Also by Martine Leavitt
Keturah and Lord Death
Heck Superhero
Tom Finder
The Dollmage
The Taker’s Key
The Prism Moon
The Dragon’s Tapestry
MY BOOK OF LIFE BY ANGEL
—
MARTINE LEAVITT
GROUNDWOOD BOOKS
HOUSE OF ANANSI PRESS
TORONTO
Copyright © 2012 by Martine Leavitt
Published in Canada in 2012 by Groundwood Books
Chapter headings are quoted from Paradise Lost by John Milton, Modern Library edition, 2008, edited by William Kerrigan, John Rumrich and Stephen M. Fallon.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Distribution of this electronic edition via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal. Please do not participate in electronic piracy of copyrighted material; purchase only authorized electronic editions. We appreciate your support of the author’s rights.
Groundwood Books/ House of Anansi Press
110 Spadina Avenue, Suite 801, Toronto, Ontario M5V 2K4
www.groundwoodbooks.com
We acknowledge for their financial support of our publishing program the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) and the Ontario Arts Council.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Leavitt, Martine
My book of life by Angel / Martine Leavitt.
ISBN 978-1-55498-317-9
I. Title.
PS8573.E323M9 2012 jC813’.54 C2012-902715-4
Cover illustration by Anna + Elena = Balbusso (www.balbusso.com)
For the families of the Eastside angels
Bid her well beware . . .
When Serena went missing
I looked in all the places she might go
and she wasn’t anywhere,
just like a lot of the other girls weren’t anywhere.
I thought oh no
when Serena didn’t show up at her corner one night
and not the next night or the next,
and then she didn’t show up to church Wednesday.
She always went to church Wednesday
and told her man Asia it was for free hot dogs
but it was really for church—
she told me that secret.
Once a man came
who smelled so bad everybody pulled away,
but Serena said, welcome, you are with friends,
have a hot dog.
She said she picked me to love
because of my name Angel and because of my face,
but then she loved me just because.
She said that.
She said her heart’s desire was to see an angel.
She said, if I could see an angel
that would mean I’m still God’s little girl.
She said,
Angel, if you get scared sometime
on a bad date,
do this—
She stared big-eyed at nothing over my head
and said,
angel, angel . . .
I laughed, said, you see an angel?
She said, no not yet,
but just saying it or thinking about one
has powers.
Really, Serena? I said.
Ha ha really?
you think there is such a thing as angels?
She said soft, maybe.
But she meant yes really.
The first time Call told me
to get out there
and me scared and not knowing anything
and Call watching from the café across the street
saying no more candy for free—
that first time Serena said, I’ll tell you what I know.
She said, your eyes be always on the man
you don’t have eyes for anyone but him
you don’t have business with anybody but him—
that’s the only way he can stand it,
if you aren’t alive except when he needs you to be.
Serena taught me about drinks and dinner,
told me how to make it go fast, how to fake it.
She said, and don’t you forget
your name suits you.
When she wasn’t at church Wednesday
I said, Asia, where is she?
He said, she’s run out on me.
I thought, but did not say,
she gave me her running-away money
to hide under my mattress
Last church Wednesday
Serena said to me,
Angel, you write about Nena
who had a pretty house
and pretty parents
and was a ten minute walk from Micky D’s.
One day she didn’t go home for supper
and then she didn’t go home for curfew
and then she didn’t go home.
Nena went for a burger
and ended up at Hastings and Main.
Her man, the one who found her, lonesome,
said to his friends,
it’s the ones from good homes
who follow orders best—
it’s the ones from good families
who have the best social skills,
who never learned how to fight—
they make the best money.
Serena said to me,
tell the story of Connie
who said, I’m leaving the life behind,
who said, I’m going to testify against the man
who brought me here and dogged me awful.
She said, I’m going to protect other girls
and get that boy in jail.
On courtroom day, there he was,
wearing a pink tie,
and in every seat of the courtroom
were his buddies,
saying with eyes,
if he goes down,
so do you.
Write how Connie failed to prove to the judge
that she was in imminent and present danger
so her man walked away
and Connie got found dead
strangled by a pink tie.
Serena said,
John the john has made you read that poem,
has taught you fancy words and fancy grammar—
Angel, you tell about Blood Alley
and Pigeon Park—
the cardboard tents
and the water rats
and the delousing showers,
the SROs and the cockroaches,
the people drinking out of puddles
and all the girls going missing . . .
Tell all that, Angel.
I said no.
She said yes.
I said no.
She said yes.
I said no that is dumb.
Then Serena didn’t show at church Wednesday,
and I got a book to write in.
I stopped to listen to the street preacher
who talked about God’s top ten
and how everything you do is recorded in a book of life
and angels will read from it someday.
Is this what you want your story to be? he said.
Is this what you want everyone to hear?
I imagined that,
to hear everything about me
read out loud by an angel
like I used to read to my little brother Jeremy.
I held my notebook
and wished I could write my story over
and in this new story I gave up Call’s candy forever
and I called my dad and he came and got me
and him and me and Jeremy
drove away from Call forever,
and when we got there,
there would be Serena.
So I tried to make it come true.
I called Dad from the pay phone near the library
and it was sorry this number is no longer in service
so I wrote him a letter and even mailed it,
saying,
Serena my friend is missing
I am cleaning up my act like you said
and I vow my deepest vow
that I won’t take Call’s candy forever.
