Forged by Fire (5 page)

Queen did not respond. Her eyes were rolled back and she didn't seem to be breathing.

“I gotta call nine-one-one! Angel, run next door and call Mama. Do you know the number?”

Angel, glad to have something to do, nodded, terrified, and left. She could hear Gerald screaming into the telephone.

“Come quick! It's my aunt! She fell out of her wheelchair and she's not breathing! Yes. Yes. The address is 6254 Chambers Street. Please hurry! Oh, please hurry!”

He remembered seeing CPR on television, but no one had ever given him lessons. He tried anyway. He crawled over to Aunt Queen on the floor, tears streaming down his face, and tried to breathe into her tight and silent lips.

“Don't die, Aunt Queen,” he moaned. “Please don't die.” He could hear the sirens in the distance.

As the ambulance screamed into the driveway, Gerald jumped up to rush the paramedics to Aunt Queen. He almost bumped into Angel, who was coming back into the house.

“Did you call them?” he nearly screamed at her.

“There was nobody home next door. I even tried the next house. I'm sorry, Gerald. Don't be mad at me.”

“Sorry. I didn't mean to yell. Come on, the ambulance is here. You can call Mama while they're helpin' Aunt Queen.”

The ambulance drivers, dressed in blue, seemed to Gerald to take an awfully long time while they poked and measured and assessed Aunt Queen.

“Is she gonna be all right?” he asked.

“We're doing our best, young man. Did you see her fall?”

“No, we were outside. We came in and she was just layin' there.”

“Well, you did the right thing by calling us so quickly. We're going to take her to the hospital now. Is there another adult around?”

Angel spoke up. “My mama's comin.” Then she looked at the ambulance driver. “I remember you. You tell funny stories.”

The driver glanced down at her. “Of course! How ya doin', punkin? No more breaks and bruises?”

Angel looked scared then and ran and hid behind Gerald. The driver looked at him and said, “Take care of
her, kid. I gotta go. Your aunt's gonna be at General Hospital.”

Gerald looked at Angel with puzzlement. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, he came to my school on safety day,” Angel said without looking at him.

Gerald was about to say something else when Monique burst in the door. “I just saw the ambulance leave! What happened?”

“I think Aunt Queen had a heart attack,” declared Gerald, who was really starting to feel scared. “She looked really bad. She wasn't breathing,” he whispered.

“Well, let's get down to the hospital,” said Monique. “Jordan's waiting in the car. He's not real happy, because there's a baseball game on TV and he had to leave before it was over. Hurry!”

Gerald glanced at Angel, but she only looked at the floor. He locked the back door as they left, and somehow he knew that things would never be the same.

Jordan drove them to the hospital, not speaking the whole time. Gerald and Angel sat in the backseat, frightened of him and frightened of what was going to happen. When they got to the hospital, Jordan growled at Monique in his gravelly voice, “Call me when you ready to come home. I can't be sittin' around no hospital all day.” With that, he was gone.

Monique asked at the desk, and they were shown to a small waiting room. Gerald didn't like hospitals. He remembered when he had been there before. He felt
hot and scared and unable to breathe. Angel kept her head down, wouldn't look at any doctor or nurse who passed by, and refused to speak.

Finally, a tired-looking doctor dressed in blue scrubs walked into the room. “Mrs. Sparks?”

Monique looked up, hopeful, trusting. “Is my aunt gonna be okay?”

“I'm sorry, ma'am. We did all we could. She was gone before she even got here. Please accept my condolences.” Monique sobbed.

Gerald, who hoped he had misunderstood, who knew he would die himself without Aunt Queen in his world, said hoarsely, “Is she ... is she . .. dead?”

“Yes, son,” replied the doctor. “I'm so sorry.”

Gerald dropped to the floor, buried his head in his hands, and sat there, moaning and rocking, moaning and rocking. The doctor, who knew that grief had to work itself out, patted him on his head and left quietly. Monique looked at Gerald and felt she ought to do something, but she was afraid to touch him or to try to hold him. She was afraid that he would blame her for Aunt Queen's death. So she sat there, wiping her tears with a Kleenex and watching her son shudder with grief in the middle of the waiting room floor.

