Charlie's Angel

40

Chris
   You ever have one of those bomb-ass sleeps that got you smiling when you wake up?
  
Well shit, I was trying to wake up, but it was hard as hell to open my eyes. I began twisting my head from side to side in an attempt to move, but that was a bad idea because it hurt like a bitch. I grunted quietly but my voice was shot.
  
Then I felt; I felt fingers combing through my hair soothingly. They were soft and slow, making my insides warm up immediately—then I smiled some more.
  
I already knew who it was before I even opened my eyes. Charlie.
  
Wanting more contact from her, I tried reaching my right hand up but that right there had me wanting to claw my fucking eyes out. It wouldn't move on command, and any attempt caused excruciating pain.

Aight, Chris. Just open your fucking eyes.
  
My eyes felt heavy and crusted over as they slowly opened and I focused in on my surroundings. Whatever room I was in was dark with no lights on, but there was a bit of light coming in through a large window. And the sky outside was gray and ugly. Charcoal gray colored clouds painted the afternoon sky—at least, I thought it was afternoon—and water trickled down the window.
  
I turned my eyes upwards to find the source of the fingers playing with my hair, and sure enough it was Charlie. I smiled to myself, feeling a sense of relief I haven't felt in a while. She wasn't paying any attention to me, instead she was watching the television on the other side of the room. Spongebob was on.
  
"Hey..." I tried to say but my voice was gone; my throat was raw and dry. "Charlie..."
  
She jumped a little and drew back her hand in surprise. Squinting her eyes, she smiled a little. "Hi Chris. You're finally awake."
  
"Finally?"
  
She nodded, "You've been in and out for a few days. You don't remember?"
  
I shook my head, "No. Why am I here?"
  
She frowned a little and shook her head. "Aaron shot you twice. In your belly and your arm."
  
Right. That would explain why I couldn't move my arm. "Can I still paint?"
  
Charlie began to answer me but the gotdamn doctor walked in and smiled at me. "Good afternoon, Mister Brown. How are you feeling?"
  
I waved him off, "When can I paint again?"
  
He and Charlie exchanged a look. "Mister Brown, you can't even move your arm at the moment."
  
Anybody who knew me knew that painting was my life. There was spray paint running through my veins, always had been. My only escape from reality, allowing me to create my own perception of the world however I wanted.
  
"Will I ever paint again?" I gritted out, glaring back at him.
  
"With some physical therapy—"
  
"How long is that going to take?" I growled. I was getting irritated by the millisecond. I wanted—needed—to paint to release my anger.

But nah, that bitch nigga had to fuck it up for me.
  
"About six to eight weeks if you go three times a week."
  
I sighed and rubbed my good hand over my face. This was gonna be a long ass time before I was going to be able to pick up a gotdamn paint can.
***
   Within the next few hours, my hospital room was full of niggas coming in and out to say hi. I ain't even know half them niggas, but they brought food so I really wasn't complaining. Most of them were Bash's friends, but I didn't really give two fucks. I was too drugged up to care about anything except food.
  
Isaiah was attached to me from then on. He promised me that he understood why his mom was gone and for the most part he was okay with it. Sure, he had a few nightmares here and there but Momma insisted that it was normal. And now that I was injured, he never wanted to leave me—and you know I was okay with that.
  
He usually laid on me on the left side of my body and we watched TV together and he took naps with me when my medicine was too strong for me to stay awake. He told me about school and how much fun he was having with Bash. He was still a five year old kid and I was more than happy about that.
 
"Chris Motherfuckin' Brown," a very distinctive voice called out from the other side of the door. And then I saw his head peek around the door and I grinned.
  
Diesel. My nigga from middle school. He strolled into my room with a crooked-ass smile on his face and sat in the chair beside my bed. Reaching up my hand, I gave him dap and chuckled. "Watch your language around him, man."
  
He laughed it off and touched Isaiah's shoulder; Isaiah giggled. "My bad, Mini Chris. Was happenin'?" Diesel was a tall and lanky nigga. Angular face, thick lips and brown skin. He was from New Orleans and talked like it, and that's what won over the ladies for him. He came to Virginia when I was in middle school and he, Bash and I been best friends ever since. We all promised each other that we'd move to Atlanta together and we did, but Diesel disappeared on us and we just found him a few weeks ago.
  
