My Ghost

So far, nobody has been able to prove the existence of God. There are many
theories and many religions all over the earth that claim that they hold the secret
answer to the divine and they know the way to enlightenment, but there has been
no proof that God exists and works within our daily lives. Atheists say there is no
God, Muslims claim that Allah is God, and Christians mark Jesus as the way to true
divinity. I dont know God, nor do I claim to understand how he works or thinks, or
why certain events take place in human history, but I have recently found out at 29
years old that I am the Whore From Babylon and I can contest the Biblical accuracy
of the Bible. I dont know if this has any meaning. This is a work of fiction based on
a real life, true story, and the events said to take place in Revelations actually
happened in my life as exactly described in the Bible. Names and events have
changed to protect the innocent and also because I do not remember them properly.
In my life I watched as times, characters, and human history as described in the
Bible took shape as I have come to believe in the accuracy of the Bible. I do not
claim to know why these events took place, nor do I have any concept of God and
his plans, I am simply telling my story as it took place in my life to reveal Biblical
accuracy. To me this concept has become mind boggling, and Ive struggled with it
throughout my adult life. The thought of God is so immense I cant understand it or
him, so I cannot say that I know him. In the course of my life there have been many
things that I have not understood, and this is a story of pain and struggle, but also
of love. My story is a love story, but it is also a story of war and challenges, angels
and devils and demons, as many Biblical stories are. I have also come to believe the
Jesus Christ was a living man who really walked the earth 2,000 years ago, but I
dont claim to know him or anything about him. It seems mind boggling to me that
someone out there knew this would happen to me 2,000 years ago in Europe when I
am a white Irish American woman and also mind boggling that without knowing it I
played out this prophecy as exactly described in the Bible 2,000 years ago. The city
described in the Bible is New York City as you will see me go there many times. The
Beast is the evil character of C.J. money as I will describe and he is an Angel or
demon or devil. The spirit I talk about is the ghost who is invisible who came to visit
me and possessed my body, makes love to me, and also has long conversations
with me. The singers are what I believe to be Angels. The men that sleep with me
are not human beings but neither are they Angelic beings, rather it is the opposite,
they are evil and have set out to destroy me. The church has set out to destroy me
as well. The prophecy describes a prophecy as exactly represented by the Catholic
Church. 5 have fallen represents the first years with my first boyfriend Belfry, one is
the description of the Beast, and one will come is a description of my ghost who is
the only man who has ever been loving to me. One man died in my youth who I
liked in high school and he is the dead person. The merchants of the earth
represents the stark difference in wealth and poverty I am very poor and the beast
is very wealthy and powerful. The Beast represents a character as evil as described
in the Bible. For ten years men had sex with me while I was very drunk and I
became a whore, this represents the ten, and for seven years my ghost spirit talked
to me so that is representative of the numbers. I am the ghosts wife, so I become a
bride and we were married on July 8th, 2010, a year after he came. The merchants of
the earth is America and the greed of the Beast as compared to great poverty they
left me in. The book I am writing is the Book of life, and it is funny but I studied to
be a writer in college. The wine is because I am an alcoholic and when I drank I
became very intoxicated. Babylon is a town in Long Island and it is where I grew up
and live with my parents. The fall happened in college as a revenge plan by these
men, it was at this time I became demon possessed and it is represented by a
mental illness in which I am hospitalized for going insane. I believe this was a
demonic attack. I have been demon possessed for 15 years. The fall happened by
the hands of the Beast who has been watching me, I dont know how, and sending
me messages on the American television and through music. The Beast has been
talking to me, but we never met, he communicates with me through music and
television. When I write a poem he answers it and writes a song that describes what
I write. Clearly, the Beast is not a human being, but I dont know what he is. My
ghost is also not human. I also have no concept as to WHY this occurred, but I have
the knowledge now of events that took shape as exactly described in the Bible and I
can explain them as I witnessed them in my life. I am Babylon, and this is my story.

The Birth of Babylon

I am the Whore From Babylon. I was born on July 31, 1979 at Mercy Hospital

in Queens, New York in what my mother called the hottest summer in decades. My

mother named me Kristie Edna Donohue; Kristie was the name of a famous actress

on T.V. my mother loved and Edna was the name of her mother. My mother was a

young and pretty woman of 21 years old and my father was a young man of 23

years old when I was born. Both my father and my mother were from Irish Catholic

families. My mother was pale white with deep dark brown hair, blue eyes, and a

slender, tall body that was tender. My father was also dark haired with green eyes,

and an intelligent demeanor that held him upright. I was my mothers second child;

she already gave birth to an older girl, my sister Korkie, who was exactly a year and

week older than me. My mother and father grew up together and met through

family friends. My mothers mother grew up in the Bronx and befriended my Aunt

Dotty, who herself had 17 children and was my fathers mothers sister. The two
lived around the block from each other, and the children befriended each other. My

parents met when they very young and married when my mother was 18 years old

and my father was 20 years old. They had their first child very soon afterwards,

then me, their second very soon after that. My mother was young and

inexperienced, her mother died when she was only 12 years old, and she said her

life-long dream was to have six children and recapture what she lost when she lost

her mom. My parents became frantic when they took me home from the hospital

and I started crying and wouldnt stop. My father held me for hours while I cried and

then my mother rushed me to the doctor. After inspection, the doctor said I had

contracted spinal meningitis from a hospital infection. When my mother told my

uncle, he told my mother to take me to emergency room immediately; children who

got infected with spinal meningitis sometimes never recover, some go brain dead or

have serious injuries, while other get permanently paralyzed. My mother did what

he said and they treated me at the hospital until I recovered. After the initial illness,

my mother said that I was her happiest child. I loved to laugh and dance in my

chair. From the moment I was born I always secretly dreamed of being a dancer.

My mother had 4 children by the time it was 1983. She gave birth to her only

son, my brother Patch, in 1981, and on Christmas Eve, 1983, she gave birth to my

younger sister Nuckie. At the time, we lived in Staten Island. My parents were poor

at the time, but they gave their children a very happy and comfortable childhood.

No matter what we lacked, we never felt neglected by poverty, and we were happy

children who loved to play and dance and listen to music. My earliest memories of

my childhood are in Staten Island. My mother sent me and my sister Korkie to public

school. The public school was diverse and the children were wild. One day in

Korkies class, in an act of retaliation for being reprimanded, a child put pee in the
teachers coffee cup. After the teacher found out because she drank it, she yelled

and punished the class. Angry, the children rioted n their seats; they screamed,

threw papers, and jumped around. Korkie sat in her chair with her hands in her

head; she thought if she covered her face they would not be able to see her

because she couldnt see them. She hated the school because the children were

disruptive and bad; our parents always taught us that we had to be good people so

we were confused by the rebellion of the city kids. Frantic, at recess, Korkie tried to

tell me through the fence about the chaos that was happening in her classroom and

that she hated the new school our mother sent us to. I tried to console her, but an

aid came and yelled at her that she was not allowed to talk through the fence. He

threatened her, but she yelled back that I was her sister, and she wanted to talk to

me. He grabbed her, dragged her across the school yard and threw her against the

wall in punishment. He told her she had to keep her face against the wall for the

remaining time at recess because she had an issue with listening. Scared, I began to

cry and scream through the fence to let her go, but the aid just told me to go back

to my class. I was wondering what was happening, and what was making Korkie

frantic, and I vowed to find out on the bus.

I met Korkie after school and she told me on the bus what happened. I got

scared for her when she said she hated the new school my mother sent us to. At the

last school a young boy pulled out a knife on the bus and was bullying this young

boy. I was scared and appalled. When we were young we moved many times into

different apartments; many times the violence and chaos of city life and also

finances drove my mother to move around. She wished she had money to put us in

a safer neighborhood, but my father had a low paying job at the time, and with 4

children my mother could only work part time as a waitress. Many times I found my
mother frustrated and crying about money at the kitchen table. When we got home

Korkie told my mother all about the kids at school. MY mother was upset and

decided we would moved again and she would put us in Catholic School. My mother

thought Catholic School would be a safer and a more productive environment, but I

was traumatized by Catholic School.

I liked school from an early age because I like learning new things, so my

studies in Catholic School were satisfactory, but when the Saint Valentines Holiday

came, I became really nervous. On Valentines Day my teacher told the class that

the boys have to write a love letter to a girl of their choice and dance with them to

slow music in front of the class. This made me very nervous because I didnt like

boys at the time; I was seven years old. As we wrote our letters to our secret loves

my heart began to race and I fidgeted in my chair. Soon after my teacher

commanded that we now pass out our letters I almost peed my pants in my chair I

was so nervous. The boys rose from their chairs with their letters in their hands and

walked clumsily and shyly to the girl of their choice. I became secretly relieved

when one after one each boy passed me and didnt hand me a letter, but then I saw

him coming towards me, stop by my desk and hand me a letter. I remember him

clearly because he looked like me; he had a round and white chubby face and dark

hair that was cut short. I remember him because we both had the same hair cut.

That year my mother cut my hair short and I remember crying that I didnt want to

look like a boy. I looked at him and smiled politely, but nervously. I wasnt sure what

I should do next and became relieved but quickly jealous when he passed me

quickly and then handed another girl next me a letter too. He had chosen two girls

to love, but he chose me to dance with. He soon returned to my chair grabbed my

hand and led me to the front of the room. The slow music filled the air and all the
children gathered around nervously with their partners. Nobody knew how to dance,

so we awkwardly tried to move with music hoping time moved quicker at moments

like these. The boy and I didnt speak, but we moved our hands nervously around

our bodies not sure how to move to the music. I put my hands on his shoulders and

then quickly moved them to his waist; he stumbled on my neck and arms. I tried not

looking at him to create distance, but he kept looking at my face and then looking

down. After ten slow minutes, the song was over and we were finished. All of the

children ran to their seats in relief, thanking God that the torment was finally over.

