Angela

Angela    1

My house was sparsely furnished, with few decorations. There was a couch in the living room, a dining table in the kitchen, and some accessories in the bathroom. I had a bed as well, in one of the rooms, and a computer in the same room. A few books were always scattered here and there. It was very easy for me to be neat and tidy, as I didn’t own that many things. Still, I was nervous. Nervous about the appearance of the house, how I looked, whether the dinner would come out ok…2

Relax, I told myself. “Everything will be fine. Angela likes you the way you are. That’s why she agreed to come to your place and let you cook dinner for her.” Lately, I had developed a habit of speaking out loud to myself. It unnerved quite a few people in public but I thought: To hell with it. If it makes me feel better, then why should I care about their reactions?3

I cared only for Angela’s reaction. She was the only one whom I cared for. I had never got on with my mother for some reason, so she didn't matter much to me. My father had always been the epitome of military aloofness. He had never been a father to me; he had been more of a sergeant. They never talked, those two. I had a feeling I was perhaps the cause of it, though I didn’t quite understand until I was about 9 or 10. 4

I discovered then that my birthday occurred about 6 months after their wedding. Well, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. 3 months premature? I seriously doubted that. I was a love child. A love child turned hate-child, I thought wryly, afterwards. It was obvious that my mother was unsuited for my father’s temperament. Or perhaps he only became that way after he found out that my dear mum was pregnant with me. Perhaps they had been wildly in love, and had had one night of passion…with disastrous results. I say one night because I simply cannot imagine those two having a second time. I can hardly believe there was a first, but of course, I am walking proof of that. I, for my part, tactfully never mentioned my discovery to them, though I think somehow, they knew I knew.5

The doorbell startled me from the thoughts running through my head. Oh Christ, did I have enough cologne? Too late to check now…6

“Angela, hi!” I said, opening the door. There she stood, the embodiment of feminine beauty. She was wearing a knee-length flowery dress printed with tiny red roses on a white background. Her legs were very nice to look at. A maroon button-down sweater covered her shoulders and arms. Her soft, brown curls were left unchecked to her shoulders. She had used a single clip to fasten a bit of hair behind one ear. A tiny silver stud sparkled on her lobe. “You look” I paused, searching for the right words. “You look marvellous. Really.” I said, swallowing. She smiled, but I could tell she was as nervous as I was. I’d never had a girl in my house before, whether it was my parents’ house or my own…Stop thinking about them! I told myself.7

“Did you say something?” She asked, peering at me concerned.8

“What? Oh, no. Here, come in.” I opened the door wider, and stepped back letting her enter my house.9

“You have a lovely home.” She said, softly. Her voice was like music, but why was she going on about my house. There was nothing in it. No Monet’s hanging on the wall. No piano to remind her of Bach or Mozart. For some reason, I always thought of her to be the cultured one. The sophisticated artsy woman of my dreams.10

“Thank you.” Damn. Now there was an awkward pause.11

“Angela-”12

“Michael-”13

We both laughed, easing the awkward moment.14

“You first,” I said.15

“All right.” She took a deep breath and started. “I just wanted to say, well thanks.”16

“For what?” I asked confused. We hadn’t even eaten dinner yet.17

“For well, for everything. Going out with me. Not going too fast-” This was quite the understatement. Though we’d been dating for about a month, we hadn’t even touched lips yet, much less…anything else.“ Always being considerate…” she trailed off with a nervous chuckle.18

I smiled warmly. She was more nervous than I was. “You’re more than welcome,” I said. I hesitated before delivering my planned line. She noticed.19

“What is it?”20

“I-ah. Would you, er, like to hear what’s on the menu tonight?” I asked, trying to be suave, and failing miserably. At least I got a genuine smile out of her, even if it was on account of my clumsiness.21

“Certainly,” she replied, with the same gentle voice. I always felt like such a big, clumsy oaf around her.22

