The Boo Angel

"Taylor, isn't it?" another voice said, a man's voice, and William turned to look and see who was asking. "William Taylor, right?" And it was, he saw, the priest from the jazz club in Hamburg! Something Kerrigan, wasn't it? Andrew? Andrew Kerrigan? Wasn't that it?

"Father Kerrigan? What on earth?"

"William! Well, imagine finding you down here! You're the last person I'd expect to find around a place like this!" the priest said as he walked up, holding out his right hand -- which Taylor took warmly in his own.

"I'm here with a friend," Taylor said by way of excuse. "And you? What are you doing in our neck of the woods?"

"I was posted to Loyola Marymount in August, teaching European History as luck would have it. I come down here on my mornings off, just to see if I can lend a hand..."

"Lend a hand?"

"Over at St. Mark's. Our free clinic there serves the homeless in the neighborhood. And you? Your friend?"

"Long story, Father, and frankly, I'm not really sure I know all the pertinent details yet," William said, frowning just a little.

"And who is this?" Father Kerrigan said, kneeling down to meet the little girl on her level.

"This is Gretchen," Taylor said. "We're looking after her mother just now."

"Ah, she's nearby, I take it?"

"In there," William said, pointing to the red tent. "My friend is calling paramedics now."

"I doubt they'll take her, my friend. The system isn't really set up to cope with the destitute, you know?"

"They'll take this patient," Angel said, walking up to William. "Father Kerrigan? Nice to see you down here so early!"

"Angel? You know this man?" the priest said, taking William Taylor by the arm -- as he was now standing by Taylor's side.

"Yes, he's a friend," she said, smiling.

"Father Kerrigan," William added, "is the priest I mentioned talking to in Hamburg the night we met."

"Really?" Angel said, now beaming. "Now...isn't that an interesting coincidence?"

"Did you get in touch with the Health Department?" William asked, looking from Angel down to the little girl.

"Yes. The paramedics will coordinate with them when they arrive."

"Coordinate?" Father Kerrigan kind of moaned. "What's wrong with her?" he asked.

"She has cholera," Angel whispered, "I think," and Father Kerrigan nodded.

"Understandable," the priest sighed. "I assumed it was bound to happen down here...sooner or later, anyway."

Angel nodded. "We'll need to isolate everyone down here, keep them from mingling on the boardwalk..."

"Good luck with that!" Taylor snarled as he looked at the mass of filth around the encampment...and, he shuddered, at all the piles of hidden excrement lurking just under the sand...

"Well, Father, we were off to get coffee. Would you care to join us?" she said as she pulled off her gloves.

"Coincidence, you said? In Hamburg?" the priest sighed, looking at Angel, then Taylor.

"What?" Angel replied.

"You said my meeting William in Hamburg was a coincidence."

"Did I?" she said through her smile.

"There are no coincidences," the priest added, though Angel still smiled at Kerrigan's bemused expression.

"Am I missing something?" Taylor said, looking at the exchange between the priest and Angel, but then he knelt back down and pulled the little girl close. "How are you feeling, Gretchen? Hungry?"

She shrugged.

"When's the last time you had something to eat?"

"Yesterday."

"Well, what would you like for breakfast today?"

Angel and Father Kerrigan stepped back and watched Taylor intently now, for he was acting somewhat out of character for a man who professed to despise humanity...though both were smiling now as they watched him.

The little girl shook her head.

"There's a place that has tacos for breakfast! Imagine that! Tacos for breakfast! Does that sound good?"

The little girl nodded now -- and just the barest hint of a smile appeared.

Father Kerrigan watched in utter amazement as Taylor picked up the little girl and hoisted her to perch on his left shoulder. "Angel? Where's this taco truck? I'm gonna head down and get an order going."

"You can see it from here," Angel said, grinning at the girl. "The one with the red and white awning just past that palm."

"Got it. What do you want and I'll pick it up?"

"Migas con avocado y queso," she said.

"Father? Want to come with me? We can grab a table and talk..."

Kerrigan looked to Angel, who -- still stunned by Taylor's apparent display of kindness for the little girl -- simply nodded. "Go ahead," she added when she saw the priest hesitate a little.

"Alright," Kerrigan nodded, "we'll see you there."

Taylor winced as the extra weight of the girl on his shoulder bit into his left knee, but he carried-on regardless until they made it to the taco stand. "What sounds good to you?" he asked Gretchen.

"Whatever you have," she said shyly, but then she put an arm around William's neck and Father Kerrigan watched as Taylor's heart seemed to melt on the spot. "Father? Do you know what to get?"