I never told my mom what happened at school, and I thought that was the

end of it, but when Easter came around my teacher told us this time the girls would

write letters to the boys and chose the boy they want to dance with. That night in

bed I panicked that Easter was coming around in two days, so the next day, in a

desperate attempt to escape, I told my mom I was sick. She believed me and let me

stay home from school that so I thought I got out of it, but then my brother

interrupted my plans. My brother began to watch karate movies in the living room

where I was sleeping and playing sick, but the karate movies got to his head and he

began to karate chop everything even me. He kicked me and punched me with a

pillow and screamed. We began to wrestle on the couch, then through the living and

into the kitchen. My brother Patch and I were violently wrestling through the house

when my mom saw us. She screamed that she thought I was sick. I had to tell her

the truth; I told her what the teacher wanted us to do and I said I was not

comfortable with it. The next day she took me to school and talked to the nun. I sat

outside the class while the children performed the dance show, but I still had to

perform my studies. When I re-entered the class I felt a little guilty about the boy

and I looked at him shyly, sorry that I didnt choose him. We never spoke again.
 Soon after the incident at Catholic School our house got robbed, all of my

mothers mothers jewelry was stolen and the thieves left the house a wreck. My

parents got scared, borrowed money from my moms great Aunt Ev and at seven

years old my family moved out of the city and to a small house in West Babylon,

New York, Long Island. The house in West Babylon needed work, but there was a

nice backyard where we could run around, it was in a better neighborhood, and I

had to share rooms with my sisters. Korkie and I got nervous when we had to go to

our new school and we cried as my mother pulled us to the bus. Korkie hated

moving around so much, but my mother told us that West Babylon was our home

now and we would learn to meet friends and enjoy ourselves. Korkie and I quickly

made friends and settled into our new home, and we enjoyed a fun childhood there.

My mother was constantly getting involved with new jobs such as crafts and a

restaurant, always trying to make money, when a woman from Long Island

approached her. She told my mother she should try and put her kids in acting and

modeling and my mother liked the idea.

My mother gathered us all in her old broken down van and took us to the city

to go on auditions for the movies. She made us take speech classes because we had

New York accents and we also took acting classes where we performed in plays and

sang and danced. When Korkie and I traveled to the city we would sing and dance

on the train and entertain the passengers. Korkie would always speak about the

homeless in New York and how sad it was for them. I looked around the crazy hustle

and bustle of New York as if it was immense and I was so small, and I was always

intrigued by the preachers who stood on the corner and screamed to repent now

because the end of the world was near and God would place judgment on everyone.

I was nervous and shy on auditions so I never thought I did very well, but Korkie was
doing great and she even got a job for one of the movies. Korkie was in a movie

with three famous actresses and she played the part of them as a young child.

Korkie also got another job in the movies; it was a horror movie about a mother who

murdered her children. I got a modeling job for Macys and they liked me so much

they hired me again for more jobs. Soon, the whole family was acting and everyone

in the family did a commercial for a big corporate furniture store. I got another job

for music television and another job doing an eye glass commercial. I also got a job

for a book television program and I talked about the books I read. Patch got a

modeling job for hot dogs and Nukki got another job for a furniture store. At home,

Korkie and I played acting and modeling and we turned the music on and danced,

sang, and took pictures. I secretly wanted to be a dancer. I loved to dance but I was

not trained in the skill. At home, and at all the family parties I would dance

passionately.

Around this time I was in the kitchen with my mother. My mother was talking

to me but I couldnt hear her because I was put in a trance by a fan that was

running above the stove. I was hypnotized by the soft and tranquil movements of

the fan and I looked into it. Suddenly I felt someone looking at me and I said to

myself, God is looking at me through the fan. I wasnt sure that I believed in God,

and I never really prayed. Korkie had protested going to the Catholic Church, but my

father was a deep believer in Jesus Christ and he took us to church many Sundays

and even taught us Catholic Sunday school. We grew up Irish Catholic and

celebrated all the Catholic holidays and traditions and my father often spoke

lovingly about Jesus Christ, but either somebody walked in on me in the bathroom

at church or we stole the church hymns to sing at home, I was always having issues

at church. I wasnt sure what I believed, or if I even believed in God at all, so it was
strange that I felt God at that moment. The feeling was soft and peaceful and I

didnt feel afraid of him watching me. I just remember feeling strange that I was

aware that I was not alone.

When we became teenagers, Korkie went through an awkward stage and was

insecure about the way she looked. I put on weight and was a little chubby. We were

afraid we were not pretty enough to be actresses. Korkie convinced my mother that

she didnt want to be in the acting anymore and suddenly we stopped. We no longer

went for auditions and we stopped acting. In high school, I was awkward and

insecure. I put on some weight and I became very shy. When Korkie was 16 years

old her friends introduced her to alcohol and alcohol, I learned, helped me with my

confidence. As Korkie was drinking and having so much fun, I wanted to drink too.

At 16 years old I tried my first drink in the school yard. A group of high school

children were hanging out drinking and I began to drink vodka. The alcohol hit me

immediately and played with my head. Once I drank one I couldnt stop drinking and

began to drink more and more until I was very drunk. Pretty soon I was losing my

mind, running all over the field, screaming, and fighting with one of the of the boys

that looked at me the wrong the way. I threw my arms up in tirade and the tripped

and fell in a bush. I was stuck in the bush and I couldnt get up and I began to laugh

out loud. Suddenly I jumped out of the bush and demanded ice cream. When Korkie

said to wait I screamed at her and we fought. I lost my mind on alcohol and ran into

the store in and out of the aisles demanding ice cream. After we bought the ice

cream I took one bite of it then threw it across the pavement of the store. Korkie

was trying to calm me but I couldnt be contained; I was very drunk and the alcohol

was making me act crazy. Finally they got me home to bed after a long battle. I was

a wild creature and when the alcohol hit me I couldnt be contained; I burst out in
insanity and ran around like a lunatic all over school field. When I woke up the next

day feeling hung over, I thought I had the most fun I ever had in my life.

Throughout high school we drank and went to parties. I didnt have any

boyfriends and I had not kissed a boy, but there were boys I began to like in school.

There was this one boy in my English class named Reynold and he was not a good

student. He just recently moved to our school from Catholic School so I didnt really

know him. One day he asked me if I would do his homework for him. We sat at the

lunch table and I wrote Reynolds essay for him. He was shy and quiet and I

remember feeling his softness and silence as he sat beside me. We barely spoke to

each other and I handed him the essay. He thanked me and we never spoke again,

but suddenly I had this overwhelming feeling of love inside me for Reynold. A few

days later I ran to my friend Jess and told her I liked Reynold.

The weird boy with the weird hair? Jess asked. Hes a freak.

There is something mysterious about him, I said. Its just how soft and

quiet he is, theres a secret hidden in his body. I can feel it next to him.

Hes just quiet around you, Jess said. Hes not that quiet. Anyway he has a

girlfriend from another town. They have been dating a while.

Still I was intrigued by Reynold. He was in my Spanish class and I found

myself loving the language for some reason and quietly studying him. I went home

and sat in the upstairs bathroom and silently dreamed about Reynold. Hours past

while I sat in the bathroom and just dreamed. My mother knocked on the bathroom

door and asked me what was wrong.

 Youve been in that bathroom for 4 hours, she said. What is wrong with

you?

Nothing, I said. I just need a place to think.

It is in the bathroom that I first wrote my first romance novel; I would close

my eyes and move images around in my head until fantasies took on the

complexities of romance novels. I kissed my first boyfriend in my head and my

fantasies were so profound and emotional that I felt that kiss more than my first

kiss. I imagined sad events or family members dying and could make myself cry

right there; or I could feel the real feeling of truly falling in love with a boy. More

than anything, in my life, I wanted to fall in love. I looked in the mirror and at my

chubby face and said to myself, Youre not as pretty as the popular girls at school.

Your fat (I weighed 150 pounds). Why would Reynold ever like you?

After some time in the bathroom, I would go to my room and put the radio on.

I played the music for hours, because I was in love with music, and I just sat in

trance in my room. A song played on the radio about a virgin being touched for the

first time by man. I remembered never kissing a boy and secretly feeling awkward

about it because I was embarrassed that I didnt have experience. What if a boy

wanted to kiss me and I didnt know how to kiss? I never had a boyfriend before. I

sat by the radio and listened to the music. I ran to the bathroom mirror again,

looked at my awkward round face and said to myself: Youre a whore and a drunk.

I didnt know what a whore was or what was wrong with the word whore, but a voice

came to me in my head that told me this.

Throughout my life I was able to hear this demon voice in my head, and it

often filled me with doubt and fear. Even though I was starting to like boys, I went
through a feminist phase and wore my Dads ties to school. A boy asked me why I

wear ties and I told him I like them. He looked at me weirdly and walked away. It

was the same boy who I kissed in a dream, and the dream felt so real I considered it

my first kiss. I was starting to question the world and womens place in it and I

asked a Catholic priest why women were not allowed to be priests and why there

was no female president. The priest told me priesthood is a mans role and I went

home and told my father that I was going to be the first female priest in the world. I

wanted it because I already thought the world unfair to women and I was beginning

to understand womens role in it. I was starting to like boys, but I was nervous that I

had no experience kissing them because the boys we hung with as kids called us

prudes, so I vowed that I would kiss a boy so that I gained knowledge and

experience and when my real boyfriend came around. If he asked if I knew how to

do it, how to kiss, I would be armed with experience and he wouldnt think me

strange. More than anything I didnt want to be seen; I was terrible at controversy

and too nervous to argue. I didnt want people to witness my imperfections so that

they would judge me. I wanted everyone to like to me and the world to be at peace,

so I rarely argued and backed down from fights cowardly.

