Excerpt from Dear Vito

By Mickey Z.

Dear Vito,

I performed my first miracle on the Q101 bus.

The little girl couldn't have been more than 10. Precious. Long curly brown hair, glasses, funky little outfit: bell bottoms and frilly midriff…a skinny little angel with big eyes, sitting right next to me on a goddamned Queens bus.

Her mother was about 33 or so. Roughly the same age as Jesus when he was allegedly nailed to a cross. She was overweight and dressed like someone who gave up caring how she looked a long time ago. Her daughter sat a few seats away from her…moving about and singing loudly.

"Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg."

Her mother ignored her. In fact, she maneuvered her body so that she couldn't see her darling offspring.

"Mommy, I want pizza." No reaction. Not even a flinch.

The little girl appeared to be used to such treatment. She didn't flinch either. She opened the bus window even though the air conditioning was on and sang to the crowds along Steinway Street.

"Mommy!"

This time, the mother did turn towards the girl. Her expression was one of sheer hatred. I honestly believed she hated her daughter at that precise moment and I had been given the perfect opening to try out my new mission.

"She’s awesome," I said in a near whisper. The woman appeared startled by the sound of my voice. She hadn't noticed me sitting across from her.

"What?" She had heard me, but this was a chance for her to regroup. I was more than happy to facilitate her.

"Your daughter is awesome. You're very lucky to have her."
"You want her?"
"She obviously loves you."
"Mommy, I want pizza!" The woman started to sneer at her daughter but my suddenly obvious presence appeared to make her self-conscious. She merely waved her hand.
"How old is she?"
"Ten."
I was right.
"That's how old Sophie was."
"Excuse me?" I had finally gotten the woman's full attention with this unexpected declaration. I knew I had only a few seconds to capitalize.
"My daughter was 10 when she died."

The woman's face began a strange transformation. She looked around the bus to see if anyone else had heard. They hadn't. She searched my face for any hint of treachery…but I was good. Like a slow wave moving down her body from the top of her head, her brow unfurrowed, her lips unpursed, her shoulders unclenched. And so on.
"Your daughter?"
"Two years ago," I whispered. "It happened so suddenly."
"I'm so sorry."
"I think about her every minute of every day. You are so lucky. What's her name?"

The woman glanced over at her daughter who had added a strange accent to her song so it sounded like: "Yinkle bells, Baatmaan smell, Robin lied an ek."
"Angelika." The woman almost smiled…almost. I reached up and pulled the cord.
"You know what the worst part was?"
"What?" She was watching Angelika as she asked me that.
"I was mad at her when it happened. I had just yelled at her for leaving the TV on when we went out. It was so unimportant but I got so mad at her. I never got a chance to apologize."

I stood as the bus came to a stop. The woman looked deep into my eyes as her right hand moved over to take hold of her daughter's tiny hand. Angelika readily held hands with her mother and her song instantly grew more melodic.

"I'm so sorry," the woman said again. Few people are prepared for such a situation so I sort of expected her inability to offer much more than that.

I smiled weakly.
"You're so lucky. Remember that."
I winked at Angelika and got off the bus. When I glanced back, the woman was smiling at her daughter. They were still holding hands.

Let me set the record straight: I've never had a daughter…or a son. I've never even been married or close to married. I lied to that woman…but it was okay. It was part of a much larger master plan.

A Messiah can tell a fib if he really needs to.

Sincerely,

James Hemming

© Mickey Z. 2008

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