To Love What Draws Your Blood-2

“You honestly need to move on, babygirl. It was just under ten years ago.” Angli stared hard at her father across the Red Lobster table. He leaned over the table and took her hand with a gentle smile. She recognized that smile all too well—it normally came before her forced sexual favors. Good times. “I was going through a difficult time in my life, ya know? I mean, I’m not saying I was right but you just need to forgive and forget,” he said for around the bazillionth time in her life, holding to her hand tightly. “My father ... he abused me and I still loved him.”1

Angli scoffed, yanking her hand away. How could she hold that hand that had taken advantage of her girlhood? “Gawd, Jaret, you’re lucky I’m even near you without child protective services on your ass!” She wiped her hand off with the paper napkin. God knows where that hand had been. But she knew all too well. “You’re really trying minimizing the shit you put me through?”2

“Do not cuss, Angli Grace Kauferman.” He looked around for eavesdroppers, as if anyone would be interested in their molester-to-molestee conversation.3

The only thing Angli’s mother had done right for the girl was divorce her father, who was cheating. Her mother hadn’t a clue about his pedophiliac tendencies, which probably wouldn’t have rattled her unless they were directed towards one of her other children.4

Now ... back to the present...5

Angli had been rattled by the guilt trip he had given. Oh, what was it? “You’re so stubborn, Angli. You should really...” Guilt trips from him were much too unacceptable. “Aren’t ya glad I haven’t put you in jail, Daddy?” she’d interrupt and so went the deep, dark father-daughter secret conversation.6

He lowered his voice, gently pounding his fist on the wooden table, making the small shrimp fork rattle. “Do not cuss. It’s crass.”7

She stared at piece of breaded shrimp, dipping it into the ketchup over and over again. She did it until the whole shrimp was red and soggy and then dropped it onto her huge plate, filled with shrimp, lobster and crab. She didn’t know why he always brought her to a seafood restaurant when she hated seafood. Probably because he loved it and never noticed that he was wasting twenty bucks on a meal she never took a bit of, besides the greasy French fries.8

“Now, it’s been a whole decade and if you want to get some discrete counseling, we can. But you have got to—”9

“Forgive and forget, move on, take the bad in with the good ... what is it this time, Dad, that’ll help you sleep?”10

“Do you know how rude you are?” he snapped, stabbing his finger in her direction as if it were going to scare her. Yes ... finger pointing was oh, so intimidating to Angli, especially when the finger pointer was two inches shorter than she was. See, Jaret Kauferman was a short, plump Mexican-Jew that couldn’t keep his pants zipped, even when it came to his middle daughter. Just in case you hadn’t caught onto to that one yet. “I am your father,” he went on, keeping that damn finger pointed at her. He hadn’t quite gotten the fact that Angli had voluntary A.D.D., primarily when he was talking. “I created you! You cannot speak to me that way. I’m buying you food and here you are giving me this guilt trip.”11

Angli covered her mouth with her hand, trying to keep herself from lashing out and stabbing him with that tiny shrimp fork by that hand of his. She pulled her knee up to her chest and pushed her mouth against it as he went on with his You’re Strong, You can Deal With This talk and See How Well You Turned Out?12

How vain can this fucking molester be, anyway? she thought, pushing her mouth harder into her knee, feeling her spit sink into her black pants and her gooey lip gloss wipe off on them.13

“And put your leg down,” he added, cracking the crab shell with his meaty hands. “It’s childish.”14

Craig Janning was Angli’s first and current boyfriend. He—just like eighty-nine percent of the town’s population—was a celebrity look-alike. He was the town’s young Giovanni Rebisi. He always held Angli to his hip and grinned as if to say: Hey, look at me! I’m with a Latin chubette with big boobs! I’m not in the least racist or superficial. I’m a great guy. Come be my pal so I can act too good for you. Wink, wink.15

Angli only put up with it because he made her feel like a girl—like he wanted her, even if it was for all the wrong reasons. Hey, if your dad treats you like a piece of meat, that must be all you are, right?16

She knew she was much too smart for him (not in the curricular sense; more in the artistic field.), and subconsciously knew she was much too unique ... much too ugly to get anyone else.17

