Saved and SAINTified (17 page)

S
aint grinned back, made him face him again and hugged him tighter. “It’s alright. You’re not in trouble, baby. I want you to tell me what I’m thinking about right now, tell me what you see.”

Dakarai stared into his father’s eyes.
“About cars, Daddy.”

“That’s right, I was thinking about cars just now. Can you tell me what color the cars are in my mind?” S
aint concentrated again, allowing his son viewership into the tiny window to his contemplations.

“Reeeed, gway and green.”

“Very good. Red, the gray was actually silver, and green.” Saint swallowed. “Good job, Dakarai. Do you like doing that people? Seeing their thoughts?”

Dakarai nodded happily.

“Okay. Daddy can understand that. It’s fun. Let me tell you a little something about people’s thoughts though. They are kinda like when you go to the bathroom. You know how you don’t want anyone to see you use the potty, and you close the door?”

Dakarai nodded.

“That’s how people’s thoughts are. They prefer not to be seen by others. For you, this feels natural but I have a feeling you still know that not everyone can do it. Is that true?”

“I know
... like, Daddy, ’Sani can’t.” Dakarai smiled smugly.

“Right, Hassani can’t read people’s thoughts
, not yet, and you still may always be better at him than that. Both of you are good at different things. Just like Hassani reads books well and is great at playing basketball. You are good with numbers, especially for someone your age. You’re different, and that’s cool. It’s great to be different. And with that, some differences make people upset. Just like you wouldn’t want your mother opening the door while you do number two, you become embarrassed.”

Dakarai giggled. “Boo boo!”

“Yes, when you booboo. That is the same thing, so don’t open the door on people’s thoughts anymore, Dakarai.”

He watched
the little one’s dark eyebrows bunch in a frown.

“I know it’s hard, but I want you to try to not do that to people, okay?”

“But it’s fun, Daddy.” The little boy pouted, not wanting to relinquish the great entertainment he’d be having at other people’s expense.

“I know it is, baby
, but just because something is fun doesn’t mean it is okay if it is hurting someone else. You’d make people sad if they knew you were doing that, because just like the bathroom, that’s private. Do you understand?”

Dakarai nodded sadly and looked down into his lap
, fidgeting.

“You didn’t know any better. I’m not mad
.” Saint slowly lifted his son’s chin. “If you want to know something, just ask.”

“But Daddy
... what if ... what if it could help me?”

S
aint paused. “What do you mean?”

“Like
  ...  what if it could help some bunny, like uh hero! Like, that one man on tha movie.”

“Help some
body
? Oh, the guy in the cartoon that could read the villain’s thoughts and he stopped him from robbing the bank?”

“Yes! Like dat, Daddy.”

“Well, that’s different, but that isn’t what you’re doing now, is it? There are no robbers running around here.” Saint chuckled. “But I do believe you will grow up and be a superhero.” He kissed his son on the forehead.

Dakarai smiled
and squeezed Saint’s neck. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, son.”

***

The next morning…

Saint swiveled at his maiden shaped desk and contemplated his wording for the email he was composing. Deadlines were approaching, the clock was ticking and inside, he was a walking time bomb.

Damn it! We should have pushed for two in
Houston. Now we’ll be working against the clock on this conference.

Lawrence
beeped into his office. Saint looked down at his phone and put him through.

“Sup,
Lawrence.” He glared back at his computer screen, a scowl on his face.

“
Jagger is here; we can all sit down and talk now.”

“Okay, cool. Give me ten minutes.” S
aint disconnected the line and went back to his work. As soon as he began to type again, his cellphone started to vibrate. He glanced down at it, and saw Xenia’s number.

“Hi
, baby.” He exhaled loudly as he began typing again.

“I’m not a baby!” came Hassani’s voice.

Saint beamed. Hearing his child’s voice was a much welcomed reprieve right now.

“What are you doing with mommy’s phone, boy?”

“She is talkin’ to Mrs. Murphy. We are goin’ on a field trip.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. You’re going to the space museum. Are you excited?”

“Mmmm hmmmm!”

“That’s good, have fun. I have to go, baby, I mean, Hassani.”

“Wait Daddy, ’member when you dropped me off here last time?”

“Yes. That was last week.”

“This boy named Eric said you talk funny! He been sayin’ it to me again and he told everybody, ‘Hassani daddy talk funny!’ I don’t like it. I’m goin’ to beat him up.”

S
aint grinned on the other end of the phone. “He said I talk funny, huh? Hassani, don’t pay this Eric person any attention. If it bothers you that much, just tell him your daddy isn’t from here, and people all over the country and world speak differently.”

“You not from
California, Daddy?”

“No, and it’s, ‘
you’re not
from California, Daddy.’ Remember, I showed you on the United States map. I’m from a state called New York, where the Statue of Liberty is—the big green lady with the torch.”

“Oh yeah! I remember now, Daddy.”

“One day I will take you. You and Dakarai need to see where I grew up. Your grandfather,
my
father, still lives there.”

“And your mother, too?”

“…No lil’ man. My mother passed away before you were even thought about … waaaay before you were born.”

S
aint swallowed as his mind flooded with memories of his mother—living with her in the South Bronx, holding her hand tightly when gang members, in particular, the Savage Skulls, the Savage Nomads and the Black Spades raced past them and caused havoc at all hours of the night. He was only five, and to this day, he remembered making eye contact with one. In that moment, he was no longer afraid, but he wasn’t sure why. He looked up at his mother and saw her staring at the tall, lanky Puerto Rican youth, before he turned away, with dark eyes full of pain and hatred. He was dressed in leather, boots and had ‘Savage Skulls’ written on the back of his vest.

