Look! Rene sent me flowers!… They are so beautiful!” she says, her voice muffled with her nose deep into the daffodils. “Isn’t it romantic?”
“Oh, Honey! It is!”
*
I found out where that little bozo lived and actually managed to confront him about Angel on his chipped front steps.
“Mrs. Adams. What brings you here?” he asked. Didn’t even invite me in.
“I just needed to talk with you about Angel. I haven’t been seeing you around and I thought that you two were getting married.”
“Did she say that?” he asked angrily.
“No! No!… I just saw your text and thought.”
“Oh that. That wasn’t me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You see… Someone got hold of my phone…”
I felt myself inwardly crying for my daughter. How could she think herself in love with this type of guy?
“Mrs. Adams, if it will make things better, I’ll text her.”
“No! Don’t do that!… Whatever happened to people writing letters?”… You do know how to write, I wanted to ask.
“Yeah, sure… What do you want me to say?”
Just what did I want him to say?… I really wanted him to disappear forever. Leave her to find a decent man… One that would consider her feelings… But did I find that man?… “How about “I’m sorry”?”
*
Barbara lifted her head from Angela’s lap, devastated that this would be the last time she would see her daughter’s lovely face.
She wrestled her weight off the floor and adjusted her night gown and robe. She picked up Rene’s letter from her hand and read: “Sorry, girl. My bad. Rene.” Then put it back between Angel’s fingers.
Happy that she found some joy in her final hours.
Barbara allowed the officers and paramedics back into Angel’s bedroom. They assured Barbara that Angel never felt a thing, although the bullet was still lodged in Angel’s beloved skull. She, a victim of a bullet ricocheted on New Years day.
ITH & SB 