Guardians and Angels | Chapter Three (Part 12)

I knew everything about permanent marks on my life, or so I thought. My freckles, they’ve always stained my skin; wine splashes upon my image, spattered and sprayed across me since the day I saw my own arms and legs. I was a spotted animal of some sort, in my mind, a leopard. A marked creature who would be feared for its tattooed patterns. In reality, they were a scourge, or so I thought.

I blamed my freckles for me being so shy as a child. When I grew older and more reflective, I realized it was a lie I told myself. Some tame tale to cover the truth. I did hide behind them though, they were my shields, soaking in all the questions so nothing else got past to me. They were forever deployed, shields activated, preparing for other boys to interrogate me about them, to try and count them, to try and connect the dots.

(giggle giggle)

They were sienna brown deflectors covering thousands, maybe millions, of openings into me, openings for other boys to mention how different I was, with my shocking auburn red hair, black eyebrows and thousands of cinnamon spots plastered upon my alabaster skin.

They did not see me as a leopard as I thought they would, no; more like a leper, some freak to ponder but never get too close to, never touch. Their questions peppered me in the bright sunlight of California playgrounds. Machine guns laying down rapid fire. Assault rifle tongues.

How do you have black eyebrows and red hair, Christopher?

Your skin hurts my eyes; you are like Casper the Ghost.

(giggle giggle)

You have so many freckles...wow.

They are so, ...brown.

Do you have any on your....?

(giggle giggle)

Moments with him were also permanent marks upon me, spreading outward over my form and over my soul. Searing across me. Golden sparks from a rocket launch leaving a trail of images singed into me. Sssssssssssizzled onto me. Embedded. Smatterings of memories fading over time yet never able to be washed away. He was forever etched upon me like my melanin pinpoints.

That night, cresting the creek bed and heading toward my childhood home, saying what I said for the first time, to him, to anyone, that was a permanent mark which never fades, no matter how many times I uncover it in my mind and stare down upon it like a newborn. A priceless bookmark, that shines outward from upon my flesh and my spirit and across every wavelength of everlasting light that the soul is made of.

Unforgettable.

“I think I love you, Kai Cooper,” I said. Confidently. My hand gripping his, firm, a handshake without the shake. He ignored hearing me at first - he’s great at that, it’s a superpower of his which I was uncovering. He could look right past someone as they (me) were telling him the most important thing in their (my) life and say,

“I haven’t met your mother yet,” his brow furrowed a bit.

My confidence fled, bats fleeing a rocky cave, fluttering into the night. Squeaking with laughter.

(giggle giggle)

What did that mean? What’s my mother have to do with us?

He squeezed my hand back, one, two.... three. I heard something deep within my mind whisper... A code. A pattern? or was it something else?

one squeeze, two squeezes, pause, three squeezes

He hadn’t met my mother yet? That was his response?

“What does she have to do with it?” I asked, genuinely puzzled. Wishing I hadn’t said anything. Wishing I hadn’t even asked what I asked.

Just shut up, that was so weird. You are sooooo weird. I can’t believe you just said it to him. It’s really gaaaaaa....

(don’t say it)

He looked up at the moon and asked, “You ever worry that two people are meant to be together, Christopher... but if they do it wrong...”

Pause

“They won’t be together at all?”

His eyes squinted, his voice reflective, an ache in it. A quiver. It was a question he hadn’t spoken before but had wrestled with over and over within himself for longer than I knew.

I answered honestly. “No,” I muttered.

Lying to him, again.

You know what he means...

“Well I do,” he continued. “..and I think about it all the time.”

“Just forget I said...”

“People get pulled apart, Christopher," he interrupted. "Especially if they do things wrong. Meeting your mom, whether she likes me or not, will help make sure I don’t do things... wrong.”

He hit me hard on the shoulder, a solid jab, enough to turn me a bit, but not enough to hurt. My shoulders were growing thicker and he found the meat of the deltoid, a quick thud. A period at the end of his sentence in the form of a punch. He turned and swiftly ran up the inclined path leading out of the creek.

“I want to be a good person, Christopher!” he called out over his shoulder. “You make me want to be a good person for some reason,” his voice trailing over the edge.

I followed up after him in silence. I was painted into the corner where my worlds were about to collide. He was pushing like the tide, incessantly, steadily probing forward. Touching my bruises.

We crested the ridge leading out of the creek and looked westward, stars twinkling here and there, lights from a few buildings twinkling by themselves in the middle of nowhere. He looked across the long adobe farmland fields filled with rabbits and coyotes and said, “That your place?”