They were in the broken-down trailer behind his house—he thought of it as his swingin’ bachelor pad. It was the source of all his cool and studliness. That poor ... mislead soul. You have to feel some sort of sadness for such pitiful people.18

“Craig?” Angli said, moving closer to him on the faded, brown couch. He moved away the same distance, placing a pea-green pillow between them once he reached the arm of the couch, not needing any more contact with her, seeing as it wasn’t going to be sexual. She wanted to feel wanted again but she didn’t want to bug him. He hadn’t said anything (insulting nor complimenting) about how she looked—probably because he hardly glanced at her. She frowned at that pillow and then smiled weakly at him. “How was your day?” Her hand stroked his cheek as she turned back to that pillow, wanting it gone but not wanting to upset him.19

He grumbled and changed channels on the portable TV in front of the couch. He grumbled as though he’d had had the most complicated day ever to be had. But he couldn’t. Craig was much too insignificant to have one of those. His friends didn’t even like him. Angli made him feel like man with a woman toy to play around with, even though he didn’t get any. He said he did. Don’t wanna look like a chump in front of your “friends.”20

Besides her family, Craig was the only person Angli allowed to see the slightest hint of her true vulnerability, which in a twisted way gave him a hold on her.21

Angli Kauferman was the unique girl who didn’t seem to care what people thought and dressed her own unique way and was loud sometimes and quiet sometimes and completely unpredictable and amazing to a good majority of the people around her. She was the good friend with great advice when you needed it. The mature freshman that was wiser than most seniors. And a girl whom was sarcastic, curvy and nurturing enough to make many idiotic, masturbation-crazed teenage boys believe she would be a great girlfriend. She probably had a low self-esteem and they could control her. Yes, the nearly perfect girl. But she was chubby so that turned away a good amount of them.22

Craig had that control, that girl who he thought was sassy and brilliant and would be a tiger in the sack. She was just sitting beside him, wanting to be loved and he hated it. How fucking disappointing.23

Let’s make sure the leash is fastened now, folks.24

Angli Kauferman: Cinderella at home, Fee Fee the cute, humbled toy poodle to boyfriend, and mysterious Latin chick in all social outings.25

She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder, now ignoring the pillow. Here she was, the luckiest girl. She had her sophomore beau who was so straightedge and never touched her or kissed her and wasn’t interested in looks. He reminded her that looks didn’t interest him, which wasn’t exactly a compliment. He could have very well been looking into a craggily witch’s eyes as he said, trying to muster up a deep voice from his regular and rather prepubescent tone (which reminded everyone of Justin Timberlake’s singing), “Looks don’t interest me,” as he pressed his lips against hers dispassionately.26

Yes, this was the life.27

* * *28

Angli looked forward to Sunday and Wednesday evenings. A café/bookstore/concert hall downtown had a group called “What’s Longer Than Life?” Apparently the founder of the group had heard the saying “Life is short” and got pissed off, yelling, “What the fuck is longer than life?” He told the story every time someone joined the group. How inspiring. The group was pretty much a way to get free cappuccinos or café lattés at half price. 29

In the group, when you’d join for two dollars, you would get a free beverage as long as it contained caffeine. And then, all you would have to do for as long as you lived was drop by either Sunday or Wednesday evenings to get coffee coupons and discuss what you thought to be literary art, whom you thought were pathetic musicians and whine about how horrid life was. Craig had joined, finding these people “real and fascinating” and Angli said she joined for the coupons. Coffee with ten cense knocked off. Half price my ass. Still, with all the joys the group brought, you can just taste the bargain. But she knew why she joined and went to that café as often as possible.30

Do the words Caleb Schumacher mean anything to you? Well they did to her.31

Again, a celebrity look-alike; this time he looked like a teenage Hayden Christensen (Anakin/Darth Vader from the latest installments of Star Wars). She didn’t know why she was so drawn to him. He was too attractive—not with the chiseled model-like look a fair amount of women admired but with the sweet, smooth baby face and big eyes that seemed to change from blue to green to gray with emotion. Normally, if a guy had a great personality, her heart was his, regardless of his appearance.32