"Hi," Isaiah smiled and went back to watching as Scooby Doo.
  
Diesel chuckled and licked his lips. "Man, how long you gotta be up in this joint?"
  
I shrugged, "Doc said it'll be at least a week before they even think about releasing me."
  
"Damn," he mumbled and shook his head. "You good, homie?"
  
I nodded, "Yeah, I'm aight. I'm a little doped up right now so I can't really feel anything. The nigga who shot me tried to kill me but his aim was off."
  
He raised his eyebrows in shock, "He what? Yo, ain't nobody tell me what happened yet."
 
I sighed, getting irritated all over again. But I didn't mind telling him the story because he was my nigga. "So Charlie and I broke up a while ago. But she came over to talk or whatever but she saw that I was on the phone with another girl. So we started arguing or whatever and then I find out she's been abused again. I got pissed off, ya know? So she and I went to the nigga's house—her ex-husband—and he shot me."
 
He stared at me in shock then shook his head. "Dumbass nigga couldn't fight you like a real man?"
  
I hit his arm but chuckled, "What did I just say about that, man?" He laughed it off and put his hands up in defense. "But no, he couldn't fight me with his hands."
  
For a while we just talked, he and I. It was good to catch up after all these years; when we met up a few weeks ago, we were at Walmart and he couldn't stay. So we exchanged numbers and kept it moving. Isaiah and I took a mid afternoon trip to the store and stocked up on all kinds of junk food because we all needed a guys' day. We were all still pretty bummed out about losing his mom and I promised him that I'd make it up to him. And I was doing my best; for the most part, he was getting better.
  
But seeing Diesel gave me an overwhelming sense of relief that I never knew I would feel. When my skies were dark and ugly, he was that little ray of sunlight that reminded me that things weren't all bad. Not in a romantic way or anything, but having my nigga back was a great feeling and I appreciated him distracting me from my sister's death.
  
God really knows how to balance things in life.
  
Later, Charlie came in with a bag of food from Chick-fil-a. She smiled at me at first, but when she saw Diesel, she stopped in surprise. "Oh, hi. Um, Chris, I brought you and Isaiah some food in case you were hungry. I didn't mean to interrupt."
  
Diesel looked at me, then at her, and smirked as he stood up. "Well, Chris told me you were beautiful but he didn't tell me how much. Damn, ma. What's your name?"
  
I clenched my jaw and Charlie averted her eyes elsewhere, blushing all kinds of pink. "Um, my name is Charlie. I'm Chris'—"
  
"Girlfriend," I gritted out. "She's my girlfriend."
  
Charlie blushed again. "Uh, yeah. I'm his gi—girlfriend."
  
He smirked again. "Well you can have the honor of calling me by my real name," he murmured, taking her hand to shake. "Call me August."
  
She nodded quietly and let go of his hand, walking around him to give me the food. Isaiah sat up all the way and thanked her before digging into the bag for his nuggets and fries.
  
Diesel's phone beeped from his pocket and he checked it, letting a big-ass smirk play on his lips. "Nigga, I gotta go. I'ma holla at you guys later. Bye y'all." He chuckled at himself and walked out, quietly closing the door behind him.
  
Charlie went over to take his seat and looked at me, "What was all that about?" She helped me take out my chicken sandwich and fries and laid them out for me to have easy access.
  
I shrugged, eating a fry. "He's either going to get high or going to have, um, a play date. " I really had to watch my language around my nephew but sometimes I did slip up.
  
She nodded and stole a fry. "And what did he mean I can call him by his real name? What do you call him?"
  
"Everyone calls him Diesel," I muttered. "In high school, he used to gas up all the girls."
  
She raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Gas up?"
  
I chuckled at her; she had always been so sweet and innocent. "Basically it means to tell someone all this stuff that ain't true to make them feel better. Like, how black guys gas up white girls like they're the ish and they're not.
  
She nodded but I could tell she didn't quite understand. A comfortable silence settled between all of us as we ate and watched TV.
  
A few minutes later, she looked at me. "Chris?"
  
"Yeah?" I blinked; these meds were starting to take me again.
  
"You called me your girlfriend," she mumbled, playing with her napkin shyly.
  
Well, she was. Wasn't she?
  
"Uh, yeah. I didn't mean it like that, though."
  