I nodded in the moonlight, my freckles dark patterns across my nose, reflections of the constellations above us.

“Yup,” I confirmed.

“Finally!” he said, genuinely relieved. “Do you walk this every day?”

“No,” I said, “I usually run.”

He smiled, “You’re a smartass, you know that?”

I smirked at him. My mom always told me I was a smartass too. She said I’d “argue just to argue,” whatever that meant. He hadn’t met that part of me yet. He turned back to me. His face suspicious. Brow furrowed. The moonlight made him even more dashing, his silhouette was striking, a knight in armor, helmet removed, leaning toward me.

“Why are you nervous? What’s wrong?”

I didn’t know how to say it. I could admit anything to him but this… I couldn’t believe he couldn’t see it. Couldn’t sense it. So smart but somehow what was written all over me, from my clothes to my backpack, to my binder, to my shoes; My shoes with the worn-down soles. The ones with the hole in the side by the little toe. my only pair.

“Well, it’s just…,” I said, looking down at my shoes.

Not name brand.

Payless specials.

Not Vans. Not Converse. Always some generic brand. Whatever the name was, I just called them “Not Vans” when my Mom inquired about them. Not wanting her to feel bad but I just couldn’t hide some things, and being underwhelmed had always been one of those things.

“You’ll see,” I finally responded.

We walked through the long field together, about a quarter mile ahead of us. Side by side. I could tell he wanted to keep probing, he wanted to hear me say it. When he showed concern it was endearing. He had a thoughtfulness to him that was sincere and unlearned. It was genuine and authentic. He really cared when he asked me what was wrong, as if he could somehow fix it. Funny thing is, in some ways, he could.

“Just don’t make fun of me, please.”

It’s not my fault.

He looked at me and smiled in the darkness, hit me in my shoulder with the back of his hand, a quick tap, “Never,” he agreed. “I’m not like the other kids, Christopher, I don’t care about whatever it is that’s making you so.... anxious.”

Anxious. I guess I am anxious.

We made our way through the field, dry grass up to our hips in some areas, pockets of amber exploding in cascading ripples and giving way gently as we slid toward a small lamp on a post in the distance. The light was dim, but enough to show a locked gate that was hanging askew. Not open, but clinging on tightly as if it was drunk and still trying to pull sentry duty. An electric wire fence stretched out into the darkness on both sides, clinging from wooden post to wooden post. The unsettling hum of the fence’s vibration grew stronger as we approached. About 100 yards behind the fence was the actual house, sitting in the darkness, the sound of a radio playing from a porch was the only sign it was there. There were quick piano chords floating out from the darkness, someone was singing pretty song lyrics over them, when from seemingly out of nowhere, drums cae crashing through the night and the song exploded.

“Til now!.....I always got by on my ooooowwwwn”

“I never really cared until I met yooooooooouuu!”

“And now it chills me to the boooooooooone”

“How do I get you Aloooooooooooooooooone”

“How do I get you Aloooooooooooooooooone”

“Alone,” a rock song by Heart could be heard playing from the radio that sat on an end table next to my mother’s chair on the porch. We were still far away, but it was always there, her radio...and it sang mostly at night. It was quiet out here and she really had it up loud. When she had it cranked up loud the songs could be heard a couple miles away on a still night. Tonight, the sounds of the Wilson sisters from Heart singing at the top of their lungs carried down the dirt path, running to meet us, greeting us with their wails. Sirens screaming at us from my front porch.

“We might be able to sneak in,” I whispered to him, motioning to kneel down outside the reach of the light from the lamp on the gatepost.

“What?” he said. “Why would we sneak in?”

“As long as the radio is on, we can loop around wide, pass the oak tree, get around the back, come in through the back door,” I continued.

“Why are we whispering?” he said, looking around over my shoulder, peering down the dirt trail leading into the darkness behind the electric fence.

“Is anyone home?” he asked.

“Of course, dummy, can’t you hear the radio? My Mom sits on the porch and listens to it at night. Usually she’s reading.”

“She reads in the dark? All the lights are off,” he pointed out.

“That doesn’t matter,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“As long as the radio is on we can get by her, let’s hurry, this song is pretty loud,” I said as I stood back up and headed toward the gate but not all the way to the reach of the lamp light. I stayed in the darkness, out of sight.

“Won’t she see us?” he asked, concerned.

“No, Kai, she won’t see us,” I said, matter-of-factly.

Pause

“How do I get you Aloooooooooooooooooone,” the sisters wailed, sirens in the background, their voices haunting, full of despair.

“My mother is blind, Kai," I said.

"She hasn’t seen me in a few years”