She didn’t know if he just hung out there a lot, worked there or stalked someone there but there was a gravitational pull coming from him and reaching to Angli, snatching her waist and pulling her close like men did slickly to women in the old black and white movies with Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe.33

She’d sit in the circle of “What’s Longer Than Life” groupers and smile and nod as they spoke, watching Caleb discretely in the corner of her eye. He was usually sitting down alone or with a few friends, a guy and a girl who were hanging on each other’s every move and so obviously a couple. He was either just sitting there with them, doing nothing or reading a book while he was by himself. Catcher In The Rye, if you must know. She sometimes caught him listening to music or handing the clerk his ticket/and/or coupon to a show that was playing that night.34

Evidently, he liked indie/folk rock but then she saw him casually slipping into the concert hall while a hard rock band was ruthlessly playing their hearts out, sometimes glancing over his shoulder where they met eyes for about three seconds. Three seconds is actually a pretty long time to look at a person’s eyes if you think about it. Then he’d turn away and head in to stand quietly, bobbing his head to the beat in the back of the room while others bounced around.35

He had a life, Angli thought. He wasn’t immersed in a dead-end relationship with some narcissistic wannabe Mr. Popular, posing to be humbled and immune to the superficiality that TV, magazines and radio spoon-fed this generation. A man who kept a talented young girl who he didn’t even like by his side, sucking away the individuality that her family had left, full from slurping it up with their comments, molesting and name-forgetting.36

“Don’t forget,” the founder of What’s Longer Than Life (which we’ll call WLTL) said as he gathered some short stories and lyrics some groupers had donated from the short, wooden coffee table in the center of the circle of cushioned chairs and loveseats, “the café is having a charity this St. Patties day. Clothe the homeless, starved, naked children of New Jersey!”37

What are they going to do? Angli asked herself. Raise money for and donate a cornucopia of ugly green clothing so homeless children will feel the true meaning of what it’s like the be Irish? Cowardly. They couldn’t manage to give a shit on any other day but holidays. And New Jersey? Not that children aren’t homeless there ... but couldn’t they shoot for someplace like ... Haiti or something—a place that would demand a bit more heartfelt effort?38

“Bring something green!” he went on with an excited shrug and a giddy smile. “Money or clothes—as long as it’s green.” Man. This guy was seeping homosexuality from every nook and cranny he had. Hmmmm. He had a deep, masculine voice but it was in the ways in which he said things and his mannerisms that made it obvious he liked boys, which Angli had absolutely no problem with. She liked boys, too, so yay for gays. He was probably in his late teens or early twenties but he looked like he was at least twenty-six. “Oh! Oh! Oh! I almost forgot! Bad Abe! The café is also cosponsoring a fun little haunted house for St. Patties, as well. Won’t that be fun, scaring people when it’s not even the middle of the year? I can’t wait. I expect everyone to sign up for either cast or crew to help the industry. You’ll work gratis, of course but that’s all right. We’ll need some financial donations during your work process, help with buying props and/or special affects, or you can just be a crab and put down a few bucks and not work at all. But remember ... helpless New Jersey children are in need here.”39

She nodded quietly and smiled a half-smile. Craig was off mingling now and Angli was stuck alone again. A pre-spring haunted house? “Special affects”? Someone’s just begging to feel unique. She scoffed, standing up and intentionally scraping the chair back with the back of her knees, the iron legs of the chair screeching with a sound like a train breaking. People looked and winced at the noise and scowled at her for damaging the remnants of social time before they had to mosey on home and reflect on the posers of music and who the true artistes were.40

Angli whipped out her wallet. Deliver me upon the sea and name me crab queen. She wandered off to the coffee bar, suddenly feeling electric and alive. A person stood in front of her, taller, and she knew who it was. Hardly anyone in this place was taller than she was—most of them had been guzzling down coffee since they were two weeks old and were as short as an overgrown lawn gnome. Yes, she knew who it was and when she heard his deep, soft-spoken voice, time seemed to race and slow down all at the same time.41

Caleb = Drool.42

Once she checked for a saliva puddle at her feet, she got beside him at the bar and leaned against it, waiting for a “representative,” as they liked to be called, to come over but she hoped against all hope there was some sort of floor deficiency, which kept everyone in the exact same place for ... ever? Just so that she could spend a few more moments standing beside him.43