Her shoulders loosened in disappointment, "Oh."
  
More silence and I could feel my heart beating in my ears. I said the wrong thing and crushed her spirits. Damn it.
  
"Can I be honest, though?" I asked quietly, inching my hand over to take hers. She tensed up a little and chewed on her bottom lip. "I want you to be."
  
"But you said—"
  
I shook my head, "Forget about all that, baby. I thought about it a lot and you and Momma were right. You did it to protect me and I understand that now."
  
She nodded quietly, turning her eyes down to stare at the floor.
  
"I'm sorry I was an ass," I muttered. I looked down at our hands to see my thumb stroking the back of her palm. "But I do want you back. Please be my girlfriend again? Forreal this time?"
  
She smiled a little and began stroking my hair. "Aw, Chrissy doesn't know what he's saying. Your pain medicine is making you loopy, huh?"
  
I chuckled, "I know exactly what I'm saying and I want you to be my girlfriend, Charlie." I kissed the back of her palm and waited impatiently.
  
After a few seconds of thinking it over, she smiled and nodded. "I'd love to be."
  
I smirked, "Then get yourself over here and give me a kiss, baby."
***
   My momma could barely hold herself together.
  
"Ma, I promise you I'm fine," I signed for the seventh time that day. "Quit that crying', aight?"
  
Her green eyes stared at me and she smiled, but it was bittersweet. She was glad I was okay, but she hated the fact that it happened—all of us did. "I know, angel, and I'm sorry. I just want to make sure you're okay."
  
I ran my hand over my face and huffed. "The doc said I could leave in about a week. I'm healing properly and I'm gonna make a full recovery. What else do you need to know to help you relax? You know I ain't going anywhere."
  
I reached out for her hand and squeezed it once. Glancing down at it, she smiled and went through a whole new round of tears. "What happened, Christopher? How did you get hurt?"

Here we go again... I sighed, sat up a little and groaned. "Alright, so Charlie came over to my house and she was in pain. So I told her to show me what hurt and she pulled up her shirt to show me her bruised ribs. It didn't take a genius to figure out who did it so I took her with me to go talk to him. Well, he was being a real jerk and disrespected her and I don't tolerate that. Next thing I know, I'm roughing him up and then he pulls out a gun and shoots me."
  
Her bottom lip was quivering as I spoke and I held my breath, prepping myself for more crying. Instead she broke out into a dazzling smile. A proud one that warmed me up. "I'm so proud of you, Christopher."
  
I looked at her and turned my head to the side in confusion, "For what, Momma?"
  
She dabbed her eyes with a tissue and smiled at me, showing off the dimples that matched my own. "For standing up for what's yours," she murmured. "Christopher, I've never seen you do anything like this for any girl. She's special to you, isn't she?"
  
I found myself blushing and nodded, "Yeah, she really is."
  
"You can see a future with her?" She went further and I actually thought about it. If I was honest, I'd been thinking about my future with Charlie a lot lately while I was in this hospital bed—wasn't like I could do anything else. I looked at her and nodded again. "Good, I felt it too."
  
I yawned; I felt weird because I had been laying down for days but I was always still sleepy. "I just don't wanna mess up again, you know?"
  
She nodded, wiped her eyes again, "You're still learning about relationships, angel. You're going to mess up sometimes, but that's what makes you stronger and smarter. You two will be fine, Christopher. Your hearts are on the same page."
  
I blushed again and nodded. My momma always knew how to make a nigga feel really good. Shit, I was wrong about her. She was still in my corner after all.
  
Her phone started ringing in her pocket and she pulled it out to look at the caller ID. My dad. "Hello?" She answered with a small smile. "Yes, honey. I'll be home in a little while... yes, Anthony, he's okay... well are you going to come visit him like a father would?"
  
She huffed and rolled her eyes before hanging up. I shrugged, "I didn't expect him to come anyway, Ma. It's cool."
  
She sighed, smoothed back her hair. "I tried, angel. You going to be okay if I leave?"
  
I nodded, "Yeah, I'll be aight." I watched her stand up and brush off her jeans and she leaned over to kiss my forehead, using her thumb to wipe away her lipstick. She smiled at me for a second before turning and leaving and I lowered my voice to a whisper so she wouldn't hear me. "I always have to be."