Angeni

I’m sitting next to my mother at church, listening to the lay assistant reading the prayer’s from the bulletin. Every time she ends a prayer, she would say, “May the Lord be with you,” and the congregation will reply, “Lord, have mercy on us.” I always enjoyed that part of the service because it connects us with those in need, like we can feel the person’s suffering on top of our own. It always made me feel warm that after each prayer, God will wipe the struggles away with the words, “Lord, have mercy on us.”

After the lay assistant told us to spread the joy, that’s when things get crazy. There is a small group of maybe ten or fifteen people that come in the early eight o’clock service, so our Sunday services are about an hour. Spreading the joy with hugs and kisses would take about five or seven minutes, depending on if we stop to say kind things like asking a person on how is he doing or she would look nice in an outfit. I don’t get kisses very often, but I do give a lot of hugs.

To make things quicker, I hug two people at a time. My long arms could hug most people while they hug each other. It’s my way to “Share the love”.

Except for this one particular woman, I’m quite leery about. Her name is Ms. Gaines and she’s the only one that I hug alone. Ms. Gaines is pretty, with skin color of peanut butter. Her long black hair touches her bottom, and she won’t cut it, no matter how often it tangles. She mentioned once that she is Cherokee, although her African features are very profound.

Sometimes I can hear the congregation call her names and such behind her back, but I don’t mind them. I don’t care that most of the time she talks to herself. I talk to myself all the time when no one wants to talk to me. Sometimes it can sound better when you can “hear” your own thoughts. I walk up behind her as she sat down and gave her a big hug. I whisper in her ear, “Peace be with you.”

“Peace be with you also, Angeni.” She replies.

Angeni? Who is Angeni? Angeni is not my name. I figure that because she’s old and senile, she forgot my real name, which it’s Michele.

I noticed for about a month, she calls me Angeni. I’d asked my mother about it, but she doesn’t responds. She’s giving me the silent treatment since I didn’t come home in a decent hour from partying with friends. I mean, I’m only nineteen and out of high school, so that declares me as an adult, but I guess that since I’m still living in my mother’s house, I’m have to follow her rules, no matter how “grown” I became.

I decided that after church I will follow Ms. Gaines to her house. She doesn’t live too far, just a block over from the church. Most of the congregation lives around the church, which it’s good because most of them are elderly, who to them, a short walk to the church is heavenly, instead of waiting for someone to pick them up. They want to walk to be independent as long as possible, before it’s the time when they don’t have to walk anymore. I didn’t tell my mama where I was going because it wouldn’t matter. She will ignore me anyway.

When my pastor dismissed us, something had happened. Mr. Downs, the organist fell over and hit his head on the organ while playing. We all rushed to see if he was okay, all except Ms. Gaines. She disappeared while we were go help. Some servant she is. I was torn between two decisions, either find out what was wrong with Mr. Downs, or to find out the mystery of why I was being called another name besides my real name.

While I stood around waiting for an answer, Ms. Cindy, who always sit up in front of the pews with her eight children that was created not by her husband of eight years, declared that Mr. Downs may had a stroke, and we must act quickly to get him to the hospital. That was my cue to get the hell out of there. I know that Mr. Downs will be taken care of.

I ran off to catch up with Ms. Gaines. I found her on her porch getting ready to walk inside of her home. “Ms. Gaines!” I shouted, trying to get her attention, but being out of breath, I don’t think she heard me.

I was thankful for my long legs as I climbed every other step to get closer to the porch, but I wasn’t that good. My big feet were equally long as my legs and when I got to the top step, I tripped, knocking into Ms. Gaines and made her stumble into the house. She was a little shaken, but with a couple of brushes on her arm, she turned out fine.

“My Goodness!” She said. “The impatience of the wind was trying to push me inside of my home.” She giggles at her own joke.

“Ms. Gaines, it’s me, Michele!” I put my hand on her shoulder. “It wasn’t the wind; it was just me being clumsy with the steps.”

