Forged by Fire by Sharon M. Draper
Monique asked at the desk, and they were shown to a small waiting room. Gerald didn’t like hospitals. He remembered when he had been there before. He felt hot and scared and unable to breathe. Angel kept her head down, wouldn’t look at any doctor or nurse who passed by, and refused to speak.
Finally, a tired-looking doctor dressed in blue scrubs walked into the room. “Mrs. Sparks?”
Monique looked up, hopeful, trusting. “Is my aunt gonna be okay?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. We did all we could. She was gone before she even got here. Please accept my condolences.” Monique sobbed.
Gerald, who hoped he had misunderstood, who knew he would die himself without Aunt Queen in his world, said hoarsely, “Is she ... is she . .. dead?”
“Yes, son,” replied the doctor. “I’m so sorry.”
Gerald dropped to the floor, buried his head in his hands, and sat there, moaning and rocking, moaning and rocking. The doctor, who knew that grief had to work itself out, patted him on his head and left quietly. Monique looked at Gerald and felt she ought to do something, but she was afraid to touch him or to try to hold him. She was afraid that he would blame her for Aunt Queen’s death. So she sat there, wiping her tears with a Kleenex and watching her son shudder with grief in the middle of the waiting room floor.
Angel, who had been watching quietly, walked slowly over to Gerald, sat down next to him, and took his hand in hers. She held his hand, which was cold and trembling, in her small, warm ones. She said nothing. Gradually, his breathing returned to normal and he was able to look at her. He saw pain in her large eyes, and he saw understanding. She helped him up then, and they walked, hand in hand, over to Monique.
Gerald looked at Monique blankly. “Now what?” he asked dully.
Monique, once again trying to fill the void, but not knowing how, said bluntly, “It looks like this turned out to be a pretty awful birthday for you. I’m really sorry. So I guess you’re gonna come and live with us after all. It’ll be great. You’ll see.” She was nervous. “Let’s go call Jordan. He’ll be so pleased that you’ll be living with us.” She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself more than Gerald.
Gerald sighed, and with shoulders stooped, followed Monique to the telephone. He didn’t care about anything anymore. He and Angel stood there, listening to Monique’s side of the conversation.
“Yes, but—
“I’m sorry....
“But we talked about—
“Well, it’s not my fault....
“I’m sorry. . . .
“How was I supposed to know—
“But you promised....
“I’m sorry....
“Well, it’s too late now....
“I’m sorry....
“It’ll be all right, you’ll see....
“I’m sorry....
She hung up the phone, turned to the children, and smiled brightly. “He’s really happy about it, Gerald. Really, he is.”
Gerald just looked at her and sighed. The only thing that kept him from bolting out of the hospital door and down the street into the darkness of forever was the warm little hand that held his, passing its fragile strength to him.
Angel finally spoke. “I’m sorry about Aunt Queen, Gerald. She gave real good hugs.”
Gerald squeezed her hand and smiled a little. “She sure did, Angel—the best in the world. Who’s gonna hug us now?”
EIGHT
GERALD WAS MISERABLE. It was two weeks before Christmas. It had been six months since the funeral, and the loss of Aunt Queen still cut him like a sharp, jagged knife. Life with Monique and Jordan was so different from the relaxed, loving atmosphere of Aunt Queen’s house. Monique had tried to make it easy for him, but the small, third-floor apartment was cramped and cold in the winter, cramped and hot in the summer. His precious bicycle that Aunt Queen had given him had been stolen two weeks after he’d moved in. He’d had to transfer to a new school, and he hadn’t made many friends. The only person who could make Gerald smile was Angel. She was like a delicate little china doll, special and easily broken. She had a gentle spirit that smiled at him and made him want to protect her from brutes like Jordan.
Jordan Sparks was mean, and Monique was truly afraid of him. He would hit her whenever she made him angry, which was often. She’d apologize and scurry around, trying to please him. When he got drunk, it was worse. One night he had come home drunk and angry.
“ANGEL! ANGEL!” he roared. “Wherezat stupid, skinny kid? Always sneakin’ ’round and peepin’ from the shadows. Makes me sick. ANGEL! Get in here now!”
