Angels With Handsome Faces
Art by Lynette Yiadom-Boakye
Lonnie hated his name. It wasn’t tough enough, didn’t match… Him.
His mother had always wanted a girl, and when she saw his sweet face…
His father wasn’t around…
She told him:
“When I named you” …
She coughed a heavy haze. Stared at it. Slapped it away, distorting reminders of regret. The way her and Lonnie’s smoke would tango. But they never danced around passion. Her thoughts and speech, trailed like screams of a fall.
“He”…
“Your father was after a girl too. Somewhere” … “He still hasn’t found…”
When Lonnie had his own son, he vowed to be different. His son would have a good name. Nothing weak, trendy, or tragic. A strong one, to keep everyone in place. A name to be remembered.
When Lonnie’s son was born-the boy cried so much, Lonnie was sure he would shrivel and dry out. He Wondered if he actually had a girl.
“Boys ain’t supposed to cry like that!”
The boy’s mother would say:
“He just needs a little love.” As she reached for him. “
Lonnie pinched before handing the boy over. Shock brings the man out. If he was gonna cry, it better be for a reason. Lonnie fed him, hot bottles that bit his throat and tore out screams.
Lonnie yelled:
“pick yourself up”, when he fell.
If Lonnie did have to help, he squeezed hard, until knuckles and bones popped, until asking for help associated with torture and weakness.
Funny thing about children of a certain age-they have a forgiving spirit. Angels in flesh turned into devils. Trying their entire life to ignore the grave sculpted and furnished by their parents.
When Lonnie’s son tried to hug him, Lonnie pushed him.
“Be ready for anything.”
Next, was a slap then a punch.
“I am not your mother.” A firm handshake is the only greeting a man needs.”
What the son needed, he realized by the age anger and pleasure makes penises hard as fists, was to be out, away from the den where his father prowled.
This taught him the value of time. He wasted so much, avoiding his father, who spread his like fantasies from scented wind. He didn’t notice his mother wilting from pollution. Strong roots can only survive so long, being pulled, struck, stripped from every direction, in the place they are supposed to be protected.
When Lonnie returned to bury his wife, he was greeted with the warmth of a wildfire.
Old age brings remorse. And it’s often one sided- like that grave Lonnie’s son forced him into.
