THE 33 KEYS: Key 2 - ANSWER THE CALL "Listen for that Perfect Beat"

CHAPTER 33: ANGELS NEVER COME

No angels accompanied us across Florence Street bright and early Tuesday morning. Neither did one pop out from behind the dark shadows on Granderson or Lillian Streets. But the beret woman was there. She in her tent of a dress and Hazel in that black floral; bonding on mutual fashion appetite, I suppose. In fact, it wasn't until the bus pulled off that I realized the oddity of the situation. Hadn't she said that she lived down this side, the last time we met? So what is she doing on this side of home?

Simmer down, Mary. Soon enough it will all flow right to you.

I listen to their conversation about dress patterns and fabric choices. Hazel lets her in on the three-toned dress she plans to make, which wins a tone of approval. And I'm sure I heard the beret woman invite her over. Now phone numbers are exchanging. I wonder if either of them realizes they don't as yet know each other's names. Silly people, the lot of humanity, the way they stumble into each other on the road of life.

Then the highlight of my morning clangs like a church bell and I ignore them for a moment. The bus swings down Freedom Street. This is where Ebony's sister lives and where my castle dwells without its heiress. I try really hard not to focus on all that I've lost over the past four years. And staying away usually does the trick. But just knowing that we breathed the same air since the tragedy tugs out more of my seams.

How do those old familiar corners feel now, I wonder? Do they miss the truths their walls suppress to lie in that witch's face every day? To tell her that she's the true owner of its mysteries and memories? Does it weep for my mother the way I've never brought myself to? Oh, how I wish Ebony's sister has a special corner where she too curls up in a ball of pain and shame, so that she can spend every waking hour fearing the homelessness she condemned me to. I glue my eyes shut with what's left of Matron Caine's glue until I feel the bus make a right and left to join Xerox Street, onwards to glory. But not quite!

Something always has to go wrong in Mary Pethiel Land, just to remind me that I'll never reach that much-desired finish line. The bus makes a few weird noises before we hit the final stretch then drags itself off the road. I don't know which one feels worse, never starting on your journey or dying just before getting there.

"Oh my, here we go again," the beret lady says. "It was good yesterday when I left; and now this."

Hazel looks back at me for the first time since we pulled off, her true panicky self about to leap forth. I'm tempted to hold a grudge but she's my only company back home in case we have to walk. So the answer is no.

The driver jumps out and shakes his head. Sweat drips from his face at a steady pace. In true readaholic fashion, I imagine that he's trying to fill us a pool to make up for shutting down. But no such luck. It's just wasting away on the ground. Now he's doing push-ups with the damn bus – looking it up and down all studious to pretend he's coming up with solutions. Then when he feels as if he's done enough of that, he shrugs his shoulders at us with a 'woe is me' expression plastered across his face.

And that is the final key necessary to crack Hazel-the-Coward's chest of fear. The little optimist feels safe and secure in her comfort zone – from the Bunny House through the city and back. But let her loose too close to where Leer Island's lions prowl and it's a different story altogether. She leaves her seat and stumbles over to the rock of Gibraltar.

"What are we going to do?"

"Nothing! We wait until the driver calls for help like everyone else."

"He doesn't look like he's doing anything though," she says after scoping him out for a while.

"Probably because he's used to dealing with the same old crap every damn day."

"Don't worry," she says to calm herself more than anything else. "An angel will come."

Instead of an angel, Hazel's God sends a screaming child. The only problem is that he sends a speeding car at the same time. Now both are nearing the angle of death. In a flash I push Hazel aside and bang for the driver to open the door. But he's too preoccupied by his problems to heed my calls. So I climb into his seat and pry open the handle to see what happens. The sight of me jumping down from his seat shakes him awake.

"You. Girl," he shouts. "That's not allowed."

I, of course, ignore him and propel my own body to its grandest limit, just in time to rob the child of her wild abandon. The car zooms by without incident. Still, cheated out of her moment her mouth slowly goes from glee to a well-trained frown. Then like clockwork she breaks into a cry. Yes, real tears roll down her face. Now her screams turn from delightful to fearful, wondering about the stranger that interrupted her one true moment of bliss.

The beret lady grabs hold of those emotions and almost shakes them back into place with her bulky arms. I don't even know how she got outside so quickly. But her next words lump clarity upon the melodrama.

"Child, didn't I leave you home last night?" she shouts, visibly embarrassed. "Who gave you permission to come outside and roam the streets like a wild goat?"

"Sorry, aunty." The tears instantly freeze up. "Uncle Paul left so I took the chance."

"Listen! I don't care who leaves." She shakes the girl again. "Your place is where I left you."

Cry still on pause, she says, "Sorry, aunty. I won't do it again."

"Now stand aside and wait."

The girl does as she's told, the way we all did as children who broke some cardinal rule. I turn now to see heads and arms hanging out of the bus windows. Dark grey faces – some rough like mine, others smooth – are splattered with relief, all of them watching me like I'm Hazel's angel or something.

The beret lady turns to me, eyes moist, and immense gratitude the only thing in her purse.

"Strangers don't usually put their lives in danger for others," she begins. "You'll never know what this means to me, that you were willing to die for my niece."

"It was nothing." I make light of my bravado. "I saw a goat on the loose and tied it. Nothing big in that. People do greater things every day."

"Usually for fame and glory. But you just wanted to save an innocent life, didn't you?"

"Like I said, it was nothing." I shrug my shoulders. "I'd do it again. No big deal."

"You sound like the kind of hero our world needs. What's your name, child?"

"Her name's Mary," Hazel shouts from the bus. "And she needs a job if you have one."

She turns to Hazel with her earlier demeanour.

"I think she already has a job, as a hero."

Everyone laughs and the mood lightens. Even the bus driver joins in to soak up the moment. Hazel finally makes her way off the bus. Later I'll be sure to get the story of how she jumped down from the driver's side. And me, I'm just hoping that the beret lady doesn't continue to set her sights on me with this hero talk after the laughter dies down.

"Look, this bus isn't going anywhere soon. Do you girls have money to travel home?"

Hazel hangs her head low now that the conversation has taken this shameful turn.

"Not enough to cover the two of us," she manages to mumble a response.

"Say no more." She points to a red van. "Here comes Paul now. I'll make him turn around and take you back."