Saint And Sinners (61 page)

“I’ll be okay, I just—”

“Hassani!” He heard his mother scream out before bursting through the crowd like a
football player. “Oh my God, Hassani! What in the world! A fight?! Oh my God!” Grabbing
him by the shoulders, she carted him away as if he were being chased by the paparazzi.
Hassani looked down at the black-top covered ground as they made their journey to
the parked car. The blood continued to drip from his nose, leaving a trail of dime-sized
red pools with each rocky step he took. The sweet smell of his mother’s perfume gave
him peace, a sense of comfort. His face didn’t hurt as much now, and nothing really
mattered at that moment. All the sounds around him began to subside—the kids’ voices,
the cars driving past, and he couldn’t help but smile. Yeah, today had been a good
day…

*

W
ith the oyster-colored
sheets wrapped around his naked form, Saint heaved in exhaustion. He leaned over,
strained and groaned as he grasped his cell phone. He looked at the time, squinting
in the darkness as his eyes adjusted. Frowning in frustration, he tossed the phone
on the bed. It was four in the morning in L.A. The house was now almost completely
empty, minus a chair or two. He didn’t fathom how depressed he’d feel in the place
once it was gutted like a fresh fish.

He’d walked in each room over and over again, worn memories playing out like old records,
skipping and repeating on his favorite parts. The red room looked so bare devoid of
its chains, ointments and swings, and now, only the crimson and black walls remained
as a reminder of what once had been. He couldn’t let the place go just yet, hadn’t
even put it on the market. For some reason, he oftentimes formed unhealthy attachments
to cars and places of residence. He shrugged his shoulders and sighed with exhaustion.
In five hours, he’d be back at the airport, returning to New York.

Staring at the floor, he fell into a series of discombobulated musings. The shit wasn’t
just a dream; he’d really done it. He rubbed his eye and reached down, grasping the
letter in his hand. Turning the lamp on, he skimmed it, his heart racing as his emotions
rocked the boat inside him, causing him to clutch the covers and dig his heels into
the damn mattress. His entire body felt as if being slowly tortured by some invisible
force. He
needed
to talk to her and prayed she was awake, or at least would hear his call. She’d had
a hard day, and maybe she was even pissed at him. When she’d called him from the hospital
saying Hassani had gotten into a fight, his first question was, ‘Did he win?’ This
sent Xenia over the edge. Hassani’s nose wasn’t broken per se, but there was a small
fracture the doctor said would heal on its own. In the interim, their son was given
pain medication.

He asked to speak to Hassani, and found out he not only beat up one boy, but two,
and he’d protected another kid in the process. Saint was damn proud of him. Sooner
than later, this had to happen. Hassani was going to get into it with someone, and
he wouldn’t be able to back down. Though he’d told his son he didn’t want him fighting,
sometimes a boy had to do what a boy had to do.

Xenia snatched the phone away once she realized the two were laughing and joking about
the matter. He tried to explain to the woman that Hassani was going to have to pay
his dues, told her straight out that he was damn proud of their son. With that, he
was met with the dial tone. He knew Xenia wouldn’t understand. How could she? She
was Hassani’s mother, and seeing her son’s face covered in blood was not exactly how
she preferred to end her afternoon. Regardless, he needed to speak to her.

He dialed the number…waiting…waiting…waiting…

“Hello?” came the sleepy voice, enclosed in a sleepy blanket of rasp.

“Xenia, I’m sorry to wake you, baby.”

“Mmmmm,” she moaned. He soon heard what sounded like her moving around, tossing and
turning, trying to get her brain into focus. “You okay, Saint?” She yawned, a sound
followed by the rustle of sheets.

“I’m not really sure… I don’t know.” He gripped the letter a bit harder, accidentally
wrinkling it on one side.

“What’s wrong? Mmmmm…” she said sleepily.

“Well, because of what happened with Hassani earlier, I didn’t have an opportunity
to tell you what happened with me today. I uh, met with Roman today. Remember Roman?
The cop that had come to our house to tell me the charges against me had been dropped?”

“Oh yeah.” She yawned again. “How is he doing?”

“He is doing really well, actually.” Saint ran his finger under his nose and sniffed.
“So I invited him, you know, asked him to come to New York.”

“Really? I’m surprised about that.”

“Yeah, I can get into the reasoning later. But, in that conversation, we got to talking
about what I do, my philosophies, things of that nature.”

“Mmmm hmmmm.” She swallowed. “And how did he take that?”

“I mean, at first, you know…” He leaned against the headboard and stared up at the
ceiling, placing one arm behind his head. “He got defensive, but he wasn’t rude or
anything like that. I was straight with him. I figured there was no need to play games,
pretend or anything. He’d find out the truth soon enough, and I’m not ashamed of what
I profess. I believe it all from the bottom of my heart.”

“…I know you do, baby.”

“So yeah, I told him the truth and we discussed it, talked it over. He understands
where I’m coming from and respects me, that’s what’s most important. And I respect
him, too. But…the conversation was draining.”

“Why?”