Terrified, Angel crept out of bed and peeked around the corner to see what he wanted. Gerald had gone to the store because Monique had forgotten to buy milk and bread. Angel glanced toward Monique’s room, but she knew that her mother, as usual, would pretend not to hear.
“You leave that doll on the steps?” he roared.
Wide-eyed and trembling, she nodded slightly.
“Whatchoo tryin’ to do? Kill somebody? Get that thing offa them steps and do it NOW!”
Jordan, drunk and unsteady, blocked Angel’s way to the door and the steps. She took a deep breath, lowered her head, and scurried past him. But she wasn’t quick enough. His fist, like a hammer, connected with her back as she ran. She groaned in pain, but dared not stop.
The steps were dark and narrow and led from the outside door below to their apartment. Angel grabbed the doll and huddled on the steps a moment, tearful and throbbing, trying to figure out how to get past Jordan without getting hit again.
“GET BACK UP HERE! I’M GONNA TEACH YOU A LESSON!” Jordan’s angry roaring echoed down the steps. He didn’t hear the door open downstairs. Gerald glanced at the trembling Angel, heard Jordan’s drunken raging above, and quickly saw what he had to do. He motioned to Angel, left the paper sack of groceries on the bottom step, and quietly tiptoed up the steps.
When he reached Angel, Gerald whispered, “Grab the doll and run upstairs! I’m right behind you!”
Angel looked at Gerald and smiled. She took a deep breath and bolted up the steps toward the waiting Jordan. At the top of the steps, she ducked to the right, just missing Jordan’s fist. Gerald leaped into the room, jumped between Angel and Jordan, and the blow came down on him instead. Gerald was tough and strong, but the force of that punch almost made him lose his breath. It would have knocked Angel unconscious.
“Don’t you ever hit her!” he snarled at Jordan between clenched teeth. Jordan just laughed and hit Gerald again.
Gerald had found out the reason Angel hadn’t wanted to take off her long black tights on that warm day last summer. Her legs had been covered with welts and bruises that Jordan had given her, trying, as he put it, to “make her behave.” Monique knew about it, but was so afraid of Jordan that she’d accepted it as appropriate discipline. Gerald also suspected that the reason the ambulance driver had remembered Angel was that he had driven her to the hospital for one of those bruisings, although Angel wouldn’t talk about it. But since Gerald had arrived, the beatings had almost completely stopped, and Angel loved Gerald all the more for being her protector.
Today, however, the house was quiet. Jordan had stomped his cowboy boots down the steps and down the street. He never said where he was going or when he would return. No one ever asked.
Monique busied herself, trying to clean up the apartment a bit so that Jordan wouldn’t have anything to yell about when he returned. She alternated between sweeping the floor and looking out the window for him. Even though Christmas was only two weeks away, Monique had not bothered with a tree or with lights or decorations of any sort for the apartment.
“Are we gonna get a Christmas tree, Gerald?” Angel asked as she walked over to where he was sitting, looking out the window at the cold winter day three stories below.
“I don’t know, Angel. Me and Aunt Queen always had a big Christmas. What did you do last year?”
“Not much. Jordan said Christmas was stupid, and
“Yeah, she probably even apologized for Christmas,” said Gerald scornfully. “I tell you what. They’ve got Christmas trees down at the market where she works. When school gets out tomorrow for Christmas break, I’ll stop by there on my way home and see if I can find one for us.”
Angel smiled, then inhaled quickly, as if suddenly remembering a bad smell. “Gerald,” she said quietly. “Don’t be too late tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure, Angel,” replied Gerald, not noticing her fear. “I’ll find you the best tree ever.”
When Angel got home from school the next day, Jordan was sitting in the big chair in the living room, drinking a beer. The shades were down and the television was off. Angel tried to tiptoe past him, but he grabbed her arm. “Where you been?” he snarled.
“I been at school, Jordan,” replied Angel with fear and disgust. Jordan’s breath really smelled bad.
