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*Looking beyong the fog I can see golden gate bridge peaking out, looking at me, reminding me that this is not my home, Its been a long journey, as I
open my journal a picture falls out . . . . *takes a deep soothing breathe* remebering this women, whom to my natural instinct would be my mother,
which was never mentioned nor asked, but assumed by her streetish/ nurturing embrace...
"Call me Angel ," she said evenly, meeting my gaze. A faint scent of wet Pampers clings to her knit top after she places her child, in blankets on the floor.
Sinking heavily into a black featherd couch, she begins. "It was supposed to be a haven for the lost children.*casting bird nest shadows on the mildew-
stained wall* as she speaks.
Angel remembers waiting at the house with me, while my father and his associates took off into the night. "There was a knock at the door. I got up thinking
-- 'thats gotta be him' but before I know it I was up, She silently yelled at me: You get under the bed and stay there.' So I did it," Angel continues.From my
hiding place, heart pounding, eyes tightly shut, I could hear a familiar mans voice screaming, "You cheated me!!," then a blast of gunfire followed by a
terrible silence. "I was thinking, 'Oh no, he's not dead. This ain't real,'" Angel trembles, rocking herself. "When I felt it was safe to come out, I found your
father. You couldn't even see his face. The holes oozeing bled so much you couldn't even describe who he was."
When a tall man, by the name of Vic arrived, Angel told him about the man who'd been sending my father messages on loose leaf paper with a picture of
dice and dollar sign written in blood. Angel hadn't glimpsed the murderer's face, but she felt certain it was a rival gang member who'd been jilted by
accusations of my father running illegal immigrants in New York and not paying taxes.The cops on the case didn't believe Angel would make a credible
witness. Unable to talk about her feelings with her angry and terrified mom or with anyone besides her paintings, Angel came to a bitter conclusion: " The
cops weren't going to make that man pay for the murder of her street love. The way she saw it, the only person who was going to make him pay -- was
me. Victor was telling me: 'Don't do it. Let us do it. You're twelve. That's too young.' But I was like, ' No, that was my father. He's going to pay and I'm going to
take his face, and erase it as he did to his". z |