He was at least six feet tall and it made her smile. She was damned if she knew why she felt so alive around him. There were thousands of guys that looked like him (well, not just like him. Caleb had that Anakin look, which is hard to find these days) and she couldn’t care less about them—obviously attractive and acting humble. She’d leave them to the obviously attractive, misleadingly humble women. There was something in his eyes—something that seemed maybe a bit sad and so actually humble, it almost made her tumble. Humble ... tumble. You’ll only find those rhymes hilarious when you’re giddily beside a person that makes you feel strong for some unknown reason, while, on all other accounts, you don’t feel strong at all.44

Angli bit her bottom lip, crossed her arms over the counter and tapped her index finger on it as if she was impatiently waiting, as if she had someplace to be. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Caleb was doing the same thing, biting, crossing and tapping with his humble eyes acting like he’d a place to be.45

She shifted her weight to her hip away from him, accidentally bumping her elbow with his. She almost sighed dreamily with any sort of bodily contact with Caleb. They looked at each other and shyly smiled. She was shy because she liked him and she figured he was shy because he was either just shy, felt awkward in the presence of strange individuals, or was just afraid of any kind of contact with a person, same specie, same race, same sex or not. Of course, he could be madly in love with her and shy for the same reason that she was but that was out of the question—not an option to Miss Kauferman. How could that happen? Look at him! He was sixteen and he didn’t even have acne! A rarity, that one.46

They were still looking at each other when the representative arrived. Damn. She’d spent that entire eye-contacting moment with Caleb contemplating if he was nervous with bodily contact and marveling at the fact that he hadn’t a single zit. I hope he’s not wearing make-up. That would be odd but it’s possible. You can’t be that good looking without some sort of help, can you?47

“Uh ... which one of you was here first?” the representative asked, with her nametag reading “Bett-T.” Apparently they get to customize their own tags because otherwise it most probably would have read “Betty, I hate my name but I can’t change it to the name Bett-T, which can be found on kindergarten teacher Bettys nametags around the country. Damn café. Bett-T, my alter ego, you’ll be free someday, baby. You’ll be free. I swear it! We’ll leave this stupid café and find a place we can...” and so on and so forth.48

“Oh, she was,” Caleb said, surprising Angli to the point she made an obviously confused face. He waved his hand in the direction of the representative, nodded and stepped back from Angli with a smile. “Lovely ladies first.”49

Lovely lady? Where? Angli looked behind her for a moment then at the representative, which Caleb was not looking at and then at him. She felt electric and chuckled. “Smooth move, Exlax,” she mocked with small smile and she turned to the woman behind the bar and asked how much was she supposed to donate to the dumb way-too-damn-early-haunted-house-thing.50

“Well, it’s going to be a huge deal,” the girl said with a shrug that was supposed to be modest.51

It was he. He was near her and she felt it. “Oh, I know,” Angli said sarcastically with a dramatic nod. “I just can’t wait to watch it on CNN.”52

The lady’s jaw clenched as she drew a huge and nearly empty jar from a cabinet and nearly slammed it on Angli’s arms. “Put as much as you want into it,” she said, pissed off and horrible at hiding it. “But don’t take anything out.”53

“Oh, I won’t,” she said reassuringly, waving the notion off. “I don’t need the extra change.”54

Caleb looked at Angli and then at the worker. What was going on, anyway? They were having a duel of sinister glares and it seemed the brown chick was winning. She was grinning and it made the representative turn away.55

Angli chuckled and twisted the jar’s tight lid open before Caleb could offer to help. Not that he was going to ... he could tell she could fend for herself. She wouldn’t allow him to, anyway. She was so excited by her excitement in his company; she nearly forgot he was right there. She suddenly tensed when she realized Caleb was just looking at her quietly ... and then went back to cool as she peeked into her wallet, pulling out two dollars and dropping them into the jar’s open mouth.56

“So ... you’re donating to the whole leprechaun haunted house deal, huh?” Caleb gave a meek smile and regained the step he had taken back, getting closer to the sarcastic girl.57