“Well, shall I escort you to the table, mademoiselle?” I said, putting an arm around her. Not bad, I thought to myself, nice impromptu line there. Not bad at all Michael.23

“Oh-! Of course.” She said, startled. But her face was smiling. I pulled out a chair for her and let her sit down. I saw her eyes widen at the décor of the table. I had made sure to add a flower vase (filled with flowers, I am not that cheap as to leave an empty vase), and two tall candles.24

“We have tonight, roast chicken with salad, as well as red wine.” I pulled out a tall bottle from under the table, trying not to look awkward.25

“This is…fabulous.” She said after I’d served her the dinner.26

“Eat first…you may not think I’m so fabulous,” I said, teasing her. I’d gotten to the point where I could tease her. This was incredible.27

Dinner flew by. We’d loosened up a lot more, and there were no more awkward pauses. Conversation bloomed like tulips in the spring. I gazed at her flushed face, and saw her lips move. She was certainly saying something. I couldn’t listen. I was just staring at her beautiful eyes, her perfect nose. Those full lips.28

“Michael. Michael? Are you listening?”29

“What? Sorry.” I said sheepishly. She laughed.30

“Well, it’s all right. It wasn’t anything important.”31

“I was busy looking at you,” I said. “Is that apology enough?” She looked at me startled. Always with that cute deer-in-the-headlights look.32

“I-I have to go. The time.” She began muttering.33

“What? Did I say something wrong?” I cried, afraid that I’d ruined everything.34

“No. No, it wasn’t you. Isn’t you.” She said, stumbling over her words. She got up quickly, out of her chair and started walking toward the door.35

“Please, just wait a minute!” I ran out to meet her.36

She turned abruptly, causing me to step back. “I have to go.” She whispered. Her voice was filled with – something.37

“Wait,” I said hoarsely. I leaned in, slowly, my hands on her shoulders. Quickly, I kissed her lips. I felt her hesitate then respond with a surprising passion. It lasted a lifetime, and before we were finished, we were on the couch like a couple of high-school kids. My hands moved to take off her sweater, but as I did so, she caught her breath sharply, and silent sobs engulfed her.38

“What?” I asked, softly. “I’m sorry. I won’t-”39

“No!” She sobbed. “It’s not you!” She said, tears streaming down her face. “It’s not you…” She repeated, her words a whisper. She shook her head, trying to clear it of some old memory. She closed her eyes and leaned back.40

“I’m sorry,” I said, my own voice breaking. I’d only known this woman for a month, but I was falling for her harder than ever. I couldn’t bear to see her in pain.41

“No, it-I told you. It’s not you.”42

“Then who is it?” I asked frustrated.43

“Me.” She whispered softly, burying her face in her hands. I reached out to touch her shoulder, but she shrank away. Again, I was confused. What did I keep doing wrong? Didn’t she want to kiss me? Touch me? Of course she did! We were making out just a few minutes ago…and yet. Something was obviously troubling her.44

“Tell me what happened,” I said, catching her eyes as she looked up. The emerald spheres filled up with tears, an overflowing lake it seemed. And it was flooding my heart.45

“I can’t. You-you wouldn’t understand.” She said, brokenly.46

“Try me,” I said simply.47

“You’d leave me…” she whimpered. “You have-no idea…” She sniffled.48

“Then enlighten me,” I said earnestly. It took some more coaxing, but finally, after I promised I wouldn’t leave her, the words came out of her pretty mouth.49

“It-it happened when I was young,” she said haltingly. Then she stopped, as though unsure of how to proceed.50

“Go on,” I said. I felt bad for a minute. Part of me was dying to know about what was going on with Angela, but it was just perverse curiosity to some extent. I wanted to kick that part of me away somewhere. Maybe the moon. I knew I couldn’t though. Just like I couldn’t throw away my origins. I shook my head. This wasn’t about my childhood.51