“Go get me another beer!” he commanded. Angel hurried to get him a beer, hating the fact that she was acting just like Monique, frightened and fearful of Jordan’s moods.
“Here, Jordan,” said Angel, holding the can out at arm’s length. “It’s the last one.” She was immediately sorry that she had said that, for Jordan grabbed her arm and squeezed, snatching the can from her trembling hand.
Then, instead of yelling at her, or hitting her, he smiled, which to Angel was worse. “C’mere,” he said softly. “Come sit on Jordan’s lap. I don’t spend enough time with my little girl.”
“I. . . I. . . gotta do my homework,” she stammered.
“Now, don’t lie to me, girl. You in first grade—you ain’t got no homework—’specially at Christmas vacation. Now, I said, COME HERE!” He snatched her toward him and sat her roughly on his lap.
Terrified, she could only weep silently as he touched her, rubbing his hand over her arms, her back, her legs. He had done this many times before, ever since she was a baby in Atlanta, but very little since Gerald had come to live with them. “Now, don’t that feel good, baby?” he crooned at her. “Just relax. You know you like it.”
Angel said nothing. She just wished that he would stop and hoped that he would not want to play “the game.” Jordan whispered in her ear, his breath hot and foul, “You remember our secret game, Angel? It’s been a long time since we played. You remember the rules. Touching is good. Telling is bad. If you tell, your mama will put you out to live in the snow all alone, and you will die. Now, let’s play.”
Just then, Gerald opened the door. At first, when he saw Angel on Jordan’s lap, he was confused. Jordan rarely showed affection to anyone—not to Monique, and especially not to the children. But to see Angel sitting there, looking so ... so uncomfortable, Gerald thought suddenly. So miserable. Instantly he realized what was happening. Waves of disgust and hot, burning anger enveloped him.
Angel glanced at Gerald. She looked at first relieved, then confused and embarrassed. She leaped from Jordan’s lap and ran blindly to her bed. She put the covers over her head and trembled uncontrollably. Jordan, angry that he had been interrupted, slapped Gerald full in the face. “Get out!” he roared. “I’m sick of lookin’ at you! You and your mama and your stupid sister all make me sick!”
Gerald said nothing for a moment, but stared at Jordan with hatred and pain. His hands, clenched into tight, angry fists, threatened at any moment to explode with purple rage into Jordan’s face. But he didn’t want to give Jordan the satisfaction of knowing that he had hurt him, and he didn’t want to endanger Angel. Jordan started to hit Gerald again, but the fire in the boy’s eyes made him stop. Instead, he grabbed his coat suddenly and ran out.
Gerald went over to where Angel was still trembling beneath the covers and said gently, “Did he hurt you, Angel?”
She peeked out. “Is he gone?”
“Yes, probably to the bar on the corner. He’s gone. Did he hurt you?” Gerald repeated.
“No, Gerald, he didn’t hurt me, but he scares me so bad. Don’t be late like that again, please.” Her eyes were dark with fear.
“I won’t let him hurt you, Angel,” swore Gerald. “Guess what?” he said, trying to cheer her up. “I found us a Christmas tree. The man at the market said he’d give it to me. It’s just a little one, but it’s just right for me and you. Tomorrow, you can come with me to get it.”
“What about Jordan?” asked Angel fearfully.
“Don’t you worry ’bout Jordan,” Gerald told Angel. His voice was tight and tense. “You got me now, you hear?”
Angel relaxed a bit, then took Gerald’s strong hands into her small ones. She looked up at him, smiled, and replied softly, “I know you ain’t happy here, Gerald. And I know that missin’ Aunt Queen makes you feel cold and frozen. I know, ’cause even in Atlanta, I was always cold on the inside—always cold. But since you’ve been around, I finally feel like sunshine.”
Gerald smiled at her, and said gently, “Merry Christmas, Sunshine.”
NINE
GERALD AWOKE ON Christmas morning thinking of Aunt Queen. Last year, she had stayed up all night, cooking the turkey, wrapping surprises and hiding them all over the house for Gerald to find. He sighed as he thought of how much his life had changed in just one year. Today, no smells of dressing and sauce and pie drifted to his room—only the strong silent smell of fear and secrets.
