I love my new hair, Crystal thinks happily, running her fingers through her bouncy curls that now reach her shoulders.
She’s building a castle with her little brother Malcolm, who is four. They’re using everything they can find in their tiny one-room apartment. It looks exactly like Princess Elsa’s castle from the Frozen movie, Crystal thinks and puts a blue funnel on top of the large sugar can.
From the corner of her eye, Crystal watches her mom raging on the phone.
Like Scar in The Lion King, Mom paces up and down the small space in front of the kitchen counter. She switches back each time the phone’s short cord is pulled. Mom is mad today. Well, she is almost always mad, but today is different. Today, she is very mad. The ashes of the cigarette she carelessly holds in her hand fall on the floor, yet she does not seem to care at all. She takes big puffs, but it doesn’t seem to make her feel any better.
Who is Mom yelling at? Crystal wonders. It could be anybody. Mom fights a lot with people, more lately than before. None of the neighbors like her. Except for Sir Mix-a-Lot, as Security George said. He likes Mom because she has a very healthy butt. Crystal hasn’t met Sir Mix-a-lot yet, but because he likes when people are healthy, she imagines him in a white coat and with a stethoscope in his ears. What if he will become her new dad? It would be cool to have a doctor dad for a change.
Crystal is about to follow Mom’s command and takes apart the castle when Malcolm whines, “No, I wanna play.”
Crystal wants to play too, but it’s better not to get on Mom’s nerves today. She looks into the kitchen and sees Mom talking on the phone again. “OK, one more minute,” she tells Malcolm and puts the funnel back on top of the sugar can.
“You don’t know how much I missed you, Babe,” a man on the phone says. Mom must have put it on the speaker by mistake. It happens often since she never remembers which button does what. She would press a few of them randomly and then would get frustrated and give up. Did the voice say ‘Babe’?! Maybe it’s Dad? No, he would never sound so needy. “Can you forgive or something? We can start over.”
Mom takes a big puff of her cigarette and blows out lots of smoke. “Well, you should… You should…, Hey, I’m talking here. You should’ve thought about it before you raise your fucking hand on me,” she roars like a Mama Bear at the top of her lungs.
Feeling really scared, Crystal stops playing.
Malcolm is scared too, staring at Mom with wide eyes.
Crystal’s body feels all bumpy. She turns around and joins her little brother in staring at Mom.
“Crystal,” Mom shouts as loud as she did on the phone, “Bring back the fucking sugar, now.”
Here we go again. Mom is mad at someone else, and yet Crystal is the one who pays for it. It never is Malcolm. It is always poor Crystal. Always. This is the story of her life. Anyways, she had better do what Mom says while Mom is still yelling. It is kind of safer when Mom does that because she never shouts when beating Crystal. It’s like the neighbors’ dogs. They also don’t actually bite when they bark loudly.
Malcolm doesn’t say anything when Crystal removes the roof of their castle, the funnel. As little as he is, he must also have sensed the threatening tone in Mom’s roar.
Crystal looks the big tin can up and down. Moving it is not going to be easy. “Don’t touch my castle,” Crystal says to Malcolm, pointing to the funnel that now lies on the floor, and grabs the can by the handle on its lid. Putting all her seven-year-old muscles into it, she lifts the can with both hands. She walks toward the kitchen like a crab, taking tiny steps one foot at a time.
The can feels heavier than before. Out of breath, she puts it on the floor and takes a break. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, as Scooby-Doo does after a long day, she turns back to see how far she has gone. A bit less than two feet! She sighs.
Malcolm has put the funnel on his head. As always, he has all the fun and poor Crystal has to do all the hard work. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.
An idea! She tries to snap her fingers like Pat & Mat do, but she can’t make any sound. Being able to make that snapping sound is her second biggest dream—the first being whistling with her lips. Anyways, the idea is that she could drag the can on the floor instead of lifting it. And she does. It works like a charm. Pulling the handle on its lid, she carefully moves the can little by little.
“Baby, try to understand,” the voice over the phone’s speaker says.
Crystal now has no doubt that he is Dad. She has missed him. Only a little but not too much.