“Because it caused me to think about my past again, Xenia, and how that relates to
our children, specifically Isis. Baby, something has been heavy on my mind and my
heart, and…when I got back to the house, I wrote it all out. I grabbed a pen and frantically
let my thoughts flow. I didn’t want to do it on the computer, type it out. I wanted
to put in the work. A strange feeling… Anyway, it was so sporadic, that when I feel
asleep, I thought I had dreamt the whole thing up, but I didn’t. It’s right here.”

“Honey, I’m not following you. What did you write?”

“…I wrote a love letter to Isis, Xenia.”

A long silence followed, one that made him feel as if he was falling in a soft world,
in slow motion.

“I can hear in your voice that you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset, Xenia… I’m just, shit…” He ran a hand over his face. “I’m sad right
now. It’ll pass; it’s just the mood I’m currently in.” He slumped down onto the bed.
“I know I can’t change my past. We’ve discussed this before but now that I have a
daughter, it makes me feel responsible in some way for all the other little girls
out there, gettin’ played.”

“Hmmm, I understand that. You aren’t responsible, though. You made some choices that
at the time weren’t the best, but we
all
mess up, Saint. The most important thing is that you learned from it and you try
to help others prevent those same pitfalls. Without your former self, you wouldn’t
be who you are today. Did you…want to read it to me? The letter?”

“Well, yeah, but I know you’re sleepy, you probably don’t—”

“Boy if you don’t read me that damn letter!” Xenia chuckled. “You know that’s why
you called and woke me up. Stop playing on the phone.”

Saint laughed lightly and opened the damn thing up. “Okay, okay…” He took a deep breath.
“Here it goes…”

To my Dearest Isis Ming Jae Aknaten,

By the time you read this letter, you will be thirteen. I felt that was a good age
to give this to you for a number of reasons that I hope will become apparent as you
continue to read this. Maybe I’ll change my mind and give it to at twelve, or wait
until you are sixteen, I’m not certain. It will depend on what is happening in your
life and I guess it is silly in retrospect to prescribe a specific age. I’ve never
done that with your brothers regarding certain information and I shouldn’t do it with
you, either. This is hand written, so I can’t delete that, Princess. I’ll just have
to leave it in there but you will get this letter when you need it most. Yeah, I think
that’s better…

Even though you are only three right now, I have no doubt you’re growing into an intelligent,
vibrant and beautiful young lady. Yes, you are three years old and this is when I’ve
decided to write this. I wish I could freeze each year of your life and make it double,
but I can’t. You have to grow, get stronger and wiser, and who am I to try and disturb
that process? You’ll always be my baby though, just like your brothers. All three
of you are my babies, and I don’t have enough words in the world to describe just
how much I love you. Of course your mother would probably disagree with that; she
thinks I’m always popping off at the mouth, but I am really at a loss for the right
vocabulary when it comes to you.

At Xenia’s giggle, he paused and grinned, then continued to read the letter.

Anyway, I felt the need to write you this letter because one of my missions as a parent,
Isis, is to be forthcoming with my children. I wish to be honest, even regarding the
topics some may feel are not appropriate to discuss with children. I can’t worry about
what other parents are doing or thinking of me and the way I raise my children. I
can only worry about making sure you three get the best from me. With that said, you
know by now that your father is crazy.

This time, Xenia burst out laughing, full on.

“I’m sorry! Saint, you are a mess. You can’t even write a love letter to the girl
without acting like a nut…too funny.”

He chuckled in response and continued.

I can’t help that though, Princess, but I can tell you I am truly crazy about you!
There is not much that makes me squeamish or bat an eye, but if it pertains to my
little girl, I do get a little nervous about the idea of having certain discussions
with you. I know it may sound sexist, but with you, Isis, I take special pride. Your
brothers will have a different experience as they navigate this thing we call life.
Some of your occurrences will overlap; some will be unique, specifically designed
for you.

By the time you read this, we would have already discussed sex, sexuality, and intimacy
responsibility as it pertains to your development from a girl into a young lady. You
more than likely will talk to your mom more about the later, and I’d expect that,
but you can come to me, too. I won’t be hurt if you don’t want to though. I realize
daughters don’t necessarily want to discuss their body with their father; it may feel
creepy to you so please don’t feel as if I am trying to make you do something you
are uncomfortable with. I’m just letting you know I’m here, should you need me…”

“I drew a smiley face right there, Xenia.”

She laughed lightly. “…And I’m certain your prediction is probably right. Keep going,
I’m listening…”

“Okay…where was I? Oh yes…”

You will need someone to talk to though, regardless, so I encourage you to speak to
your mother or another professional adult who is educated in the matter. Isis, you
need to confide in someone if you don’t choose to do so with me because in this world
we live in today, it could be life and death. Speaking of life, the day you entered
mine, I was forever changed. You will never understand, baby girl, what that feels
like until you have your own children. The day you were born, I experienced emotions
I didn’t even know I had. You were planned, Isis. I won’t disgust you by getting into
the personal specifics regarding the matter—as candid as I am, I’m certain you wish
to be spared the details—but please trust and believe, it was turned into an event.
You did not come here by mistake. Your mother and I wanted you so badly and when I
confirmed that you were a girl, she was unbelievably ecstatic. She’d wanted a little
girl since we first started our family, Isis. I cannot tell you how much of a gift
you are to her, and to me, as well.