"I can handle it, William. You go find a table for us."

Taylor made to fish his wallet from a pocket and Kerrigan put a stop to that. "My treat today. Remember? You paid for my drinks and whitefish at the club, and..."

"That's right! And you said you'd get the next one, didn't you?"

"I did indeed. See? No coincidences!"

Taylor found a table and cleaned it off a bit, then he settled in next to Gretchen and waited, by this point feeling a little hungry, too. Kerrigan arrived with a tray loaded with all kinds of goodies -- burritos loaded with scrambled eggs, guacamole, while the loaded hash browns piqued Taylor's interest right away -- then Gretchen asked for one of the tacos with eggs, avocado and cheese. There were a bunch of those, and when Angel arrived everyone unwrapped their food and started eating.

"I forgot drinks," Father Kerrigan sighed.

"I'll get them," William said, standing. "Angel? Coffee or juice?"

"A latte, I think."

"The pumpkin spice thing?"

"Yes, please."

"Father? You?"

"The same, I think?"

"Gretchen? How does orange juice sound?"

The little girl nodded and smiled and Taylor smiled with her. "Okay, I'll be right back."

"Your mother is going to be fine," Angel said to her as Taylor walked away, but the change that came over the little girl as he disappeared into the melting crowd was terrifying to watch. She seemed to go catatonic, suddenly appeared almost lifeless -- as if she was paralyzed with fear. "What's wrong, Gretchen?" Angel asked.

"Something is going to happen -- to him. I'm afraid now."

"It will be alright," Father Kerrigan sighed. "Nothing is going to happen to your mother."

"I'm afraid for him," she said again.

"Him? You mean William?" Angel asked. "Why? What do you see, Gretchen?"

But the girl simply shook her head now, yet still she was clearly very much afraid -- until William returned with their drinks. And the change that came over the little girl was almost frightening in its intensity.

She latched onto "Bill's" arm and it looked as if she was holding on for dear life -- as if she was more afraid for Taylor than she was for her own mother, and Father Kerrigan watched all this as it unfolded with more than a little passing interest.

And as soon as Gretchen had finished eating her eyes grew heavy; a few minutes later she asked if she could lay down on the bench and "maybe take a little nap?"

"Sure, Honey, you go right ahead," William said, speaking now in low, soothing, almost fatherly tones. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

'Not we'll be right here, but I will be here...' Father Kerrigan noted as he looked at the exchange between Taylor and the girl, because his mind had wandered back to the conversation at the club in Hamburg, between sets when they ate. Taylor was acting in a way that simply didn't compute, so the comment suddenly became much more interesting to the priest. Hadn't Taylor, in effect, abandoned his parents after his brother was killed in that accident? And now, wasn't this little girl experiencing a certain kind of abandonment? And wasn't that why Gretchen had so gently attached herself to Taylor? And if so, was Taylor feeling guilt right now, guilt for, in effect, abandoning his own parents? Was he, then, feeling a growing sense of attachment to this little girl as a result? Was he trying to compensate, perhaps? Or was this over-compensation?

More troubling still, Kerrigan felt as he watched Taylor, was where feelings like this might lead. What if the girl's mother passed away? Would Taylor step in? How would the little girl react if he did?

And as an observer of the human condition for most of his adult life...Father Kerrigan thought Taylor's comforting the little girl was interesting -- if only because he had learned to enjoy watching life rearrange itself from time to time, like a picture-puzzle being knocked off a table and scattering on the floor, then taking shape once again before his eyes -- only in new -- and often unexpected ways. Could a hole in Taylor's life be refilled by this little girl? A homeless, abandoned child? Could she rearrange Taylor's life? Or...would the puzzle remain on the floor, scattered and abandoned?

"William?" Kerrigan spoke quietly now so as not to wake the child. "May I ask you a personal question?"

Taylor looked at the priest, measuring intent in the man's eyes. "Sure. Go ahead...as long as it's not too personal."

Kerrigan smiled. "When we spoke in Hamburg you never mentioned any sort of strong personal attachments. No girlfriends, no wives, in fact no one at all...and I wondered why?"

Taylor leaned back a little, like he was studying a passing cloud or watching a bird fly by, and then he crossed his arms over his chest. "That's a little personal, don't you think? I mean, even for a priest?"

"Is it?" Father Kerrigan responded, his voice still gentle...if a little insistent. "I would have thought it was a natural enough question, and I certainly meant no offense..."