“Sometimes, I feel a little mad. You broke my phone, you bitch. What did—”
“You know what?” Mom says. “I’m glad I broke your phone, you animal. Going around talking to bitches you think I wouldn’t know, you son of a bitch.”
“What bitches, you crazy fuck.”
“Fuck me? Fuck you. When they let you out, if I see you anywhere near my children—”
“They’re my children too, you crazy—”
“I’ll call the police. Get it in your head, Tyler. This ain’t your family no more. And I’ll do everything to protect my children from your crazy ass.”
The lid pops open.
Crystal falls on her back, her hand still holding onto the handle on the lid. The can falls, and the sugar spreads all over the dirty floor.
Crystal feels her heart drop and quickly looks to see if Mom saw the mess. Maybe there is still hope.
Darn it! Mom has indeed noticed. Dropping the phone, Mom stomps toward Crystal like the angry giant in Jack And The Beanstalk.
“I’ll kill ya,” Dad barks over the phone. “I swear. I’ll fucking kill ya, you crazy bitch.”
Mom has that mad look in her eyes. When Mom is in that mood, she would zone out, not hearing a thing. She would no longer yell, but she would speak through her heavy hands, which are like bear claws.
All the protecting angels scream together, “Run, Crystal. Run.” And she does. Faster than Jerry Mouse escaping from Tom Cat. With her eyes glued to the apartment’s door, she has no plan yet. First, she has to escape from Mom. She looks at the door handle and wonders if the door is locked. Let’s hope it is not. Or else, it is over. If she can escape through that door, she could look for Security George, and she might be saved again. He knows how to charm Mom up and calm her down.
Ouch!
Crystal’s hand was reaching for the door handle when her curly hair was tugged back. It hurts like a thousand bees stinging her on the head. Bursting out crying, she turns to Mom who is gripping her hair tightly like reins on a horse. Maybe Mom will forgive her when she sees the tears in Crystal’s eyes and the sorrow on her face. Crystal can only hope.
With her bear-like claws, Mom mercilessly slaps Crystal, left and right. She growls through clenched teeth, “How many times have I told you ‘be careful’, you moron?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” These are Crystal’s desperate words, hoping that they save her from more beating.
“Stop crying,” Mom commands, her index finger almost poking Crystal’s eye. “Not a sound. Don’t cry or I’ll slap you more.”
Crystal tries to gulp the sobs, but a few still escape through her nose. How can you stop crying when it hurts so bad? Your eyes do it by themselves. It is like ordering someone to stop breathing.
Putting down her finger, Mom takes a cold look at Crystal. “Go bring the vacuum.” She points to the closet by the bedroom. “I want this floor to be cleaned like it’s new.”
Dad is still shouting bad words over the phone. Crystal wishes he was here and then quickly takes it back.
Pushing Crystal toward the closet, Mom walks away to get back fighting with Dad.
As she wipes her tears with her sleeves, Crystal goes to get the vacuum from the closet.
With his mouth half open, Malcolm stares at her in shock, still wearing the blue funnel as a hat. As always, Malcolm is the one who gets to play and Crystal is the one who gets the beating. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.
Crystal goes up to her little brother and grabs his hair and yanks it back and forth. Imitating Mom, she says through gritted teeth, “How many times have I told you ‘don’t touch my castle’, you moron.”
Malcolm bursts out crying.
Crystal hears the phone being dropped on the counter again. Without looking back, she can tell Mom, who is big like a bear, is charging at her from behind. This time, however, Crystal is ready and runs to the door so fast like Simba running away from Shenzi, the hyena.
Crystal stares at the door handle and wishes it isn’t locked. And… It is not. The angels must have opened the door to freedom for her. To the world that is fair, a world with no pain, and no Mom. She quickly pulls the handle and opens the door before Mom can catch her.
Ouch!
The door was half open when something painful hit her back. She knows what that is. It must be Mom’s handy weapon, her right brown shoe. Practicing on her kids over the years, Mom can hit anything with her right shoe from a mile away. And this time, she did not disappoint either. At least Mom can’t catch her with only one shoe on.