Angel, who had been watching quietly, walked slowly over to Gerald, sat down next to him, and took his hand in hers. She held his hand, which was cold and trembling, in her small, warm ones. She said nothing. Gradually, his breathing returned to normal and he was able to look at
her. He saw pain in her large eyes, and he saw understanding. She helped him up then, and they walked, hand in hand, over to Monique.

Gerald looked at Monique blankly. “Now what?” he asked dully.

Monique, once again trying to fill the void, but not knowing how, said bluntly, “It looks like this turned out to be a pretty awful birthday for you. I'm really sorry. So I guess you're gonna come and live with us after all. It'll be great. You'll see.” She was nervous. “Let's go call Jordan. He'll be so pleased that you'll be living with us.” She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself more than Gerald.

Gerald sighed, and with shoulders stooped, followed Monique to the telephone. He didn't care about anything anymore. He and Angel stood there, listening to Monique's side of the conversation.

“Yes, but—

“I'm sorry....

“But we talked about—

“Well, it's not my fault....

“I'm sorry. . . .

“How was I supposed to know—

“But you promised....

“I'm sorry....

“Well, it's too late now....

“I'm sorry....

“It'll be all right, you'll see....

“I'm sorry....

She hung up the phone, turned to the children, and smiled brightly. “He's really happy about it, Gerald. Really, he is.”

Gerald just looked at her and sighed. The only thing that kept him from bolting out of the hospital door and down the street into the darkness of forever was the warm little hand that held his, passing its fragile strength to him.

Angel finally spoke. “I'm sorry about Aunt Queen, Gerald. She gave real good hugs.”

Gerald squeezed her hand and smiled a little. “She sure did, Angel—the best in the world. Who's gonna hug us now?”

G
ERALD WAS MISERABLE.
It was two weeks before Christmas. It had been six months since the funeral, and the loss of Aunt Queen still cut him like a sharp, jagged knife. Life with Monique and Jordan was so different from the relaxed, loving atmosphere of Aunt Queen's house. Monique had tried to make it easy for him, but the small, third-floor apartment was cramped and cold in the winter, cramped and hot in the summer. His precious bicycle that Aunt Queen had given him had been stolen two weeks after he'd moved in. He'd had to transfer to a new school, and he hadn't made many friends. The only person who could make Gerald smile was Angel. She was like a delicate little china doll, special and easily broken. She had a gentle spirit that smiled at him and made him want to protect her from brutes like Jordan.

Jordan Sparks was mean, and Monique was truly afraid of him. He would hit her whenever she made him angry, which was often. She'd apologize and scurry around, trying to please him. When he got drunk, it was worse. One night he had come home drunk and angry.

“ANGEL! ANGEL!” he roared. “Wherezat stupid, skinny kid? Always sneakin' 'round and peepin' from the shadows. Makes me sick. ANGEL! Get in here now!”

Terrified, Angel crept out of bed and peeked around the corner to see what he wanted. Gerald had gone to the store because Monique had forgotten to buy milk and bread. Angel glanced toward Monique's room, but she knew that her mother, as usual, would pretend not to hear.

“You leave that doll on the steps?” he roared.

Wide-eyed and trembling, she nodded slightly.

“Whatchoo tryin' to do? Kill somebody? Get that thing offa them steps and do it NOW!”

Jordan, drunk and unsteady, blocked Angel's way to the door and the steps. She took a deep breath, lowered her head, and scurried past him. But she wasn't quick enough. His fist, like a hammer, connected with her back as she ran. She groaned in pain, but dared not stop.

The steps were dark and narrow and led from the outside door below to their apartment. Angel grabbed the doll and huddled on the steps a moment, tearful and throbbing, trying to figure out how to get past Jordan without getting hit again.

“GET BACK UP HERE! I'M GONNA TEACH YOU A LESSON!” Jordan's angry roaring echoed down the steps. He didn't hear the door open downstairs. Gerald glanced at the trembling Angel, heard Jordan's drunken raging above, and quickly saw what he had to do. He motioned to Angel, left the paper sack of groceries on the bottom step, and quietly tiptoed up the steps.

When he reached Angel, Gerald whispered, “Grab the doll and run upstairs! I'm right behind you!”