We went to a party one day and my friend Jess told me that a boy at the

party liked me and wanted to kiss me. I was nervous about it but I saw it as an

opportunity to have my first kiss. Jess had a boyfriend and they went to one room,

another friend went to another room with a guy, and this guy Sam and I went into

another room. I was strange, shy and awkward in the conversation. I already knew

he wanted to kiss me. After talking sometime about school he asked me if I ever

had a boyfriend.

I dated a boy at my summer house, I said.

 Did you kiss him? he asked.

Just on the lips, I said. We didnt use tongue. We held hands and took

walks. I didnt reveal that he was my boyfriend but we were too shy to even speak

and rarely spoke to each other. When we walked and held hands we walked in

silence.

Is this your first kiss? he asked.

No, I said. I was lying.

Then he kissed me. He moved his tongue in my mouth like a serpent, in and

out quickly. I didnt know what to do, so I barely did anything with my tongue. It was

the strangest feeling and it didnt seem right at all; I thought a kiss should be

sensual and passionate but his kiss was like a snake in and out of my mouth. I

stopped him after feeling awkward for a while.

I cant do this, I said.

Whats wrong? He asked.

I like Reynold, I said.

Is he your boyfriend? Sam asked.

No, I said.

Reynold is the guy with the weird hair, Sam said. Hes a freak. He eats pen

caps in Spanish class and almost choked on one.

I like his hair, I said. And I think his quiet is so mysterious.

 Does Reynold know you like him, Sam protested. Im better looking than

him. And I have a ton more friends than he does. People like me more.

I dont know, I said. I just get these feelings. Hes so mysterious.

Does he know you like him, Sam asked. He was starting to argue with me.

My friend told him, I said. She gave him my phone number in lunch.

My God, Sam exclaimed. Did he call you?

No, I said. He didnt.

Do you want him to call you? Sam asked.

No, I said. Im too shy to talk to him. I just want to dream about him.

Youre confusing me Kristie, Sam said.

I have to go, I said. I got up and ran out of the house.

I rushed out of the room and ran all the way home. I didnt think Reynold liked

me, but it was an excuse to stop kissing Sam. I felt awkward about the situation and

got shy. The next day at school, in English class, I didnt talk to Sam, but I could feel

him looking at me through class. We were reading about Emily Dickinson and one

boy screamed out, That looks like Kristie. In class I got distracted. We were

reading a short story and analyzing it and I took words from the short story and

wrote them in a line on a piece of paper, then I looked at the words, and began to

develop a poem. I was thinking about boys, but Im unsure which boy I was thinking

about when I wrote the poem or if I was writing my fate, it was as if I was writing to
my invisible boyfriend that wasnt with me yet and yet I could still sense his

presence around me and my own fate taking shape. This is the poem I wrote.

Indulged

1997

indulged in

an engaging kiss

lost under

brown eyes of bliss

yearning a trigger of love

lustful madness

made to soar

dazzling the dance

of a dangerous lure

set behind a vision

where seize takes form

moving-

slowly-

directly

towards me-

freshly-

truly-

the crave sinks through me

intertwining figures
 creates unity

unconstrained emotions

sets two bodies free

wet lips

on a smooth face

leave the tongue

with a thrilling taste

speechless

we can provoke

thoughts that numb the soul

underneath

ecstasy

takes control

finger tip moves

two bodies

softened to smooth

discovering a truth

behind the bodys youth

stalking the innocence

of an untouchable fruit

moving to stimulate

a numb, erotic state

crossing over

a new born fate

indulged in
 a moving man

lost under

his plan

never to touch

this way again

I began to write many things and often wrote poems at this time. It was

around this time I decided that I wanted to be a writer, and when I went to college I

would study writing. I knew I didnt read enough, and I had to read more, but I

became in love with writing and poetry especially. I even felt I loved poetry more

than I loved boys. Boys were cruel and unpredictable, but poetry was beauty in its

purest form. If there was poetry in music, or poetry in a sunset, or poetry in a

conversation with a man at the grocery store, it took on glorious form and made the

world feel as if I could fall in love with all of it, not just boys. I got the sense that in

my life I wanted to fall in love more than anything else; I thought love was one of

the most beautiful elements of nature and the foundation of any great poem and

while I lived I wanted to feel it and experience it in its rawest form.

When we snuck into the bars and drank, Reynold began to come to us, but

even though I was drinking we rarely ever spoke. In the silence between us, I felt

that I could love him even though I barely knew him. At a block party, I was talking

with a guy and I put my hands on his shoulders, but he took them off and put them

on Reynolds shoulders. Startled by this, I quickly let go of Reynold and apologized; I

didnt want him to see me. Even though I liked him, I was afraid of loving him and I

rarely ever spoke to him. It seemed safer to kiss a boy I didnt like because it

wouldnt matter, but if Reynold saw me and judged me it would hurt because I

cared about the way he felt.

 Pretty soon high school was over and we were getting ready to go to college.

We were all at a party and I was getting tired. I asked Reynold if he could take me

home. In the car ride, we shared our first conversation.

I leave for college tomorrow, I said.

Youre going to New Paltz right? Reynold asked.

Yes, I said. Im going to study to be a writer. Are you going to college?

No, Reynold said. Im staying here and working.

Im scared, I said. I have never been so scared in my life.

College is fun, Reynold said. Great parties.

Maybe you can come and visit me, I said. Its only a three hour drive.

I will, Reynold said as he pulled up to the house.

OK, I said. Ill see you there. I hugged him and pressed my face against

his cheek. Then I ran upstairs and into my room and looked out of the window as he

drove away.

Oh my God, I said to myself. I cant believe I just spoke with Reynold.

I put the radio on and a love song came on that I fell into. I got lost in the

music and began to fall in love with music. It was as if the song was glorious and it

was lifting me to this heavenly place filled with only pure love. As the music

vibrated, I danced across my room light on my toes and lifted my arms in surrender.

I was enraptured by the song and I felt as if I could fly into it. I thought about

Reynold and his silence and I wondered what was in his deep quiet and mystery,
knowing it was something sad. I packed my bags and got ready for school the next

day and I cried because I was scared, wondering if Reynold would come and visit

me. It was the first time I got the nerve to talk to him, and I felt so joyful that finally

I was able to. I hoped that he would come and visit me in college.

When I went to college the next day, I was nervous, but excited. I began to

cry because I was scared. I met my roommate Saddie who was an Indian girl with a

birthmark on her forehead and she said she studied to be an actress in New York

City. Saddie was very animated, funny, and friendly when she spoke to me so I felt

confident that we would have a great time together at college. Still, I was scared,

and that night before bed I cried to myself. Pretty soon at college I was going to

classes and meeting a lot of fun people. On weekends we drank heavily at parties

and I was beginning to blackout. When I drank, it was as if a wild spirit ran through

me, and I danced wildly with my arms out freely. One night at a bar, I was talking

with my friend Jacob. I was trying to convince Jacob that destiny is real, but Jacob

was arguing with me and saying that destiny is not real.

There is no God, Jacob said. And there is no such thing as destiny.

Everything happens by chance and nothing is planned.

I dont know if there is a God, I said. And if there was a God, I dont know

how he thinks, but destiny is real. There are some people out there that are just

made for each other, and they are destined to be together. And things happen, for

this ultimate destiny that changes the world forever.

No there is no God, Jacob said. People wish when something bad happens

to them that there was a God of justice or man who hears there cries, but there is

no such man out there. Religion made up God to control the masses. Sin is just a
fabrication, if God is good and man is bad then that puts them above you as judge

and religion can make you prisoner to their system. What kind of man tortures

people for all time as punishment for drinking alcohol, and the God of the Bible is

not always good. It is so many contradictions and double standards they cant get it

right. They cant get there God right. If they cant get it right, how do they know

him? There cant be a God. And there are so many opinions and beliefs and

religions, which one is correct? They all say there way is the right way, but they still

cant prove the existence of God or who and how he is. They say God is good and

we are bad, but did they ever meet him? They cant get it right so they must not

know him, it is just their opinion, their opinion of what is good and what is right, and

man has been questioning that since the beginning of time, his own humanity. He

looks around at World War 3 and wonders what this world has come to, and sensing

the danger he wishes for something better, so he designs laws that seem just based

on his opinion of the matter. But it is him, not a God. And there is no destiny,

everything happens by chance.

I dont know if there is a God, I said. But Im sure there is a destiny, and

some people are just destined to do things in life.

We were drinking heavily and something pulled me to run out side. The wind

was blowing heavily on my face and I opened up my arms out to the air. Take me,

I screamed. Take me now.

The wind answered back with a strong gust and pushed me over. Take me,

I whispered. A crowd of drunk kids gathered around me and started screaming and

cheering me on, I was making a scene. I didnt know if I was talking to God or just

the universe because I rarely thought about God, but I knew I was talking to
someone, someone who knew me forever. As I stood there swaying in the violent

wind, I felt as if I could float away into eternity. Liberation filled my body and I felt

free and wild and carefree. It was glorious and the world was mine to enjoy. When I

drank, I often got very wild and lawless. We were modern American women who

were free, and we wanted have fun, conquer the world, and change everything. I

felt free at that moment, and with my arms open I grabbed the universe and let it

fly with me as I swayed back and forth in the air. There was a destiny, and I could

feel it beginning.