Crystal’s back hurts. But she doesn’t stop. She knows well the pain is nothing compared to what she’ll endure if Mom catches her. Enduring the pain, she runs toward the hope of finding safety outside that hellish apartment.
Barefoot and alone, Crystal wanders the dark, quiet streets after running away from home.
She hears an ambulance siren in the distance. What if Malcolm is in the ambulance, and his hair is still spiky from when Crystal pulled it? Malcolm will finally stop wailing when he falls asleep in the hospital bed. Wearing a white coat, a mask, and his stethoscope, Dr. Sir-Mix-a-Lot will perform a hair surgery on Malcolm. He will put two band-aids on it like a cross. But that will be too late. Malcolm won’t make it through the surgery. And—Surprise! Surprise!—everybody will blame Crystal. The story of her life.
Why did Crystal pull his hair in the first place? She has forgotten why. The only thing she remembers is Malcolm’s crying face and the shock on his face. She also remembers that she is sorry. She is sorry from the bottom of her heart. But that is too late. She is now a runaway criminal, living outside the law.
Or, was it a police siren that Crystal heard earlier? They might be chasing after her, to send her to jail. Mom will testify in court against her. Mom will point her bear-claw hand at Crystal, screaming, “That’s her. She’s the little shit who made Malcolm cry.” With her eyes meaner than ever, Judge Judy will sentence Crystal to 10 years in federal prison with maximum security. Judge Judy and Mom share a cigarette and laugh at Crystal while exhaling smoke through their mouths, noses, and ears. Two giant security guards—one white, one Black, both jerks—will hold Crystal by her arms and drag her out. Before they push her onto the yellow bus, whose driver is Mr. McMurphy, the same driver as her school bus, a shoe will come flying and hit her in the back of the head.. That would be Mom’s brown shoe, i.e., her handy weapon. Crystal can hardly make out Mom, who’s standing far away on a hill. Crystal will rush onto the bus before Mom can throw her other shoe.
In prison, she will meet Dad who has become super skinny because he wasn’t eating enough food. He will be nicer to her since he will be sick from not having enough Kit Kats in his blood. As Dad lay dying, he will hold Crystal’s hands and beg her to take his revenge on Mom. Ms. Shang, her mean school teacher, will be the prison guard, her teeth now sharp and pointy like those of Shenzi, the hyena from The Lion King. She will put Crystal to hard labor, making her wash the dishes and vacuum the cell. Within a week, Crystal will die from the hard work and lack of Vitamin K. And Mom will be sorry, crying on her grave. But that will be too late. That will be too late.
The boom of thumping disco tunes snaps Crystal out of her daydream about the scary future.
The music comes from across the street; from the open back door of a large building about 50 feet away. Some tall poles with lights on top stand watch near the building, one of them flickering. She reads the giant letters that are painted on the wall next to it: B L A C K, Black, A N G E L S, Angels. Black Angels. Below it, there is a huge picture of two happy Black women, blowing kisses. They don’t have any clothes on—except for the stars shining on their nipples. They seem happy. Really happy. The kind of happiness that Crystal cannot find at home with Mom and Malcolm. Behind that door, girls never get spanked, Crystal thinks and wonders if one day she can be as happy as the girls in the poster.
The door is still open. Perhaps the angels are keeping it open for her. Perhaps her destiny awaits her behind that door. She steps toward it; she doesn’t know why. Maybe it is the disco music that pulls her in.
A young white man in a dark blue suit, with a tie that is not tight, walks out the door.
Surprised and scared, Crystal rushes to hide behind the smelly garbage cans on the sidewalk.
He looks like the bald guy who works at the Bank of America branch across the street from their apartment building. Crystal remembers him since he was constantly smiling for no reason and also because he gave Crystal and Malcolm free candies that tasted like oranges. This guy doesn’t smile, though, and he is not bald either. Crystal names him the banker anyway, and wonders if he could be the hero who can help her tonight.
