My Book of Life By Angel Read online

  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

  and it is still there.

  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

  I will tell you about my vow

  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