Taylor looked at the priest, then at Angel -- who was stirring her coffee and, apparently, taking no notice of Kerrigan's question. "I had a girl friend once. At 'SC."

"Was it serious?"

Taylor looked away, as if the memory had been chasing him for years and he was afraid it might be gaining on him, but then he nodded. "Yeah. Serious. That's as good a word as any, I guess."

"If you don't mind, could you tell me about her?"

Taylor's arms seemed to constrict around his chest a little, then he looked down at Gretchen and shook his head in just the slightest way imaginable, like he had re-experienced the deepest regret of his life.

"Freshman year, November. Three games left and we had to win all three if we were going to make a bowl game. I was still a red-shirt, kinda like a rookie and not on the main roster, but one of our linebackers was taken-out in our game against Oregon, so they moved me onto the main squad, the travel squad, and they told me I was going to start against Stanford. It was a big deal, ya know?"

"Yes, I can only imagine."

"I called the parents to see if they wanted to come to the game but no. Zero interest." He stopped and took a deep breath -- then -- oddly enough he closed his eyes. "There was a party, weekend before Thanksgiving -- and we were going to Palo Alto the Tuesday night before Thanksgiving so we could have a practice session on their field -- but anyway, I went to this party even though as I freshman I wasn't supposed to. It was at someone's house in Beverly Hills, that was all I knew.

"So I went with a friend from the team, and besides, I didn't have a car and needed a ride. House was huge, I mean bigger than anything I'd ever seen before and the back yard was just colossal. Two pools, a tennis court, a back house with a separate patio, and fucking Elton John was playing the piano in the main house. The guy who owned the house owned the label, and he'd gone to 'SC too and gave this big party for the team every year. The thing is, not everyone was invited, but somehow my name made it on the list and there I was. Man...I felt like a hick, like I had straw in my hair..."

"Kind of imposing? A new experience for you?"

"Yeah, you could say that, but even so I was really self conscious about the whole thing, really way more than uptight. Then this girl takes my hand and takes me to the piano and she asks Elton to play Take Me to the Pilot and I was like -- bam! -- blown away that this girl had chosen me. Me! And she...knew Elton!"

"Was she pretty?"

"Pretty? Yeah, pretty, but at the same time she was kind of bookish, kind of wonky and exotic at the same time."

"Ah, yes."

Taylor nodded. "Anyway, we danced a little but I couldn't, not really, but she understood and we drifted away from the main party after that, out to the backyard. And we, like, talked. For hours. Turned out it was her dad's place and he was like the CEO of Universal or something like that, and it was her first year at 'SC, too."

"And you're leaving out the most important part, aren't you?"

Taylor nodded. "Yeah. Of course."

"Her family was Jewish."

"Yeah, that's right."

"Did that matter...to you?"

Taylor looked at Father Kerrigan just then, and with tears in his eyes he shook his head slowly, gently. "Tell you the truth, Father, I'd heard about Jews in Social Studies but Montana wasn't exactly overflowing with anyone that didn't go to Sunday mass."

"So? What happened next?"

"I fell in love with her, Father. I mean...all the way. She started coming to games just to watch me, then her old man started coming too. My sophomore year he started taking me to the studio, introducing me to everyone. Her mother began to treat me like I was her own son, and it wasn't long before I loved her parents as much as I loved my own. We played Texas in the Cotton Bowl that year and got our asses handed to us, and then her family became the glue that held me together. My parents? They never came to a game, never, not once. It was like I didn't exist, but it didn't matter because I had these new parents, and they cared for me, they loved me, and they were there for me when things didn't go right.

"Her father really helped after the Cotton Bowl thing. Like a counselor, like a friend...you need to start planning for life after college, and then life after football..."

"The NFL? Was that a possibility even then?"

"Oh yeah. Coaches talked about it so Mr. Sorensen heard about it, and Debra heard..."

"Sorensen? Ted Sorensen?"

"Yup, the one and only."

"Holy cow, William... Sorensen ran Hollywood from the 60s through the 80s, and you were dating his daughter?"

William nodded. "We weren't dating, Father. We were in love and I didn't mind if anyone knew. She was like my shadow, ya know? Always by my side."

"And her parents? They didn't mind that you weren't Jewish?"

"Not at all. I went to services with them, and more than once, too, and Father, I couldn't tell any difference except the whole sacrament thing, the wine and the wafers, ya know? Talk about God seemed pretty much the same, too. Not a lot of talk about Jesus, but I guess that goes without saying, huh?"

"I'd say so, yes," Father Kerrigan said, smiling.

