Angel Having Flown…

June 25, 2015 at 11:10 am (One Particular Angel, Sweet sticky things)

bluntMe: (text) “Hey stranger, I got something sweet and chocolate. Join me for a walk to the train?”

Angel: “Sorry, thought I told you. Friday was my last day. I’ve been transferred to Southeast.”

Me: “I knew you were thinking about it. Sigh, guess the only sweet chocolate I taste is this fine blunt here. I’ll hold out as long as I can!”

Angel: “I miss you. We’ll meet up soon.”

I knew it was coming, but I’d hoped she’d procrastinate, be overridden by management, etc… Fact is, after nine years downtown she was tired of the faces and places, and wanted a new view. They moved her to Eastport Plaza, which is not the white trash capital of the world, but not as diverse as our fine downtown.

I would be reminded as I caught the MAX, on my way to say hello…

Angel’s new workplace is less than a mile from my house, but takes longer to get to than her old spot downtown. I hop the MAX one stop, catch a bus half-mile down a brutal hill, and walk across an endless WalMart parking lot en route to Angel’s department store. The first time I’d visited she’d gotten off work early. I walked through the place in my sunglasses and neon-green tee-shirt, didn’t see her, walked out. This time? I let her know I was coming.

I made my way across the parking lot. Since leaving the MAX platform, I’d been spoken to three times. All different guys, all white dudes with prison tats and no shirts. Bald heads and prison-pussy goatees. “Hey, got a smoke? Can you spot me fifty cents to get a Four Loko?”

All they got from me was a series of “Sorry, man” responses.

I don’t think they believed I was sorry. Maybe it was my sarcastic tone?

I found my way into Angel’s store, got past the three greeters who took a mental inventory of all I wore and carried. I know the look. As I eyeballed associates, looking for the ebony princess in a mini-skirt and spiderweb tights, I had a sinking feeling. I approached an associate, the white girl with the most tattoos, and asked, “Is Angel still here? She was supposed to get off at eleven. If she’s still here could you tell her I will be waiting out front?”

“Oh! Just a minute, wait right here!” She went to the back, and soon I saw familiar hair bouncing down the back aisle.

I shadowed along and popped out. “Squee!”

“HIIII!” I got the biggest extended hug. Three or four associates milled around, dusting comforters and duvets, looking awfully busy in this department all of a sudden.

“These motherfuckers don’t play. Theft is SO bad here,” she whispered in my ear.

“You mean all those shirtless hillbilly retards in the parking lot aren’t fine upstanding citizens mislabeled because of their poor background and prison upbringing?”

“Something like that,” she laughed.

We snuggled in public, all eyes upon us, for about five minutes. “I told ’em I’d work late today, but thank you for coming to see me. We’ll hook up soon.” She gave me a big kiss, enough to get the staff talking, I’m sure. I walked out of her store, proud as a peacock.

I put a scowl on my face to dissuade the Shirtless Hillbilly Retards from hitting me up for change, weed, a cigarette. I bounced through WalMart long enough to wash down a couple Vicodin, and headed for the bus to Northwest.

I wasn’t done visiting yet. Rain had called the night before. She was in the hospital. Time to get an in-person update.

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