We studied during the week and drank on weekends. I didnt have money so I

cleaned a history teachers house for money to buy beer. I was still a virgin when I

went to college, but most of my friends had boyfriends they slept with before. I met

a Spanish guy on the dance floor who was a great dancer. I got so drunk I barely

recognized the features on his face and didnt know what he looked like, but when

he danced he moved as smooth as butter and his rhythm was in perfect harmony

with the music that when we moved together it was as if our bodies were answering

each other perfectly. Our hips would lock, I would put my leg between his leg, and

we would grind to the song so passionately we could taste each others sweat on

our skin. We dance this way for hours and drank heavily, until I could feel his penis

bulging in his pants. At first I wasnt sure what it was, until he pulled me, and

walked me home. We stumbled home and stumbled on our words as we walked and

I was so drunk I barely remember what we said. At my dorm, he entered me and

then he left. That was the sex, and it was the first time I ever had sex. I didnt bleed,

it didnt hurt, and I barely felt him inside me. It didnt seem like anything too great

to me. The next day I didnt tell any of my friends I had sex, but I was embarrassed
that I had not had sex yet, so I was glad that now I had experience to tell my real

boyfriend.

At the bars we flirted and laughed with men, drank heavily, and danced on

table tops while we screamed and shouted. Im so happy its your birthday, I

screamed out to a guy. Its your birthday. I said that even when it wasnt his

birthday because I meant it was the happiest day of his life, the day he miraculously

stepped on this planet. I said it because it was sign of joy, life, and celebration and I

started saying it a lot to people. We screamed it out on the street and people

screamed back. The guy laughed out loud and raised his beers. To the good life,

we screamed as we swayed to the music and raised our hands up high. The music

was pounding on our bodies and the lights were dim in the bar. One man whispered

in my ear, How do you like sex?

What do you mean? I asked.

Do you like a man soft or rough? he asked.

I dont know, I said. I havent had much sex.

I didnt know much about sex or what he was talking about. The television

was on and I could read a princess just died.

Dont you have a boyfriend? he asked.

No, I said. Ive never really had a boyfriend.

Do you like dark men? he asked. He had tan skin, but I wasnt sure if he

was Black.

I dont know, I said. Ive never dated a dark man before.

 Theyre more passionate, he said. Were very sensual people.

I see that, I said. I have to go get another drink. I left him, got a drink,

and went to the dance floor. I began to dance and a man pressed against me. We

started dancing, our bodies tightly locked together as we sweat. He grabbed my

hand and took me outside, asking me to go to my dorm room. I was so drunk I was

not making rational decisions that I led while he followed. In the air, I began to

laugh out loud.

Whats so funny? he asked.

Oh nothing, I said. The voice in my head. I couldnt stop laughing. He

began to laugh. At my dorm, he took me to the bathroom and tried to un-zipper my

pants, but I was laughing and rolling so fervently it was hard to hold me down. I was

laughing so uncontrollably he couldnt do anything sexual with me. My roommate

knocked on the door. Kristie, are you OK? she asked.

Im fine, I said. And I got up and left him in the bathroom.

After a few weeks I got a phone call from Reynolds friend Seth who said that

Reynold planned to come to my school the next day. Seth asked me if I wanted to

hang out. I was surprised Reynold contacted me and got excited. The next day

some of my friends and I went to see Seth and Reynold at their apartment. I said hi

to Reynold shyly, but didnt say anything else. Reynold was talking to my friend and

asking her if she wanted to do ecstasy, a new drug that they said was enlightening.

If Kristie does it, Ill do it, JoJo said. But I refused the drug and told her I

didnt want to. My father already warned me about drugs and addiction, so I was

scared to try the drug. I looked at Reynold, who was just as shy as I was, and wished
he would talk to me, but he didnt. Reynold continued to talk to JoJo while I talked to

Seth. After a while we left the house, and that was the last time I saw him.

A week later my friend Bri made us go to this party to see this guy she was in

love with. There was a bunch of guys at the house and we sat down and played

cards while we drank. I went to sit down and fell to the ground. A mean girl pulled

the chair out from under me to embarrass me. Youre terrible, I screamed. Why

would you do that?

I walked away to the other side of room, and there I met Belfry. Belfry was

very tall with dark features, and he said he was from North Babylon. I was from

West Babylon. We started talking and realized we knew some of the same people.

He then walked me home and held my hand while we walked. He slept over, but we

didnt touch. When we woke, Belfry talked rapidly. I realized he liked to talk and had

a lot to say about hanging out with his friends and drinking at the bar. He began to

talk about meeting up with Black men in Brooklyn and copping drugs. The kids from

Long Island went to Brooklyn often to get drugs. The Black men would hang out on

the street or in abandoned buildings and many times they were dangerous. The

neighborhoods were violent and unpredictable and many times there was a

confrontation. Belfry talked about a time when a guy was high and a fight broke out

about money. He said he and his friends went there often to get drugs and often

there was a confrontation about money and drugs. Belfry talked comfortably with us

and I realized he was a friendly guy. He told me he had many friends and knew a lot

of people. I was very shy and reserved and I didnt think I had that many friends,

which was very different from Belfry who knew a lot of people. He asked me if I ever

had a boyfriend, but I told him I really didnt. I dated a guy in high school but both of

us were very shy and barely talked. Even when my friend Bri hung out with all of
Belfrys friends, I barely talked to anyone. Soon Belfry left and I gave him my phone

number.

Belfry called me the next day and we talked on the phone for hours. We got

along very well and had a lot to say. He was coming to visit me often at school

because he was still on Long Island. When he came, we went to the bar and danced

and talked. We were dating soon after and Belfry would come to my college to visit

me. That day Belfry left and I got a phone call. It was my close friend Ali. She said

she got a phone call and Reynold died. He went to the city the day before to get

drugs and he died of a heroine overdose. I was frantic, and I ran outside. I couldnt

believe that a 19 year old would die so early. I ran and got alcohol and began to

drink. I drank so quickly the alcohol hit me immediately. I saw Reynolds friend and

ran up to him.

Im so sorry, I said. I just heard Reynold is dead. I fell to the ground

because I was so intoxicated and began to cry. He tried to lift me, but I didnt move.

We cried together in our arms.

The next day I asked my friend to bring me to Long Island so that I could go to the

wake. She said she would. We drove to Long island in silence and often tears fell out

of my eyes. Reynold was gone forever and I couldnt believe it. I looked at his body

in the casket, cold and lifeless. There was nothing there, and this was real. He sister

screamed and sobbed in the corner, and it broke my heart. Their mother tried to

calm her, but couldnt. The sounds of her screams left me weak; I was sad not

because I liked him but because of the family he left. I was sad because he was so

young. We were only 19 years old. Outside everybody talked about how they

couldnt believe it, and they didnt know what happened. They said he was
experimenting with heroine and he went into Brooklyn to get drugs, but the drugs

were too strong and it killed him. People questioned where he went and wondered if

they could find out the whole story. They wanted to know who sold him the drugs

and what they did to the drugs. I knew my thoughts of Reynold would always be a

dream. I would always wonder if he came to my college to see me, but I would

never know. The thoughts of Reynold would always be a mystery and I would always

wonder if he felt anything towards me, but I would never know. I heard about near

death experiences and thought maybe Reynold wasnt gone and one day I would

experience the whole truth because people said when you die you go to another

place, and death is more real than life. I wasnt sure what I believed, but I could still

sense Reynolds presence in the room, and I couldnt believe that he was

completely gone. Something told me there is more to him, and to just believe. It

gave me a sense of peace to realize that Reynold was not forgotten and he would

remain with us, guiding us through our troubles. I left, feeling his presence and

feeling comfort in the fact that Reynold may not be gone.

I met with Belfry and he took me home. I didnt speak to him about my

feelings for Reynold so he never knew I was in love with Reynold. Belfry said that

the guys in the city are dangerous and Reynold shouldnt have been in a place

where he didnt belong. He was probably too young to realize. It was sad that that

happened to him. We drove back to college and talked the whole way. Belfry knew a

lot about the city, and he had a lot of friends. He liked to drink and party and hang

out with his friends, like we all did, but it didnt come as shock to him that Reynold

died.
 You know, Belfry said. The guys in the city lace the heroine. Sometimes it

gets too strong. I just heard of another guy dying from ecstasy. He was taking diet

pills and then did the drugs. He had a heart attack and died.

I was too young to know this happened. It was a shock to me that Reynold

was dead. I just saw him last week, and now I would never see him again.

His sister said they went into Brooklyn, I said. They found him in his bed.

He was with friends. You know I always felt they were a bad crowd. But, I was very

surprised because he used to drive when we went to the bar. He never drank. Then

he was doing drugs.

I think he did drugs, Belfry said. They used to go to those rave parties, my

friends went there, and there were drugs everywhere. He liked that rave music. I

always thought that music was not my taste, so I never went.

What kind of music do you like? I asked. I was always interested because I

loved music.

I like heavy stuff, he said.

Like heavy metal? I said.

Yes, Belfry said. He played a song. It sounded like the singer was evil and

you could barely hear what he was saying because he was screaming like a

monster.

You like that, I said. I was shattered by the song. I didnt like his music. I

liked dance music because I liked to dance and I also liked female rock.
 This is what they play at those raves. Belfry played a song. It was hypnotic

and transient and it seemed like you would do drugs listening to it.

I dont listen to it, Belfry said. But I know those guys who hung out with

Reynold do. And they all do drugs.

It is such a surprise, I said. And so surreal. One day he is here and the next

day he is gone. And he was so young.

I have heard of three people who were around his age dying, Belfry said.

How well did you know him?

Not that well, I said. I knew his sister. She was in my art class.

Do you paint? Belfry asked.

Not that well, I said. But I always loved photography and painting. I have a

picture of Klimt in my room. I take all the art history classes because I loved them.