"I played tennis with her mom, golf with her father, I tossed the football with her little brothers every time I went over to their house, and to this day all I remember about that time is a feeling that I belonged there. That I was loved. That this was how families were supposed to be."

"Not like your family?"

"My parents were cold, Father. I mean...really, really cold. Like...I can't remember once when either one told me they loved me. Not once. That's what I mean by cold, ya know? And then here comes Mrs. Sorensen and she's cooking me all these meals and her father is surrounding me with everything I'd ever need to make it in Hollywood and then there was Debra. To this day when I think of what the word love means I see her..."

"What happened?"

"What happened? I took her home for Christmas my senior year. I wanted to ask her to marry me, and I wanted to ask her with my parents around."

Kerrigan knew what was going to happen but he let Taylor have his say. "And? What happened?"

"I learned about anti-semitism, Father. And that my parents were raving anti-semites. There was this horrible fight and Frank..."

"Your brother?"

William nodded. "That's right. And yeah, so, Frank sees what's going down and gets us out of the house and drives us down to Billings, to the airport, and it was snowing like crazy. Anyway, we got a flight out and Frank took off back to the ranch, and that's when he got killed, Father. He wasn't drunk. In fact, he'd only had his driver's license for about a year. He was just a kid, Father," William said, weeping openly now. "He was just a kid trying to do the right thing and it killed him. I killed him, and when we found out once we'd made it back to LA it was like I came undone. That's when I pulled back. From everything. Everyone. Ted couldn't shake me out of it, neither could Debra or Mrs. Sorensen. I just fell into the fucking black hole and disappeared for a couple of months..."

"Ah, and then the Rose Bowl, and Notre Dame?"

"I went out on that field with nothing but pure Hate in my heart, Father. I went out there to murder anyone who got in my way and I kept at it for the next eight years, until someone with more Hate in their heart took me out in Dallas."

"And Debra?"

"I'd changed, Father. Into something she didn't recognize anymore. We let it go at that."

"And still you love her, don't you?"

Taylor nodded, bowing his head as if in prayer. "Yeah, of course I do, but we all have our cross to bear, right, Father?"

"Yes. All of us."

When William finally looked up he noticed that Angel was gone and he looked at Kerrigan, confused. "Where'd she go?"

"I think she realized this was something she probably didn't need to be in on, William; I think perhaps she went to go make a call about Gretchen's mother."

Taylor looked down at the little girl still asleep with her head on his thigh, and absent-mindedly he ran his fingers through her hair. "Who knows, father. Maybe I could have had a little girl, maybe like this little girl."

"Maybe you still can, William."

Taylor shook his head. "Not me, Father. There were two people in the world whose love I was sure of, that I knew would last forever. Debra's and Frank's. They're gone now and that as they say is that."

"But surely Debra isn't gone. Do you ever hear from her?"

"Every now and then I get a Christmas card, a note on my birthday."

"Did she ever marry?"

"I have no idea, Father, but the point of all this is that Hatred I talked about. Father? That Hate took over my life. It destroyed everything I loved and that Hate still consumes me."

"Are you sure, William?" Father Kerrigan said -- as he watched William Taylor's fingers gently running through a starving homeless girl's filthy hair. "Are you really sure?"

Taylor smiled -- just a little. "Father? I'm just going through the motions now, you know? Just breathing, one after another -- because that's all I know how to do."

"Tell me something, William. If you could ask God for just one thing, what would that one thing be?"

And without hesitation Taylor spoke: "Frank. I'd ask God to go back and take it all back. To let Frank live the life he should have.

Father Kerrigan smiled. "There's nothing wrong with your heart, William. At least nothing that a sweet little Jewish girl couldn't fix..."

+++++

Gretchen's mother had bounced in and out of various private mental health facilities in California and Arizona until what meager funds she had were exhausted, at which point the home she'd been awarded after her divorce was attached to a mental health warrant to pay for continuing treatment at the state psychiatric hospital in Phoenix, Arizona. When the money equal to the value of her house was exhausted she was declared cured and summarily discharged, now homeless, onto the street. Gretchen's grandmother reluctantly surrendered the little girl back to her mother's care and almost immediately the two of them took off for La-La-Land, where both had lived before her mother's most recent hospitalization. Gretchen was, when her mother was discharged from the hospital in Phoenix, seven years old, and the only roof over she'd experienced recently was when she stayed at her grandmother's house in Scottsdale; she was, however, an expert at setting up and taking down tents -- in a hurry -- because being homeless meant you never really could stay in one place for very long.