Gerald tried not to think about the past or even the future. He survived each day by dealing with necessities—going to school, looking out for Angel, and hating Jordan Sparks. Jordan was mean—he smacked Gerald on the back of his head if he got a C on his report card, he punched him on his arm if he spilled the milk, and he whacked him on his legs for not bringing him a beer fast enough. When Monique tried to speak up, he only laughed and said, “Shut up, woman! I’m gonna make that stupid boy of yours a man!” Gerald had learned to dodge and duck, but he wasn’t always fast enough.
He couldn’t understand why Monique stayed with Jordan. He had asked her once, and her answer was more frightening than the question. It was the Friday before school started. Monique was laughing and dancing to a new song on the radio with Angel. Jordan wasn’t home.
Angel looked relaxed and happier than he had seen her in a long time. She was a natural dancer—her petite frame and her long, graceful limbs made her movements seem as if they melted into the music.
Monique collapsed, laughing, onto the couch next to Gerald as the fast song ended and was replaced by a slow, haunting melody. Angel had forgotten their presence, and was moving, eyes closed, to the sweet rhythm of the song. Gerald glanced at Angel, and then at Monique.
“This is the first time I’ve seen Angel so happy, Monique.” (He still couldn’t bring himself to call her Mama again.) “She’s always so nervous and scared around Jordan.”
“Jordan loves that child, Gerald,” replied Monique defensively. “Do you know he goes to her room every single night when he gets home just to tuck her in and kiss her good night? Even if she’s asleep, he goes in there and spends a few minutes with her. I can’t figure out why she acts so scared and stupid all the time when he’s around. It gets on my nerves!”
“Aren’t you scared of him too, Monique?”
“No, baby, that ain’t fear—that’s respect. He’s a man and I’m a woman. He’s stronger and tougher and he takes care of me. It’s okay if he gets a little rough sometimes. That’s just to show me who’s boss, and to show me he loves me.”
Gerald, who had grown up with the strength and toughness of Aunt Queen, didn’t think that Monique made much sense. He knew he should leave it alone, but he had to ask. “Monique, why don’t we just leave Jordan? Me and you and Angel could be real happy—and we wouldn’t have to be scared anymore.”
Monique, eyes flashing, mood destroyed, turned on Gerald. “You shut up with that kind of talk, you hear! Jordan took you in and buys you food and clothes and tries to be a good father to you and Angel! You better learn some respect, boy! Who you think you are?” She had stormed out of the room then, ri
That was the last time he had tried to talk to Monique about anything more complicated than homework or shoes or mashed potatoes. Angel was right—he felt cold inside. And on this Christmas morning, he felt cold outside as well. He slipped out of bed and shivered as his feet touched the cold floor, then he tiptoed to the window and saw that it had snowed. He smiled in spite of himself. Aunt Queen had loved snow on Christmas morning. The rest of the year she had no patience with it—but Christmas snow was magic snow, she always said.
Gerald wanted to show Angel. It didn’t snow much in Atlanta, and she had never seen a fresh Christmas snowfall. He opened his door and was surprised to see Jordan leaving the small room near the kitchen where Angel slept. Jordan didn’t see Gerald—he just slipped into the room that he and Monique shared and closed the door quietly.
Gerald, fearful of what he might find, refusing to even imagine what he had discovered, raced across the cold floor and opened Angel’s door. Her bed was empty. Huddled in a corner, shivering in her thin nightgown, clinging to an old doll’s blanket, Angel was crying silently.
She looked up in fear when Gerald entered, and backed farther into the corner. “No!” she whispered. When she saw it was Gerald, she cried even harder.
“It’s freezing in here, Angel,” said Gerald gently as he pulled the blanket off the bed and put it around her. He didn’t ask her any questions. He handed her a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, and some socks from the box where Monique kept Angel’s clothes. She dressed quietly and quickly and followed him to the front room where the small, thin tree stood decorated on the coffee table. With the blanket wrapped around both of them, they sat on the sofa in the darkness of that Christmas morning, silent and sorrowful.