My sister is a really good painter, Belfry said. She is going to school for

art.

My brother was really good at drawing when we were kids, I said. But he

stopped drawing. I always wished I could draw like him, but I couldnt. My pictures

always came out too weird people said. But I like learning about it.

What else do you like? Belfry asked.

Im going to college to be a writer, I said. I think I might study journalism.

Me too, Belfry said. I work for a newspaper.

What do you write? I asked.

 I write sports articles.

My father loved sports, I said. He always wanted to be a basketball coach.

He watches all those games on T.V.

I like sports too, Belfry said. They wanted me to play basketball because I

was so tall. Belfry was tall, he was 6 foot 2.

What do you write? Belfry asked.

I didnt want to tell Belfry I write poetry. My poetry had been secret and I

never told anyone I wrote or showed anyone what I wrote. I didnt even tell my

sister Korkie I wrote poetry, and Korkie knew everything about me. Im thinking

about being a journalist, I said. I took some magazine classes but my teacher told

me it is a very hard business to get into and they dont pay you a lot. I wanted to

keep the poetry a secret because I was afraid I was not good enough yet. I also

didnt tell him that I wanted to be a romance writer. There was a romance writer I

used to read as a child; my mother told me it was too advanced to read because of

the love scenes, but I always dreamed of being her.

My dad might get me a job as a bar tender, Belfry said. It pays really good

and journalism doesnt pay anything.

My dad used to make us hide our eyes during the sex scenes in movies, I

said. We werent allowed to watch dirty dancing because of all the sex scenes.

Your dad was strict, Belfry said. I also didnt tell Belfry that I secretly like to

dirty dance and I loved the belly dancers on T.V. I was not allowed to tell my mother

either. My mother was very conservative and we were not allowed to wear bathing

suits or any revealing clothing.

 You know when I met you, Belfry said. I didnt know if I wanted to date you

because you dressed terribly.

That was my friends outfit, I said. Shes very preppy. But the truth was we

had no money for clothes. My aunt who had some money bought us clothes

because my mother couldnt afford clothing for us. When we became 15 we had to

get our own jobs to get ourselves clothing. I was working as a waitress, but I still

wasnt able to afford clothing for myself. There were other expenses in college and I

never had enough money to buy clothing for myself. The outfit I wore when I met

Belfry was borrowed from a friend, because I had nothing to wear.

Are you my boyfriend? I asked.

Do you want me to be? Belfry said.

Sure, I said.

Belfry was now my boyfriend. I kissed his cheek and nibbled on his ear. He

softened into my touch. You are a really nice guy, I said. Youre nicer than the

other guys. I really believed that. Belfry was nicer than the other guys he hung out

with and we never argued. I reached down and touched his penis; he sighed in my

arms.

You like music? he asked and turned the volume up on the radio.

Everyone likes music, I screamed through the high volume.

The song was a song called, Writing a Mystery. The singers voice was

unusually beautiful and Angelic. It was a song about living in darkness, vampires

that stalk their prey, suicide, and love. After that she sang over and over again that
someone was, Writing a Mystery. I was touched by how haunting the song was

and emotional. It almost made me cry.

This is nice, Belfry said. I like her. She has another one called Possession.

It is about a woman being possessed by a dark man.

Its so haunting, I said. But gorgeous. Its almost glorious. Like from

heaven.

The girl was a new singer and it was the first time I heard her. I took to the

song immediately and even remembered some of the words.

Heaven? Belfry asked curiously. Do you believe in heaven?

Oh yes, I said. When you die you go there unless youre bad. Then you go

to hell.

Who told you that? Belfry asked. There is no heaven. Did you learn that as

a kid?

We learned about heaven as a kid, I said.

But I like to be bad, Belfry said.

Sometimes I do too, I said. I certainly like to drink.

Yes, Belfry said. I wanted to talk to you about that. I think you have a

drinking problem. Youre getting really drunk. Dada said a woman should never get

that drunk.
 I know, I said. Its in my family. Im an alcoholic and so is my father. We get

very drunk. I lose my mind on alcohol. I cant remember anything, go crazy, and act

stupid. I dont know whats wrong with me.

Your fathers an alcoholic? Belfry said.

Were Irish, I said. Im from a family of alcoholics, but my dad doesnt drink

anymore. Hes in recovery. He stopped drinking when I was 12. He used to take me

to those A.A. meetings so I know all about it.

My parents like to drink, too, Belfry said. And I like to drink. But I dont get

that drunk.

I have to stop, I said. I already know its in my family.

I vowed I would stop, but I didnt want to. I knew I had a problem, but I was

still a kid and I wanted to have fun. A month after my conversation with Belfry in the

car I got a phone call from my father that my Pop Pop, and his dad, died. My whole

family loved Pop Pop and the news was devastating to everyone. Pop Pop was in his

80s and he died of an aneurism. I tried to remember the last time I saw him and I

remember he talked about his wife. They were divorced at a time when the Catholic

Church forbade divorce, but I swear he mentioned her for the first time I ever heard

him talk about her. My mother once told me that Pop Pop got morning sickness

when my grandmother was pregnant with one of their children; I thought of

empathy and soul mates. The two were connected somehow even when apart. My

whole family loved Pop Pop and everyone was crying. When I heard the news, I went

to Belfrys house and we both cried in each others arms. I was remembering Pop
Pop and my love for him and Belfry was remembering his grandmother and when

she died. I left Belfry house very sad and when got home I cried myself to sleep.

Something woke me in the middle of the night. It was one in the morning and

still dark outside. Something told me write. I got a piece of paper and a pen and

began to write. I didnt know what I was going to say, but the word flowed like a

running river out of my fingers. I read it and realized it was a poem about Pop Pop.

Johns Death

His words whisper,

A hushing lull in the lively breeze

Soaring effortlessly

In the springs breeze

Do not cry when I die,

For heavens grace is where I reside

My sweet child, do not cry

My feet are mounted, numbed in the greening grass

My tears drowning in what remains that I must surpass

Counseling the pain with my daughters hand

Im left in the remembrance

When it is He who stood where I stand

Do not cry when it is that I shall die

For in our fathers palms is where I lie

My sweet child, do not cry

A fathers words continued by this pain

I stand here with pride

In all that shall remain in his name

A father shed of gifts, of life

Bearing my being in all its strife

Surviving a family in his own plight

It is he who I am when I join this position

He who I reach for to council in this condition

He who I find my soul has listened

Do not cry, my sweet child, do not cry

A soft assertion, a timeless spirit,

In this time, this blowing breeze, I can hear it.

It is his deliverance that cultivates my essence

A strength birthed in his reverence

It is him who reaches for the childs pain from within

Do not cry, my sweet child, do not cry

We hold hands as a family

His named shared in me

His soul serenely free

As I am the teacher now of my own childs misery

Do not cry when I die,

For heavens grace is where I reside,

My sweet child, do not cry

John Donohue

(June 2, 1928 - April 8, 1999)

 I could remember Pop Pops words and almost hear them again; we were in

the kitchen, me and my sisters , and we were crying because a close friend died.

Do not cry, Pop Pop said, When I die. I dont want anyone crying. And then

another time when I was reading a romance novel and started crying because the

wife of the great love story died.

Why would you read that if youre going to cry? Pop Pop asked.

It so sad, I said. He really loved her, the love was real, and she died.

Do not cry, Pop Pop said, When I die. I do not want anyone crying.

The poem came to me that night like a spirit and it left me with wonder.

What woke me out of my sleep? I really didnt know, and yet I was moved by it; it

felt so close to me and yet so far away. It was strange how things changed so

suddenly. And yet there was a softness and comfort in the spirit that held me, and I

fell into it. The tears began to fall down my face; I couldnt help but cry and I looked

out of the window and into the night, wondering what was out there for me.

A friend asked me to go to Fire Island, she had a house there and all of our

friends were hanging out there. We all went and began to drink in the house, and

then we drank in the bar. In the bar we were dancing and laughing. I moved to the

side when a man approached me. We spoke, but I was so drunk I could barely

remember our conversation. Finally, everyone wanted to leave and the man

followed me.

Come on, he said. Just a kiss.

No, I said. I have a boyfriend.

 Come, he said, and he pulled me. I was stumbling and heavily intoxicated.

He took me in a wooded area on the beach and put me on the ground. Then he

entered me and got up.

Where are you going? I said, but he said nothing. I lay on the ground in

abandon. I wondered if I was flirting with him, but I wasnt sure. I may have been.

He walked to the house and I followed him. He began to lay on the couch and didnt

want to talk to me anymore. I tried talking to him, but he ignored me. Then I jumped

on him. He pushed me off of him and grumbled. Finally, I got up and went to bed.

I went back to school, but didnt remember the incident. A month past and I

forgot about it, but a night after drinking heavily I called Belfry. I was crying.

I was with another man, I said. It happened in fire island.

Belfry got mad at me, but said he wanted to continue to see me. After a

month I went to visit him at his college, because we did not go to the same college,

and a girl passed. He told me that he had been sexual with her. We didnt discuss it

and for some reason, I didnt get jealous or upset. I wondered if I really loved Belfry

because I didnt care if he had other girlfriends; then I wondered if something was

wrong with me. I wasnt jealous. I left and I barely thought about it.

My sister called me and asked me to finish college in Plattsburgh. We would

live in Burlington and I could drive to Plattsburgh for classes. I did this because I felt

like my sister could protect me from my alcoholism. I was beginning to feel like

alcohol was a real problem for me and I knew I had to stop drinking, but often in

college, I got tempted. I decided that I would go live with Korkie and finish school. I

drove up to Burlington in an old cheap car I bought for $600. When I got there,
Korkie welcomed me at the house and gave me some food. After, she showed me

my room. I began to decorate it with pictures of famous paintings I had. Then I put

quotes about love on the wall, and a poem about the Fear of being a king. Korkie

introduced me to a Spanish guy from Texas, and he was reading poems by Pablo

Neruda, the Spanish poet. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I ever read and

after, looked up more poems.