It turned out that it was about Angela’s childhood.52

“I was about 7, maybe 6. My mother and father were fighting.” I suddenly had visions about a wife-beater. “She decided to leave the house for a week…she wanted to take me with her, but my father refused to let me go. He said I was as much his daughter as I was hers.” As she said these words, more tears spilled out onto her cheeks. Her face though was filled with a hatred I couldn’t have imagined possible.53

“It started the second night, after-after Mama left. I mean my mother,” she corrected herself unnecessarily. She was wringing her hands in a typical gesture of ‘Please it’s not my fault.’ “He came into my room, after my bedtime and he…”At this point, she dissolved into sobs. I could guess where this was going, and my heart broke for her.54

“I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching for her without thinking. She shrank away instantly. “Oh, Jesus. I didn’t mean- just a hug…” I trailed off, lapsing into silence. I dropped my hands in my lap. “You don’t have to go on,” I said, realizing how hard this was for her.55

To my surprise, she shook her head. “I do. If I don’t tell you now, you’ll always wonder how far it went, and I’ll always wonder why I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I want to be with you, and I can’t do that unless I leave my past behind.” I admired her so much when she said those words. This was as courageous an act as the words of Joan of Arc. I nodded, encouraging her to go on.56

“He did it that very night.” Her voice was expressionless now, as though she was blocking it all out somehow. “He made me get out of my clothes and do things to him that I didn’t even know were possible.”57

“Goddamn drunk bastards…I hate fathers,” I swore in memory of my own. He never drank in public, but indoors…and the things he did to my mother. He beat her senseless some days…I didn’t like her any better. Why…why? And then I remembered. He had beaten me too. And she let him. A fury I’d never known before caught hold of me. I gripped the arm of the couch as everything swam in front of me. Angela was looking at me strangely.58

“I’m ok. Go-go on.” I said shakily.59

“He wasn’t drunk. It might have been better if he was…that at least I could have pretended he was under the influence of alcohol. But see, he wasn’t! It was him. All of him.” She shuddered as she said this. “He never…”60

“What?”  I asked gently.61

“He never thought once about me. Not that night, and not after that. I was just a tool to him. Something to be used. I’m not a person.”62

“Of course you’re a person!” I exclaimed.63

“What? I-I meant to say “I wasn’t a person”…past tense.” She said, stuttering.64

“He did it that entire week, and I couldn’t stop him…Even now, I’m deathly afraid of the dark. In the dark was when he came for me…Anyways, my mother came home from Grammy’s, and he didn’t do it for a while. I still didn’t understand the full extent of what had happened to me. What had been done to me. He told me not tell mommy, that it was our secret. I thought ‘Well, he’s not doing it anymore, so why tell?’ But I was wrong.” Anytime Mama left the house, and we were alone, he’d start. Sometimes he’d make me do things. Other times, when Mama went to the gym to work out…she’d be gone for hours. It gave him time to do other things with me – to me.”65

I winced at her words. I couldn’t believe she had gone through all this and then had the courage to talk about it. She was far braver than me.66

“I told Mama one day, when I was ten.”67

“Thank God! ” I said, relieved by her decision. It suddenly struck me that this had been going on four 4 years…68

She smiled wryly. “I didn’t have the opportunity to thank God then.” She hesitated; the words were obviously difficult for her. “She didn’t believe me. She actually slapped me that day. And she-she told him what I’d said. The next night he had a chance – it was terrible.” Angela was visibly shaking now, with the memory of it. “He beat me everywhere, and then he did it to me. I knew it was coming, but it hurt so bad that time. It was like he was trying to hurt me.”69

“When did it stop?” I asked, painfully. I didn’t want to hear more. I was drowning in her words…her sorrow.70

“When I got pregnant.” She said these words so low, but in the quiet room, it was audible enough.71