“Evidently,” she said nonchalantly, tightening the lid on the jar.58

He cocked his head to the side, as if he was a dog staring at a treat, absolutely enticed and fascinated. “Are you gonna be in it?”59

Only if you are!60

“No,” she said, pushing the jar towards him. She grabbed her wallet and opened her bag. It hurt not to make eye contact but she didn’t want to be obvious about her feelings. God forbid. But she was taking her time replacing her wallet, hoping he wouldn’t realize she was obviously stalling just to be with him a little bit longer. Two days a week were not enough! “Are ... you?”61

He shrugged, rolled his eyes and grinned all in one impish move. “Maybe.” He laughed, letting his humorous mystery go as he revealed his pearly whites. “Yeah, I’m in it. I mean it’s for the kids.”62

She chuckled, finally zipping her bag shut. What else could she stall with? She could talk in slow motion but that would be just plain freaky. “The kids of New Jersey.”63

“There’re homeless, starving kids in New Jersey, too, ya know.”64

Ya know. Sounded like her dad. Dammit.65

She nodded with a shrug, pulling the strap of the bag tighter around her shoulder, which she kept doing as if she couldn’t end a conversation and walk away if her bag didn’t feel right. “I think they’re a little better off than the kids in Africa, ya know.” She looked him over; his deep blue eyes with long eyelashes, dark brown hair with a couple of small curls in it... Whoa! Time to check for a drool puddle!66

She quickly looked down and wiped her chin (just in case) and then looked back at him. He was staring at her with an eyebrow raised and his full lower lip between his teeth. He thinks I’m nuts, Angli decided, looking at the way he was looking at her. And those lips! She gulped and blinked hard, trying to get her focus away from his looks ... until he laughed and shook his head at her, looking at her in such a way that made her sigh.67

“What’s your name?” he asked, stooping closer to gain more eye contact.68

I ... have a name, she told herself. What is my name?? She’d completely forgotten her name ... she knew it started with a vowel. Her family must have rubbed off on her. Suddenly it came to her. Angli!! And just like that day with Treau, she said what she was thinking and exclaimed her name, making him jump. When she realized she’d just yelled in his face, she clasped a hand over her mouth and then the other hand on the back of that hand ... just for extra strength muting.69

He squinted at her, as if trying to figure out the complex puzzle she was. “...Angli.” He nodded with a frown, a little weirded out by the girl, until he smiled at her. “Is that it? No last name?”70

“Uh...”71

This time he covered his ears before she could yell, which made her laugh. Nothing made her laugh lately.72

“You wouldn’t know how to pronounce it,” she told him diligently, placing her hands on her hips, below her smaller waist.73

He scoffed and stepped closer to her, their bodies almost touching. “What is it?”74

He smelled good ... not like cologne ... like the smell of clean. She stopped inhaling for a moment to exhale her last name, trying to remember whether or not she’d brushed her teeth that morning. He nodded and repeated it with an extra rolling of the R, so it sounded like “Angli Kauferrrrrrman.” Yes, that’s right ... he’d just purred part of her last name.75

“I’ll just call you misses K.” He smiled and nodded, as if he were proud of his latest word achievement.76

Misses K.? she thought. “I’m not married ... so that wouldn’t apply, now would it?” she said sassily with a smirk. She was most definitely enjoying this.77

“Well ... miss K. Or ... A.K.?” I think he could go on like this for a while.78

Just call me Mrs. Schumacher, she thought. The simple notion made her blush to the point she covered a cheek with her hand. He noticed her flushed face, wondering what he’d said ... what she’d thought to make her go red. She could think of a lot of things that would make her go red. But we’ll try to keep this strictly G-rated.79

“Angli, come on!”80

Caleb and Angli both turned to see who had called her. Craig was waving her over to the front door. He might as well have been leaning over, patting his knee and clapping his hands, whistling and calling, “Come’ere, Fee Fee! Come’ere puppy. C’mon, now that’s a good girl.”81

Angli grimaced and turned back to Caleb where she had to smile. She shrugged and waved as if it didn’t kill her to leave his presence. “Later.” She smiled again and then turned to walk away to her master, trotting off, stick in mouth and collar shining bright.82

Good dog.83