We settled into our house; I began to waitress and go to school. I got a job at

a pizzeria and made enough money to pay rent and buy food, but I still couldnt

afford clothing. I started taking English classes and we had to read a lot of books

and write a lot of papers. In my poetry class we had to write a sonnet. It didnt come

easily and I had to think about it for a while. My brother called and said he was

having trouble at school, too. My sister Korkie cried so easily from stress. After the

phone call, I went for a walk. It was during the walk my poem came to me.

A Sonnet For My Brother

If words could ease your hopeless bitter pain

And valor could stun your turbulent heart
If I could take whats wrong, give right again
If I knew why men hate, where evil starts

If I could take your tears, mend your still grief

Or knew God existed, Id share with you
His secrets. Fill emptiness with belief
Id flower gardens for your soul, push through

Stormy weather, give warmth when you are cold

If I could write your name in a story
With happiness, and silent trees of gold
The end would read: My dear brother glory

Is to face hate and to love

Anyway: that is what glory is made of.
 As I wrote the words, I felt like they were more for me than my brother. My

brother was brave and strong, but I was weak and timid. I even got easily nervous

and scared. I was a very shy girl, men made me nervous and I rarely spoke with

them. I rarely spoke with anyone, most of the time I was alone. I was very sad in

Burlington, filled with this melancholy that blurred my vision and weighed me down,

but I didnt know that I was angry. I told myself I would not drink, but one day acting

compulsively, I began to drink beers with this Black young man who was a friend of

Korkies and also made movies. We began to drink heavily and I was acting crazy.

We went from one bar to the other; I was getting drunker and drunker, and saying

crazy things. At one bar, I ran to the dance floor and began dance. It was club music

and I was dancing very seductively. The young man began to dance seductively with

me, putting his legs between my legs and rubbing on my thighs. He then kissed me.

I pushed him and he fell back; then I pushed him again and began to scream. I

didnt know why I did this; the alcohol was making me lose my mind. The police

came and tried to calm me, but couldnt. They told me I was going to jail for the

night and I protested. They locked me in a small cell with a girl who had cancer who

screaming crying all night because she was dying. The girl was saying she was the

senators daughter and she was dying; they were heartless. I listened to her with

tears in my eyes; the screams were of agony and they reached out of the small

window that was above us. The cell was dark and I was still drunk.

Im dying, she wailed. She was also mentally ill.

The screams shattered me inside; I knew I had to stop drinking. Alcohol was

becoming a problem. They let me out of the cell in the morning and told me to

sober up. I tried to comfort the girl with cancer, but she grumbled at me. She could

barely speak she was so mentally deranged. I felt I had mental problems too.
Something was starting to become of me. I was falling apart. I was so hung over

when I left the police station, people gave me dirty looks on the street as I past

them. Why did I do that? Even I did not understand. The young Black man came to

my house the next day, but I didnt speak to him. He talked to my sister then left. I

was angry with him, but I didnt know why. I was beginning to become angry when I

drank, but I didnt know why. I was becoming angry at men and even wrote some

poems expressing my anger towards men. I knew for sure, I was feminist, and the

more I learned at school about what men did to women, I vowed in my life I would

fight against it, never knowing that men were about to do it to me, too.

In my classes we learned many things about struggles and oppression of

history. I took literature classes and one class was a multi-cultural literature class in

which we had to read about a White mother and a Black father who married and

had two children during the civil rights era. Both parents were apart of civil rights

and they struggled to fight the war of Black oppression as well as the contrast

between their own cultural differences. In one passage, the mother has a fight with

one of daughters because she cant she cant comb the girls hair. The girl is

enraged because her sister is White, but she is Black, and the mother is unable to

help her with her hair. She struggles with the fact that her mother is a White woman

and holds anger and resentment towards her for it. I was saddened by this struggle

when I read it, and the passage stuck with me. My teacher explained the struggle in

Black families and the Black womans cultural identity with women, who are often in

the media viewed as more beautiful. I didnt know that Black women are self-

conscious about their hair, and we were learning a lot of new things in school.

We read many books about many struggles and controversies, and often

many of the books were about different cultures. I thought about the books because
it really touched me and decided to go to the local bookstore and buy another book

to read. I went into a big chain bookstore and walked around. I looked at all the

titles, there were so many. I read some backs of the books and put them back. Then

I walked to the poetry section. I walked right to the poetry section, saw a book

immediately and picked it up. It was by Beatrice Sexing. She has sex in her name, I

remember thinking. I opened the book to read a poem and came upon the best

poem I ever read. It was about a witch. It read: I died a possessed witch, haunting

the evil air, brave in the night. The church burned me, and the town threw stones at

me in my flight. I was lonely, ugly, out of my mind. Ive been a woman of her kind. I

read it not knowing I was reading my destiny as the Whore from Babylon, because

although strange men were having sex with me, I did not yet know who I was. I

couldnt believe that was the poem I picked at random and this woman was

speaking directly to me through time. I fell in love with the poem and grabbed the

book to buy it, then I walked down the aisle. I ran across some Bibles and bought

one.

When I went home I started reading the beginning of the Bible, when God

punishes Eve. This struck me deeply and I wrote something about the Eve of Man

and God punishing humanity. Then I went to class quickly and we were reading

poetry from the Romantic period in England. One of the poems was by William Blake

about the marriage of heaven and hell, the whore of Babylon, and the beast. I didnt

know I was her and he was speaking about me. We also read a long poem by John

Milton called paradise lost in which the author gives the devil a voice. I wasnt sure

if I believed there was a devil, and the rest of my class voiced their skepticism as

well. They werent even sure if there was a Jesus. I was not sure if Christ was real as

well. We shared our skepticism about the poem and discussed it in class.
 I went home and was feeling tired. I began to drink wine. I drank the wine so

quickly it hit me right away and I was getting silly. I continued to drink and was

getting drunker. Where is that song, I thought. Something came to me to play this

song I loved on the radio. I flipped through the radio stations and finally found it. I

would give up everything to touch you. I know you feel me in some way. Ive never

felt closer to heaven then when Im near you. Everything eventually breaks, just

lets keep this right now. When I heard the words, I began to cry. The tears fell

rapidly down my face. I was sobbing. I didnt know why I was crying. There was

something about the mans voice; I loved the song. It touched me very deeply, and I

began to think about Reynold.

The next day I took a walk around the town of Burlington. I walked near the

lake, which was beautiful and peaceful and then I took a seat at the park. I sat down

and wrote a poem.

Flower

I am a seed

That longs to grow

I know my roots

Where the wind blows

I cannot know

But where I end up

Is where I longed to go

Sucking up the juice

Taking in the sun

Trying to get loose

Underneath for now

But I will soon come into sight

Rising to my destined height

Slowly moving in towards the light

Changing is my worldly right

Changing weather cannot hurt me

I found my spot

Moving slowly

Slowly I blossom

Growing more leaves

Straight and tall

Dancing with the summer breeze

Then I open my bud

So that all the world can see

What they couldnt see

The beautiful flower

I had inside me

I liked to walk around the town often and look at the scenery and get a coffee

in the coffee shop. Many times I wrote poems or read books or just took in the

beauty of Burlington. I went home and called Belfry and broke up with him. In my

walks, I got the feeling that there was more out there in the world for me. I

remembered a time when a friend of mine was talking about her boyfriend; she said

they used to get into fights and then they would kiss and make love passionately.

She recalled him being so passionately in love with her, even when they argued. I

began to wish Reynold was that way with me. I began to drink; I started getting very

intoxicated and danced seductively in the center of the dance floor alone. I left the
people I was with and went to the bar alone. A Black man started dancing with me

on the dance floor; after a while of panting and sweating he grabbed my hands and

pulled me. I was so intoxicated I stumbled and slurred, and even fell on him as he

pulled me. He pulled me out the doors and the bouncer screamed, No, where are

you taking her? He continued to pull me, got me in a car, and took me to his home.

I passed out in the car and dont remember any of the rest of the night. When I

woke, he was having sex with me. I shyly pushed him off me. I couldnt believe he

did that. The car ride to my apartment, I was quiet. I was working as a waitress in a

pizza shop, and the man came to order.

Hi, he said. How are you feeling today?

Fine. I said skeptically. Then I asked, How did you know I worked here?

Oh, he said. I saw you.

I knew I never told him where I worked. How could he have seen me? I was

home the whole day and I came to work at 12pm. I bought him a beer and we

talked. He said he was a chef at the local restaurant. I was skeptical, unsure if he

was lying. He finally left, but called me the next day.

I dont want to see you, I said. I didnt want that to happen. He hung up

and never called again. A few weeks went by and I didnt drink. I went to my classes

and wrote papers and worked at the restaurant. One morning, a nice sunny fall

morning that was beautiful in Plattsburgh, I drove to school and went into a local

coffee shop to get coffee. I turned and looked on the Television and 2 planes flew

into the World Trade Center. I almost couldnt believe what I was seeing. The whole

building collapsed and people were dying in the air. The television said that there
was a terrorist attack on America. America would soon be at war with Muslim

nations who were revolting against Western ideology. I walked into my English class

startled by what I just saw. The attack was in New York and my family was in New

York, my sister was in Burlington, across the water now. Someone I knew could have

been there. In my class, nobody talked about the event. We talked again about

William Blake and left. I was numb as I drove home. My sister grabbed me when I

walked in the door.

Where were you, she screamed. They attacked New York.