Ms. Gaines turns around and eyed at my face, which it was flushed from my running. What surprised me that she wasn’t surprised that she wasn’t startled from my quick approach to her attention. I would’ve been scared and ready to fight if someone comes up behind my back unnoticed.

“Angeni! It’s so good to see you!” She greets. “What can I do for you?

“That is why I came over to see you, Ms. Gaines. I need to tell me why you call me Angie or whatever you call me when you know that’s not my real name. I can’t talk to my mother because she’s mad at me for something that is so petty, and she’s giving me the silent treatment. I just don’t understand what is going on. Tell me, what does it mean?” I can see the confusion on Ms. Gaines’s face. I too, know that it’s stupid to barge inside of someone’s house just because that person mispronounce your name, but I thought that my mother’s gossip to others about my partying ways, and probably Ms. Gaines openly called me a name that would hurt my feelings. And she did it inside of a church of all places! “I don’t want to cause any problems, I just curious of that name.”

“You mean you don’t know who you are?” She asked suspiciously. “Hold on, I will be right back.”

She came back with an album. We both sat down on the couch and she opened to a page that was filled of pictures of me when I was little girl in the church. I was cute then, always showing off my model posing in front of the camera. I smiled at the frozen memories that were before me, until I notice a newspaper clipping that has my name on it.

Police Released Names That was Killed by a Drunk Driver
Columbus, OH - The police released the names of Portia Jones and Michele Stone was killed by a drunk driver on early Saturday morning of….

As I continue to read, I was confused of what happened. All I remember of was coming home late, and no one was at home. I thought that my mother was still out with her boyfriend. I thought that maybe they had an argument, and maybe that’s why she was angry. Like lighting, her anger could strike anyone who was around her. When she came home, she became distraught and did not talk to me ever since.

“This has to be a trick.” I said. “I came home. I went to church the next morning. Everyone was ignoring me but that’s because they were all on mama’s side, probably was told not to speak to me. You know mama. She can get the whole city to do what she says.”

Ms Gaines closes the album. She looks at me with her sullen face, wishing that everything that I just said was really true. “Do you know who you are?” She asked again.

“Of course I do. I’m Michele. You know that.”

“I don’t think you do and I am very sorry that you are missing the point. Of course I know you name, but you don’t know who you really are.” She smiles at me, making the room brighter by her kindness. “Do you know why I call you Angeni? Angeni means ‘Angel’ in Native American. I call you an angel because that’s who you are.”

I thought that her hard hitting words will hit me like a ton of bricks, but it didn’t. Instead, it gave me an understanding of why I was treated so poorly. But that still leave one question. If I’m dead, than why is Ms. Gaines is the only one that could see me?

“I was the drunk driver.” She answered, like she knew what I was thinking. “I was the one who killed you and your friend. I’m paying for it now, seeing you everywhere. When I don’t think about you, I see you at church every Sunday. I thought that I will be in jail for a long time, but your mother would not have it.” I smiled when she mentioned my mother. “She told the judge to take away my license for the rest of my days, go see those A.A meetings for six months, and join her church so I can beat the demons that was inside of me. There are no words of forgiveness I could utter, but I am thankful that I was given another chance.” She sat there in a dream state, probably enjoying her new freedom. I left her alone with her own forgiveness.

It was time for me to go home, but before I leave, I stopped by over my mother’s house to see her. There she was, in my bedroom staring at a baby picture of me. I could see her touching my face, wishing that for once it could be warm skin, instead of feeling the cool glass. Although she did not fight eye for an eye, she still does not forgive Ms. Gaines for what she had done to me. My Pastor once said that demons don’t die, they just go one person to another. I don’t worry about that though, because she still have me to look after her, hoping that one day she could forgive. She will one day. One day in a long time.

Until then I whispered into her ear, “May the Lord be with you.” With her tears streaming down her face, she whispers, “Lord have mercy on us.”