Angel looked at Gerald and smiled. She took a deep breath and bolted up the steps toward the waiting Jordan. At the top of the steps, she ducked to the right, just missing Jordan's fist. Gerald leaped into the room, jumped between Angel and Jordan, and the blow came down on him instead. Gerald was tough and strong, but the force of that punch almost made him lose his breath. It would have knocked Angel unconscious.

“Don't you
ever
hit her!” he snarled at Jordan between clenched teeth. Jordan just laughed and hit Gerald again.

Gerald had found out the reason Angel hadn't wanted to take off her long black tights on that warm day last summer. Her legs had been covered with welts and bruises that Jordan had given her, trying, as he put it, to “make her behave.” Monique knew about it, but was so afraid of Jordan that she'd accepted it as appropriate discipline. Gerald also suspected that the reason the ambulance driver had remembered Angel was that he had driven her to the hospital for one of those bruisings, although Angel wouldn't talk about it. But since Gerald had arrived, the beatings had almost completely stopped, and Angel loved Gerald all the more for being her protector.

Today, however, the house was quiet. Jordan had stomped his cowboy boots down the steps and down the street. He never said where he was going or when he would return. No one ever asked.

Monique busied herself, trying to clean up the apartment
a bit so that Jordan wouldn't have anything to yell about when he returned. She alternated between sweeping the floor and looking out the window for him. Even though Christmas was only two weeks away, Monique had not bothered with a tree or with lights or decorations of any sort for the apartment.

“Are we gonna get a Christmas tree, Gerald?” Angel asked as she walked over to where he was sitting, looking out the window at the cold winter day three stories below.

“I don't know, Angel. Me and Aunt Queen always had a big Christmas. What did you do last year?”

“Not much. Jordan said Christmas was stupid, and Mama agreed.”

“Yeah, she probably even apologized for Christmas,” said Gerald scornfully. “I tell you what. They've got Christmas trees down at the market where she works. When school gets out tomorrow for Christmas break, I'll stop by there on my way home and see if I can find one for us.”

Angel smiled, then inhaled quickly, as if suddenly remembering a bad smell. “Gerald,” she said quietly. “Don't be too late tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure, Angel,” replied Gerald, not noticing her fear. “I'll find you the best tree ever.”

When Angel got home from school the next day, Jordan was sitting in the big chair in the living room, drinking a beer. The shades were down and the television was off. Angel tried to tiptoe past him, but he grabbed her arm. “Where you been?” he snarled.

“I been at school, Jordan,” replied Angel with fear and disgust. Jordan's breath really smelled bad.

“Go get me another beer!” he commanded. Angel hurried to get him a beer, hating the fact that she was acting just like Monique, frightened and fearful of Jordan's moods.

“Here, Jordan,” said Angel, holding the can out at arm's length. “It's the last one.” She was immediately sorry that she had said that, for Jordan grabbed her arm and squeezed, snatching the can from her trembling hand.

Then, instead of yelling at her, or hitting her, he smiled, which to Angel was worse. “C'mere,” he said softly. “Come sit on Jordan's lap. I don't spend enough time with my little girl.”

“I. . . I. . . gotta do my homework,” she stammered.

“Now, don't lie to me, girl. You in first grade—you ain't got no homework—'specially at Christmas vacation. Now, I said, COME HERE!” He snatched her toward him and sat her roughly on his lap.

Terrified, she could only weep silently as he touched her, rubbing his hand over her arms, her back, her legs. He had done this many times before, ever since she was a baby in Atlanta, but very little since Gerald had come to live with them. “Now, don't that feel good, baby?” he crooned at her. “Just relax. You know you like it.”

Angel said nothing. She just wished that he would stop and hoped that he would not want to play “the game.” Jordan whispered in her ear, his breath hot and foul, “You
remember our secret game, Angel? It's been a long time since we played. You remember the rules. Touching is good. Telling is bad. If you tell, your mama will put you out to live in the snow all alone, and you will die. Now, let's play.”

Just then, Gerald opened the door. At first, when he saw Angel on Jordan's lap, he was confused. Jordan rarely showed affection to anyone—not to Monique, and especially not to the children. But to see Angel sitting there, looking so ... so
uncomfortable,
Gerald thought suddenly. So miserable. Instantly he realized what was happening. Waves of disgust and hot, burning anger enveloped him.