We called family members and they said some people had trouble getting out

of the city. They worked there and they blocked all ways of getting out. We were

frantic and crying, scared that we were under attack. A friend told us there was

some people talking about it at the local coffee shop, so me and my sister went

there. People were protesting and screaming there, and we listened. One man

cursed the government. I was numb and unsure how to feel. I went home and wrote

a poem about it. One line read, Where one man builds, another man has fallen.

Days passed and we were sad. I couldnt think I was so distraught by the event. I

decided to go for a walk to clear my mind. I walked towards the lake and then down

the drive of the town. As I was walking through the town, I stopped. I felt it in my

heart right there, someone cursed me, and when he cursed me he touched and

broke my heart. I knew at that moment I was cursed and I was saddened by the

feeling. I continued to walk and almost cried. What spirit touched me and saddened

me so deeply? I knew, whoever the spirit was, he was angry with me, and I could

feel, even from a distance, his pain. I could sense him, and when he touched, he

touched my heart, almost breaking it into pieces. Suddenly, I was cursed and I knew

it.
 That summer I worked at the restaurant back home and sometimes I hung

out with friends and we drank and went to parties. For most of the time, I stayed

alone because I enjoyed my solitude. The summer passed quickly and I saved up

enough money to get through the semester and focus on my studies. I went back to

school and took literature classes and also a fiction writing class. One day I got very

drunk and wound up stumbling down the streets of Plattsburgh in a black out. I

woke up in a strange guys house. When I woke, he said hello, and that he was Ada.

He found me on the street and took me home. I asked if we had sex and he said

yes, and I wondered why, not remembering the sex. I left his house and went home

in a daze. A few days later he rang my bell, but I didnt answer. I knew it was him

and wondered how he knew where I was. He came and rang the bell for many days,

and for many days I didnt answer. Finally, he found me on the street.

Hi, he said. I tried to get you, but youre never home. I was always home,

but just trying to avoid him.

How did you know where I lived? I asked.

You told me last night, he said. I never remember telling him. It was

strange, that was the second time that happened. Very strange things were

happening, the men, the spirit that cursed me, the strange black outs and the men

attached to them. I was beginning to get nervous and skeptical about it.

Oh, I said. I dont remember that.

Do you want to hear me play my guitar, he said. I know you love music.

How did the man know I loved music? Did he see me dancing? Was he

watching me? I followed Ada to his house and heard him play his guitar. He was a
strange looking guy, thin and strung out looking. He had a slight beard and I knew I

wouldnt want to have sex with him. I felt passive in the situation and also that I was

doing something I didnt want to do. While he played I looked at his books; he read

horror books that were scary and other nightmares. I knew the authors, but didnt

read those books because they scared me. He told me about an old girlfriend, who

was very over-weight and whom he still spoke with on the phone. He said they

broke up because she left him for a Black man. He then told me that as a child he

was bullied by some Black men. Have you ever been bullied, he asked, but I said no,

not remembering anyone bullying me but some fights I had with my sister and

brother. But, I thought, the men are strange to me when I drink. I told him I was

sorry he was bullied, and he said he was traumatized by the event and that was

why he did not like Black people anymore. He was White, and also a pizza delivery

guy at the local pizza shop. I asked him if he was a student, but he said no, he

dropped out of high school. He knew I was student at the local college and asked

me what I was studying. I told him I was studying Creative Writing and English, and

that I secretly wrote poetry. He was the first person I told and he said he enjoyed

Edgar Allen Poe, the horror writer. He asked me if I did drugs, and I told him yes, but

it was lie. I was unsure why I lied. He said he did many drugs and he enjoyed

cocaine. Finally, I told him I had to leave. He walked me home and said he would be

back the next day.

I dont know why I lied to Ada about the drugs, but there was something in

the air I didnt trust. I knew I really didnt want to be with him, and almost felt

pressured into being with him. I was so passive and Ada was being really persistent.

In my fiction writing class they told us that we had to write a short story. I thought

about the story and decided to write about Reynold and him dying. I stayed up for
two nights to finish the story and went to class in daze because I didnt get sleep.

After a week, my teacher asked to speak to me. I was scared he may say something

about my story. He told me he was very proud of the story and he gave me an A. I

couldnt believe it. A few weeks later we had to write another story, but I couldnt

think of one. I started to come up with feminist story, in which a woman leaves her

husband to pursue her dreams. She winds up with another man and pursues a

career in painting. The new boyfriend and the woman spend countless hours

painting these masterpieces, but in an act of revenge and punishment by the ex, all

the paintings are destroyed in a fire and all of their lifes work is lost. I didnt know

the fire was in the Bible, and was unsure why I wrote the story.

Women are punished for things that men would never be punished for, I

said. That is the point of the story. Men can have sex. Men can pursue their

dreams. Men can have money and power. Men can conquer the world. But women

are not allowed and must sacrifice. If they ever try, they are not a woman, but a

witch. They are less of a woman.

Why are you saying this? Ada said.

I want to give the story emotion and feeling. I want to leave readers

questioning their beliefs.

Well if a woman is a whore, Ada screamed out.

All men are whores, I said. Why is a woman not allowed to be?

Its not right for a woman, Ada said.

I know, I said. It takes from her worth. She is less of a woman if she is a

whore.
 No man will marry her, Ada said. Thats why.

Why does a woman need a man? I asked. It is fine if a woman does it

alone.

I think she deserves it, Ada said. What about the other man she left? Is she

not faithful?

She wants to be something; she has a dream. When a man wants to be

something, its OK, but when a woman wants to be something she is condemned.

She left to pursue a dream. The world punished her for not being a man and doing

it.

Her old husband punished her, Ada said. He got angry and vowed

revenge.

He held her down, she said. Shes an artist, not a wife. Isnt that OK? If a

woman fits out of a norm?

Its not OK of a woman, Ada said. Nobody will respect her. A woman

should be a certain way.

And if shes not, I said. Shes a witch.

Yes, Ada said. And she should be punished.

But a man would never be punished for the same thing, I said.

Men are different, Ada said.

Theyre not different, I said. A woman has flesh and blood, and dreams.

Whats your dream? Ada asked.

 Whats yours? I asked. I dream of being a poet.

What kind of dream is that? Ada asked. I think she deserved it.

It would never happen to a man, I said. Its a philosophical question, not a

punishment. Like the Scarlet letter.

Whats the Scarlet letter? Ada asked.

In a church town, a woman cheats on her husband with the priest. They find

out because she has a child named Pearl. The church town punishes the woman by

making her wear a Scarlet letter on her chest for all of the town to see.

And the priest goes free? Ada asked.

Yes, I said. The world is unfair to girls.

Yes, Ada said. It is.

A week later my teacher told the class to take home papers and critique each

students work. We had to read the short stories and then write our comments

about what we thought of the story. I read one story, then another one, then

another one. Finally I read a story in which a painter leaves his wife and then

commits suicide. I became stunned by the story. I jumped and screamed.

What? Ada yelled. What happened?

Someone is looking at me, I said. I can feel it. They read my story.

Nobody is looking at you, Ada yelled.

They are, I said. Theyre looking at me. I can feel them looking at me. They

read my story and now they want to kill me.

 Nobody wants to kill you, Ada yelled.

They do, I yelled. I can feel them looking at me.

At night, I got up and grabbed a knife. I felt threatened. I thought if I got

attacked I would use the knife. I paced through the room, and then looked at

everything I had written. In great fear I started throwing everything out. I felt fearful

and paranoid. I could sense someone looking at me and I knew they were. I stayed

up all night and then I told Ada Im going to the police.

Why? Ada yelled. Why are you going to the police?

I know theyre watching me, I said.

I ran to the police station and Ada ran beside me. The police officer asked me

if I was on medication. I said no, for what. He said for psychosis. I told him I was not

psychotic. He told Ada I should go to a hospital. Ada called my mother who came to

my college and checked me into a mental hospital. They tried giving me medication

at the hospital. My thoughts were racing and I couldnt calm them. What was

happening to me? I was losing my mind. Who could have been looking at me? I

spent a week in the hospital with schizophrenics and drug addicts. I even drew a

picture of Adam and Eve in the hospital, surprised at how well I drew it. I came

home and it was time to resume classes. In class I was paranoid and nervous, my

thoughts began to race and I was getting confused. Finally, my mother came and

took me home to my parents house. My mother said that I could finish school from

home. My teacher told me the remaining story I can write from home. I only had one

more semester, and I would finish college, I couldnt believe this was happening to

me now.
 I sat in my bed and cried. I didnt know what was happening to me, but I was

very scared. I began to grow very nervous. I was falling and I couldnt hold myself.

My mind was racing constantly and I was getting so confused. The thoughts were

tortuous and painful, and I couldnt stop crying. Something had to calm me. I played

the radio and listened to some music. For days, I cried and cried, feeling myself fall

apart. One day, Ada called, and the radio was on. He was talking about Plattsburgh

and planning to come visit me.

Ada, I said.

What, he asked.

God is talking to me on the radio, I said.

Are you sure? he asked.

I think its God, I said.

What do you know about God? he asked.

Nothing, I said.

There is no God, he said.

The radio is talking to me, I said.

Are you sure? He asked.

I dont know, I said.

What did they say? he asked.

Theyre reading my story, I said.

 I dont think there is a God, Ada said. Any crazy person can get up and say

theyre God. How can we be sure?

I dont know, I said. Im scared. I dont know whats happening. Im losing

my mind. Its tortuous.

What station? Ada asked. Is it country?

No, I said. Its the Black station. Hip hop music.

Are you sure? Ada asked.

Yes, I said. Im sure. Theyre looking at me.

Who? Ada asked.