Holding a beer bottle, the banker staggers outside like Dad did when he was drunk—which was almost always. The door shuts behind him, and with that, the music stops too. Without music, the banker looks just like a pathetic loser who can barely stand on his feet. He drinks the rest of his beer quickly and smashes the glass bottle against the wall; on the poster of the two happy girls. As if he might have heard the sound of the two girls saying ‘ouch’, he turns to them. He gives them a once-over and then burps loudly. Laughing nervously, he staggers toward the poster, opens the zip on his pants, and with one hand, leans against the wall, staring at the chest of the girl on the left. The wall is getting wet at the bottom, which means that the banker is peeing on it. Ew!
After the banker finishes, he spits on her face and says, ‘Keep the change, bitch.’
He looks left and right like he is trying to figure out the way home. Crystal wishes he would go to the right, away from her. He points to the left, showing himself the direction. Darn it! Pulling out his phone, he wobbles on the empty street.
Crystal wants to run away, but her legs are too tired. She hides better behind the trash cans so the banker won’t see her. She will stay there until he’s gone far away.
After he passes by a dark, narrow alley, a half-burnt cigarette is thrown on the street behind him. Exhaling smoke through his mouth, a Latino man with scars all over his face steps into the light. He wears boots with thick soles, worn-out jeans, a checkered shirt, an unbuttoned vest, and a cowboy hat on his head. The bottom of his left sleeve is a little loose. Like Captain Hook, he seems to have lost his left hand from the elbow down. Crystal names him the scarred-face pirate.
The scarred-face pirate spits on the ground before following the banker. His shoes click loudly on the asphalt ground as he walks.
A bit after passing by the trash cans that Crystal hides behind, the banker stops and looks back over his shoulder at the scarred-face pirate.
“Remember me, Wall Street?” says the pirate, his thick voice scarier than his scarred face.
“Ahh,” the banker screams and jumps up like when Scrooge saw The Ghost of Christmas Past. Gasping for air, he desperately searches his breast pocket and then his pants. He must be looking for a gold coin, or a treasure or something, to pay to the scarred-face pirate. Whatever that is, he does not seem to be finding it. He breathes more rapidly with every step that the scarred-face pirate gets closer.
The pirate smirks as if he enjoys watching the banker panic. “Julio doesn’t forgive,” he growls, his voice is flat and without kindness. “It’s payback time, big mouth.”
The banker pulls out something from his pocket. It is not a gold coin or any kind of treasure. It is a pocketknife—Dad had one of those too. With a press of a button, its sharp blade springs out.
Feeling like her heart is sinking, Crystal gasps and then quickly ducks, putting her hand over her mouth.
“Hey, fuck off,” the banker shouts, his voice shaking.
Crystal stays behind the trash bin, hoping that they have not noticed her. Why with the knife?! she wonders. Didn’t his dad warn him that he shouldn’t play with sharp objects?! Mom slapped her sometimes, but at least she has never stabbed her. Instead of fighting with pointy, dangerous objects, why don’t they just pull each other’s hair?
The pirate’s shoes keep clicking on the road, over and over again. Crystal should have run away when the banker appeared, but it’s too late now. How can she escape from a pirate? There’s no way!
“Help,” the banker squeaks. He sounds as scared as Malcolm.
Crystal leans in closer to peek through the gap between the trash bins. She doesn’t know why she did that. It’s like when she was watching Frankenweenie on TV. She was really scared and yet could not stop watching the horror movie.
The scarred-face pirate keeps approaching fearlessly as if the knife pointed at him is as harmless as a cucumber.
The banker shivers, his face turning all pale.
That makes Crystal remember when Mom attacked her like a bear. Crystal was helpless, like the banker is now. In her head, Crystal shouts, Run, Malcolm. Run. Or you will be spanked. And then she remembers the banker’s name is not Malcolm.
Backing away clumsily, the banker swings the knife around wildly.
The scarred-face pirate continues to approach, making a weird face like he’s smelling something yucky.
While screaming really loud, the banker raises his hand and stabs at the pirate.
Crystal closes her eyes and covers her mouth with her hand to keep from gasping out loud.
“What a pussy!” the pirate sneers. He doesn’t sound hurt at all.
Crystal opens her eyes.