He remembered her gentle protection, and
now, he desired it so badly, once more.

“She was Korn?”

Saint smiled faintly. “Korean. Your grandmother was Korean, son. She was American though, but she did have a slight accent because she learned Korean first. Her parents didn’t speak English well at the time so she had to learn it a little later. Her parents, your great grandparents, came straight from Korea.”

Saint smiled as he reflected on his mother’s voice. Even though she was gone, he could still hear it so clearly in his mind, as if they’d just spoken yesterday.

“I think because I was around her so much, I picked up a little of her dialect and it made the way I speak even kind of amusing to my friends when I was your age, too. So that is why daddy sounds funny to Eric, sweetie. I grew out of it, but there are some words that I still say the same way she did. It’s just a habit at this point.” He paused and gave it some thought. “Hassani, I know it’s hard, especially at your age, but try to not worry about what people say about me. All I care about is what your mother, you and your brother think of me. You define yourself, okay? No one can tell you who you are but
you
.”

“But Daddy
, he always sayin’ mean things! I don’t like him and he picks on me and other kids. He’s a bully, daddy!”

“And you know what, Hassani? That’s because he doesn’t feel good about himself. I don’t want you to touch him, or say one bad thing to him, do you understand me?”

“But…”

“I’m serious, Hassani.”

Saint’s thoughts flooded with sadness. Even over the phone, he was able to tap into Eric’s energy. 

That little boy doesn’t have his father at home
. He probably doesn’t even know who his father is let alone, what his own dad’s voice sounds like to determine if the man sounds funny or not! This is based on jealousy. He is jealous that I’m there for my son—that I hugged and kissed him when he saw us, and that I love him. This is a damn tragedy…

“You are blessed,” S
aint continued. “Now look, you…” Saint suddenly heard Xenia speaking in the background.

“
Boy, if you don’t give me my phone…!”

S
aint smiled as he heard her snatch it out of his hand.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby mama, it’s your man.” Saint laughed lightly. “What are you doing?”

“Hassani is a mess,” she
said. “I was speaking with his teacher about his fieldtrip today and their play next month. It’s going to be a hoot. They are doing ‘Pinocchio.’”

“What role does he have?”

“You’ll never guess.”

“Pinocchio? He stopped lying as much lately; he may not do as well
,” Saint teased.

“Yeah, he must’ve passed the torch to Dakarai
. … But nope, it’s that damn cricket. He is the narrator!”

S
aint broke out in laughter. “Not Jiminy Cricket! Oh shit, I gotta see this. I hope I’m not out of town. … Well baby; I need to head into a meeting soon. Kiss Hassani and Dakarai for me and have a good show this morning. I’ll try to listen in later.”

“Okay.” He could hear her grin over the telephone.

“I can’t wait ’til tomorrow night,” Saint added as he licked his lips in anticipation.

“You and I both
,” Xenia whispered before disconnecting the call.

****

Saint stood from his desk and pulled at his sleeves. He shook one leg, then the other, attempting to remove the slight creases from his pants. He stared straight ahead at his reflection in the flat screen television across the room then slowly made his way around his desk, his polished black Bruno Magli Rammola shoes sinking into the plush carpet with each step.

As he approached his office door, he caught
again his reflection in the mirror. He stopped and could see much clearer now. Lips slightly curved, his ran his fingers through his loose raven waves, enjoying the feel of his recently grown out tresses. The sideburns still in full effect, and cut close at the nape, he’d decided per Xenia’s urging to allow more length at the top, which only encouraged her to exercise her finger agility through the slick strands while he lavished her with oral attention.  He turned his wedding band slowly back and forth around his finger as he replayed her succulent kiss on his lips earlier that morning. With a wink at himself in the mirror, he exited his office with long strides to the conference room.

The closer he got, the more he perspired. Not out of trepidation, but
because of that all-too-knowing scent and aura. He was once again going to be in the midst of one of his own. He hadn’t laid eyes on Jagger, but with each step forward, he realized he already knew him. Somewhere deep inside, Saint realized that Jagger was a part of the fabric of his life, of the brotherhood. He could smell him even more now, stronger.  A thin fan of light slivered under the closed door of the conference room.  He took a deep breath, then turned the knob to enter…

Lawrence and
Jagger stood close to each other, leaning casually against a white wall by the vast window facing the morning sun. They were enveloped in such illumination, so that their features were hardly discernible. Now, the scent was overwhelming, overpowering his delicate sense of smell—as when a person douses themselves in a bath of cheap perfume and comes to stand close to you.

S
aint coughed and cleared his throat and put on a welcoming smile. Jagger’s light blue eyes narrowed on him. He roughly ran his broad fingers over his dark brown, short hair, scratching behind his ear as he continued to stare. Jagger had a presence. There was no doubt about it. Standing at six foot one and brandishing a five o’clock shadow reminiscent of George Michael circa 1986, in addition to broad shoulders and a football player build made him instantly intimidating. Worse yet, he didn’t smile.

S
aint approached him and stood so close, that if either man moved more than two inches, their bodies would brush against one another. Like a dispersing cloud, Lawrence stepped away from the two, as if a fight were about to ensue and he wished to avoid all blows. Instead, the men gradually danced around one another, like two bulls preparing to engage in battle. Saint’s smile faded as he continued to check Jagger out. He could sense Jagger’s intimidation, and recognized it as such. Unlike Lawrence, who was mesmerized and humbled by Saint’s psychic strength, Jagger seemed to recoil from it. He opened himself up, and the telepathic conversation ensued…