“Oh Christ,” I said sickened.72

“It happened when I was 12. He went too far. He never used a condom, and I didn’t exactly have birth control pills handy…I’d gotten my first period a few months ago. Then Mama found out.” At this, her face brightened a bit. “She left him, taking me with her. She apologized for not believing me, and then we went to get the baby aborted.” At this a troubled look passed across her face.73

“What’s wrong?” I asked, and then felt stupid. A million and one things were wrong with her life.74

“I felt sorry for aborting the child,” she said. “I still do.”75

“Why, in Heaven’s name?” I cried out.76

“Because it wasn’t its fault I got pregnant. It died, for no reason…”77

“For a perfectly good reason.” I said hotly. “A twelve year old can’t expect to take care of her son, especially one that’s the result of incest!”78

“Not just my son, Mike! My half-brother!” She spat the words out, and the truth of it suddenly struck me.  Her father had done this to her. It made my head spin. I had always been pro-choice for women. Abortion to me was a right. But when I thought about it, I would have hated to be placed in such a situation. I sat, silent.79

“Mama lived with me for some time, but then she said she couldn’t live without my father. She dropped me off at Grammy’s, who knew everything by then, and then Mama went her own way.” I was shocked.80

“That’s so cruel,” I said.81

“I prefer to think about the good sides of my parents. Even my father. He was incredibly loving when he wanted to be…it wasn’t often that’s all.”82

It boggled my mind how casual she was about forgiving them. I confronted her on this, and she seemed surprised.83

“Forgiving is easy. It makes it easier to heal yourself; that’s why I did it. Don't get me wrong: I hated what he did to me, hated what had happened to me, but I don't hate him, the person, or my mother. I started looking at them as husband and wife, as two different people and not just my parents.” That made me think. Would I be able to forgive my parents for the hell they put me through. The answer came quickly. If Angela could forgive her father and mother, then I could most certainly forgive my parents for their mistakes.84

“I’m getting better, slowly, but I’ve never been out on a single date. Not until you came along, anyways,” she smiled at me, and I wanted to hug her, and hold her, and make everything right for her. I hated being only human then. Hated my weakness with a passion.85

“I love you,” I said in a low voice. It was the first time I’d ever said those words aloud. To anyone. It surprised the hell out of me, but not out of her.86

“I know,” she said quietly. “I love you too, but I can’t- I can’t do anything with that love yet.”87

“I understand,” I said immediately. And I did. 88

“Can we be just friends? For now.” She added quickly. “I liked kissing you. I love you! But then, I couldn’t help remembering…what had happened. And then I was unsure as to whether or not I’m supposed to like it. It’s a difficult thing to forget. Far more difficult than to forgive.” She swallowed.89

“I know. I-I’ll always be here for you. You know that, right?” She nodded. This wasn’t a revelation to her. “Someday, those memories will fade away, and when they do, come to me. Come running.” I whispered the last words, unable to go on without falling apart. She reached out with a trembling hand and grasped my own. 90

She squeezed my fingers for a second and said, “I will.” She let go almost instantly, but that was all right. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me.” She started to get up to leave. “I should go. It’s getting late.” I nodded, not trusting my voice.91

At the door, I managed a small wave and a “Take care, Angela.” She nodded, and smiled at me. 92

I shut the door after watching her car pull out, and then I went and sat near a window, gazing out at the autumn night sky. She’d taught me a great deal about life, I realized. I realized somewhere, deep down; my parents didn’t know what was right for me.  Or at least, not all the time. I could forgive them for that. Forgiving them for being human shouldn’t have been so hard for me. What my parents did, and what her parents did: that was wrong. It was wrong for everyone involved. But when the time came, I knew they wouldn’t be able to forgive themselves. And that’s a far heavier burden than anything I could ever impose on them. My hate for them had been eating away at me, hurting me, and I hadn’t realized it. 93

And then I did something I should have done 10 minutes ago. I looked outside at the starry night and whispered, “Thank you, Angela.” Somewhere inside me, I felt the warmth of her smile.94