The scarred-face pirate has stopped the knife with his naked hand. His naked hand! While staring into the banker’s eyes, the pirate slowly turns the knife back on him.
With sweat dripping from his chin, the banker starts to make a painful noise.
Some blood also drips from the pirate’s hand that holds the knife tight. But he does not even try to use his other arm that’s missing from the elbow down. Using only his right hand, the pirate twists the banker’s wrist really hard, and the knife shifts to point back at the banker.
The banker drops the knife in agony. He screams in pain and clutches his wrist while bending over.
The scarred-face pirate throws the knife away. His bloodied hand moves really fast like a snake, reaching the banker’s throat in no time. He is really good at it, like he’s done it a million times before.
Okay, Crystal advises them in her head, now it’s a good time to stop fighting, kiss each other, and forget about the whole thing. How about eating a Kit Kat instead?
The banker can’t breathe as the pirate’s hand tightens around his throat. He tries to use both his hands to break free, but it’s no use.
The pirate just grins, enjoying the fear in the banker’s eyes. His smile gets bigger as the banker’s face turns redder, just like in that Star Wars movie when Darth Vader choked someone.
The banker’s eyes roll back, and his hands give up and slide away from the pirate’s grip.
Crystal cannot breathe as if she is the one choking. It is a horrible feeling. Somebody gotta help Malcolm.
Just before the banker passes out, the scarred-face pirate throws him on the ground. With his neck covered with blood, the banker inhales deeply, followed by a bunch of painful coughs.
Crystal lets out a relaxed breath. The banker might be beaten but at least, he is still alive.
The scarred-face pirate chuckles as if he takes joy in watching the banker’s misery.
What is wrong with people on the street? Crystal wonders and shivers. Why do they hate each other so much?
The banker gets up on all fours but throws up blood on the asphalt street before he can get up on his feet.
“Next time,” the scarred-face pirate interrupts the banker’s painful coughs, “think twice before disrespecting a dancer.” While walking away, he says over his shoulder, “And get your Wall Street ass off my block too.”
“Fuck you,” the banker says hoarsely while still on his hands and knees.
The scarred-face pirate stops and turns. Looking really angry, he runs toward the banker again and without saying another word, kicks the banker in the stomach with his thick boots.
The banker falls down, making loud, hurt sounds. While breathing hard, he rolls onto his side and curls up into a ball.
Breathing noisily through his clenched teeth, the scarred-face pirate doesn’t seem satisfied. He kicks him again. And again. And again, until no more sounds come out of the banker.
After a few seconds that the scarred-face pirate catches his breath, he adjusts his cowboy hat and says: “Fuck you too.” He spits on the banker’s body, turns, and leaves him lying in his own vomit on the ground. Once again, the loud sound of his boots echoes through the street, making him seem like the boss of everything.
Angels, please don’t take Malcolm away, Crystal prays. Biting her lips, she looks closely at the banker to see the result of her prayers. Darn it! The angels must be on their bathroom break since the banker remains as dead as before. It’s too bad the angels are not around to answer her prayers, but these things do happen. Lately, more often than before. The angels should drink less chocolate milk—it worked for Crystal.
Crystal hears a gasping sound from around the banker. Curiosity getting to her, she leans in closer to the gap between the trash bins, squinting her eyes and straining her ears.
The banker takes a deep inhale as if he is brought back to life.
Crystal smiles. Thank you, Angels, she thinks. Now, Mr. Banker, please be quiet. I cannot save your life every time.
Lifting his head up, he says with a shaky, hoarse voice: “I’ll remember your fucking face.”
You moron! Crystal sighs.
“I’ve forgotten yours already,” the scarred-face pirate responds without turning back. “Julio forgets but never forgives.”
The trash bin against which Crystal leans falls over.
The scarred-face pirate stops and looks back at her.
Crystal screams. What can little Crystal do against a merciless pirate? While being eye to eye with the scarred-face pirate, she wishes that the bearded brown man—Omar—was here to protect her with his heavy punches; or at least that shaved Black employee of the adventure park—Jesus—to take punches for her. And she wonders if the angels are hearing her wishes right now or if they are on yet another bathroom break.