I wrote on the front of my book
My Book of Life by Angel
Which Is My Real Name,
and This Is My Real Story
for Maybe an Angel to Read.
I wrote in my book,
Serena, when you come back
and my letter to Dad
and I am sorry I laughed at your idea of angels,
I want an angel too.
I wrote
my angel wouldn’t be one of the long dead
who has forgotten being alive,
who is used to sitting on a throne
and being buddies with God.
My angel would be a fresh-dead one,
still longing for chocolate cake,
still wishing she could come back
and find out who won American Idol.
That’s the one I want—
just a junior one
who might not mind saving
a girl like me.
Subtle he needs must be, who could
seduce angels . . .
In the Vancouver Downtown Eastside,
where Call lives and now me too,
all the doors and windows are barred at night—
the street is the jail
and there’s no escape.
Where Call lives
people know how to sleep sitting up
and how to eat without teeth
and how to carry their whole world
on their backs.
Where Call lives
most of the churches are shelters,
with beds for the bedless
and soup for the soupless.
Call has a good haircut and good shoes—
shoes with laces double-knotted and hard soles
and stiff heels
and pockets in his shirts—
he could walk into an office
and nobody would blink.
But here they blink.
Here, he is gentry.
He says, I am the beginning of gentrification
at Hastings and Main.
Call wants to be the boss of something.
He can’t do it in the real world
so he will be the king of Eastside.
He is always disappointed with Eastside.
It lets him down every day.
I met Call because of shoes,
because I stole shoes.
No—shoe,
just the one on display,
the one everyone touches, picks up,
tries to stuff their foot into,
the one people say, oooh that is so sweet,
or,
why would anybody want that?
Serena said once,
Angel, shoes are going to be the death of you.
My mom died of holes.
People who get cancer can feel lumps,
but my mom felt spaces, holes—
she couldn’t explain it better.
The doctor said she had osteoporosis,
but Mom said she had holes in her bones.
She said her memory was bad
because of the holes in her brain
and she would laugh.
Then she died of a hole in her heart
she had since she was born
but nobody knew.
Serena said,
that put a hole in you, Angel,
which you tried to fill up with Call.
After Mom died, Dad hated our house.
He kept hearing Mom on the stairs
and in the kitchen
and turning over in bed—
he knew her ghost was playing hide and seek with him
and never letting him win.
Dad said, we’re moving,
and Jeremy said, where?
And Dad said, anywhere,
but he never did
because sometimes in the closet
he could smell her.
After Mom died
I started to run away from home,
but just to the mall.
I liked the shoe stores best at the mall.
High-heeled shoes meant walking pretty,
meant looking good in a getaway way,
meant strutting your stuff, being tough.
At the mall
I made myself up as I went.
I pretended in lipstick.
Then I got caught
and Dad had to come pick me up
at the police station.
I tried not to anymore,
but then there was that periwinkle pump
with the yellow strap
and he had to come pick me up again.
And again.
Dad didn’t know what to do with me,
stealing shoe and getting caught.
He kept saying, I don’t know what to do with you—
but Call did.
Every day after school
I pretended to run away to the mall.
I pretended the bookstore was my home
and the leather reading chairs were my chairs
and the bookstore clerk was my aunt who loved to see me read.
I pretended the cinnamon bun smell
was Mom making them for me
and the clothing stores were my walk-in closets
and the ice cream place was my freezer
and the bathroom was my bathroom
and I lived at the mall.
Once in a while I would go to my pretend closet
and take just one shoe,
just pick it like a fruit off a tree.
One day I picked up a pink peekaboo
and slipped it in my backpack, and just then—
Call.
He said, hey, I saw you.
I saw what you did,
don’t be scared, your secret’s safe with me.
You hungry? he asked.
Buy you something.
C’mon, don’t be scared, I’m just Call, I’m okay.
I said no
and he said, then I’ll have to turn you in.
He smiled when he said it
but I let him buy me Chinese
; and he laughed when I told him about my collection.
You think anyone really cares about one shoe? he said,
and suddenly nothing seemed so bad.
I said, thanks for the food, I’ve got to go.
He said, see you later diddle diddle dumpling.
I said, what?
And he said, later.
Every day I came
and every day he was there.
I said, don’t you have to go to college?
to work?
how old are you?
He said, I’m a businessman.
What kind of business?
Renewable resources, he said.
What’s that?
You ask a lot of questions, he said.
Call bought me fried chicken and cinnamon buns
and told me I was pretty,
said I had a sweet tooth in my sweet face,
listened to me about Mom,
kept saying, I know how it is,
come with me, be my girl,
we’ll travel the world.
But I didn’t go that day
or the next
or the next
because I crazy loved my little brother Jeremy.
And then Call said,
you wanna fly, Angel?
He said, you want candy for that sweet tooth of yours?
At first it was so fun, Call’s candy,
and all the missing of Mom went away
and I was all
I’m so baby uptown
I’m so baby bless my soul
I’m so baby high heels
I’m so baby rock and roll.
I’m so spinning pretty pretty pat pat
Little bit of this and a little bit of that that.
I’m so baby sheek sheek
I’m so baby got control
I’m so baby hot walk
I’m so baby on a roll.
I’m so honey dance with me
Little bit o’ la-la, little bit o’ tee-hee . . .
One day when I was on a sugar high
I brought it home and Dad wasn’t there