I dont know who they are, I said. There is a man on the radio singing

about Babylon. I live in Babylon.

Its not you, Ada said.

Im not sure anymore, I said. Ada we have to break up. I dont feel well. I

cant see you anymore.

Ill kill myself if we break up, Ada said.

We barely know each other, I said. I cant see you anymore. I dont want

you to come here. I never liked him, and I really didnt want to be with him in

college. I felt pressured into being with him, and suddenly I was feeling betrayed.

Finally, I broke up with him. I continued to play the radio when I heard it. Happy

birthday, shortie. Im a pimp. I have sex with whores, I dont make love to anyone.

So if you want that, come to me and kiss me. Happy birthday.

 I remembered saying that in college. I used to tell everyone that it was their

birthday, as if every day was a reason to celebrate life. I said it in a playful fashion,

and now this man heard it and was saying it on the radio. But, he wasnt using my

name. He was sending me messages. Why? And how could he have heard me? I

wondered if there were cameras in my room. I looked around my room for cameras,

but how there be cameras in a bar in Plattsburgh where I said it. Could this man

have heard me? Was he watching me? But, how could he be watching me? How is

that possible? I was sure he heard me, and was sending me a message on the radio,

but I didnt know how I was sure. How could I be sure? I didnt know. Who was he?

And how could he do that?

That was a song by C.J. Money, the radio announcer said. He is a new

artist thats really hot in the streets right now. Go get his new C.D. called Rising to

the top of power. Im going to get rich.

C.J. Money, I thought. Who is he? I was curious, and it was a mystery. I didnt

know who he was, or what led me to the radio. I wondered if the man was an angel,

my angel. I could feel him watching me. I wondered if they were all Angels. I wasnt

sure; I wasnt sure how he could see me or hear me, but I could feel his heavy gaze

upon me and it was dark, he was dark. He sang gangster music about black crime,

drugs on the streets of the city, and guns. His voice was heavy and dark, and it

gave me chills and fright to hear it. I began to grow scared and continued listening

to the station. Many of the singers were talking about pimping out women and

shooting people in criminal acts; I wondered what a pimp was. I barely knew what a

prostitute was. I was frightened that this man was watching me, if he was my Angel,

it would be a challenge, but were Angels real. I began to believe they were. I wasnt

sure how I was sure, but I was sure he knew me.

 My father worked for a big bookstore and he got me a job at the bookstore.

My job was to display the New Release titles and help customers find books. The job

was very difficult for me because my mind was playing tricks on me. When

customers spoke to me I always felt as if there was some hidden meaning in their

language, and they were trying to tell me more than what we were saying.

Suddenly, I felt as if people were sending me messages and codes through the

books. If a man put, The Irish Slave Girl, out of place, I thought he was trying to

tell me something. I got the feeling that someone was trying to tell me something. I

walked around looking at out of place books, and felt as if they were talking to me.

Suddenly I came across a popular title. It was a man who said a famous artist from

Renaissance Italy put secrets in paintings, one of those secrets included that Jesus

Christ had a wife, who was Mary Magdelene, or that Mary Magdelene was a disciple

for Christ. It was a role women could not perform in those days so the Catholic

Church tried to hide it. In an effort to conceal, yet keep the secret, famous painters

who were in secret societies painted it in their pictures. The picture was almost

unnoticeable, but after close examination, it almost appeared like a woman and not

a man. This book was very popular and it was on the best sellers list for years. I

read the back and decided to read it, so I bought it. I then went to the magazine isle

and books the magazine, The New York. It was a famous magazine I loved

because it had great news articles, as well as fiction stories and poetry. I could read

new poets in the magazine. I began to read an article, and then another one. I

wondered if I was going crazy and thought the magazine was sending me messages

as well. If they said Blue, I thought they were talking about the blue shirt I wore last

week, and if they talked about a terrible poet, I thought they read my poems. I

dropped the magazine, thinking that everyone was speaking to me indirectly. I

secretly felt famous, but it was a secret to which nobody directly mentioned me. I

wondered why, how, and who they were. Were they really human? They couldnt be.

But, who were they?

I went home and decided to get some rest. I walked past the kitchen with the

television on. I began to watch television and thought the television was telling my

story. Was I going crazy, these people were sending me messages, looking in on my

private life, and speaking to me in code? I screamed, but I was too scared to tell my

mother what was happening to me. She took me to the mental hospital. At the

hospital they asked me about my symptoms. The government, I said. Is watching

me and putting it on T.V.

What else, the doctor said.

I was afraid to talk about C.J. Money. Theres a man, I said. He heard me at

my college and hes singing it on the radio now.

The doctor went to my mother. Your daughter is schizophrenic, he said.

This was the fall of Babylon, and I was really falling apart. Shes not

schizophrenic, my mother said. Shes perfectly normal. She just doesnt feel well

right now.

She needs medication, the doctor said. I was losing consciousness my

thoughts were racing so rapidly. I couldnt think properly. The medication slowed my

thoughts, so I took it. I was suddenly frightened; I was losing control and I didnt

know what was happening to me. At home, I stood in the kitchen. I told myself to

remain calm and not act irrationally. The television was on in the kitchen. I heard a

voice and was interested in it. I followed the voice and began to watch the program.
It was a music star on music television. He was being interviewed and I listened. He

said he had been shot and survived; he almost died. He talked about violence in

Black neighborhoods and said he was from Queens Village Queens. I remember

passing Queens Village on the train, so I knew his neighborhood and I also knew it

was very dangerous there. He was unclear about who wanted him dead, but he said

the man who shot him was shot many weeks after and died. He called it Karma. He

then began to talk about his ex-girlfriend who he had a son with. Apparently they

were in a public feud.

She cries crocodile tears, he said. Shes always sending me to court to get

my money. I pay enough child support. These women are always after your money.

When I went out and hustled, she didnt work. I told her to go and get a job. Her job

is to take from me. I had it with that woman.

Apparently, the couple was in a big fight, and the fight was public.

That was C.J. money, the new artist out now, the announcer said.

That is C.J. Money, I thought. He was a Black man; he had a handsome face

and a toned body. He was unusual, different than I was used to. His face seemed

familiar to me, as if I had seen it before, but I hadnt. I thought him handsome with

an iconic face that seemed to represent our generation. I swore, in some past life, I

had seen his face before, but his dark and evil personality was new to me. The

announcer spoke about his new mixtape, called No Mercy, and praised it for its

street hardness and truth. He talked about C.J.s fear of being shot again, and how

he wore a bullet proof vest to concerts. I couldnt believe this man was shot, I had

never seen a gun in my life, and soon learned that many black children were being

shot every day and that there was a war going on in the inner city Black
neighborhoods. There was also a war in music, and this Black man was a warrior

who got into fights with many of the other artist in the music business. They used

music to accelerate their war, and C.J. praised how he ruined a mans career and life

because he stabbed him once. This was real violence, practically war, and I wasnt

used to it. It sent chills up my body to see him and hear him. He was masculine and

aggressive, but he said that was necessary in the neighborhood he lived. I got

scared and started to shake, my heart beat rapidly. I was scared of this man

watching me, but I wasnt sure why. C.J. talked about being a drug dealer in Queens

before he decided to get into music. He said he spent some time in prison before

meeting a white hip hop star who believed in him and gave him the opportunity to

advance his career in music. Hip hop music was Black music, and it was filled with

the aggression, competition, and violence that is typical of men. I remembered

Reynold, who was sweeter and more passive than this man, and secretly wondered

what was happening. How could this man see me? How could he speak to me? I

wondered if he was even a man, and if I was the only woman on earth who knew he

wasnt. Still, he was very handsome and he had an intriguing personality. I was

intrigued, and I wanted to follow the story. A mystery was happening around me and

I could feel music pull me and speak to me. I knew this man could see me, I could

feel his eyes upon my body. I was intrigued, but something unexpected filled me

with fright. This man was monstrous and powerful; he looked like a beast and spoke

like a beast. I didnt know who he was, and I was unsure what led me to him, but I

was curious.

I went into my job at the bookstore the next day. My mind was beginning to

play tricks on me. When a customer spoke to me, I wondered if they were really

people or Angels sending me messages. I wasnt even sure if I believed in Angels,

but these people seemed to know me and come with words of comfort. The books

seemed to be telling a story of my life, as if I was a secret that these secret people

knew about. I passed the magazines and saw a picture of C.J. Money. He looked like

a warrior on the cover; he had an angry face and the caption read, Your worst

nightmare. At lunch, I took the magazine and read it. Again it said he had been

shot and survived many bullets. He was shot outside his aunts house where he

lived because his mother couldnt take care of him. Like him, his mother was a drug

dealer, and C.J.s main focus was to make a lot of money as was his mothers. A

man taught him how to write music lyrics, and that is when he began his career in

music. After he was shot, he recovered in a small house in Pennsylvania with his ex-

girlfriend who he now argued with publicly. It was in Pennsylvania that he wrote his

latest C.D., No Mercy. Hes evil, I thought, and I wondered why. He wrote gangster

music about Black crime and often talked about shooting people. He was the Beast

of Babylon, and I was the whore. His wounds were healed, just as it was prophesied

in the Bible. I read more of the magazine. It said he had a son and that he was

focused on bringing his son out of poverty. His main focus was to make a lot of

money and he bought his first mansion just out of New York. He had already made a

lot of money, and now he was rising to power, gaining tremendous popularity

among many people.

I was deep in thought when I went home, unsure as to what was happening. I

sat on my bed and turned the radio on. For some reason, when the announcer said,

He is here, I felt as if he was speaking to me. The radio was speaking to me now

and I was listening; I got up and went to the middle of my room. As I stood there, I

could feel C.J.s eyes upon me. He is here, I heard in my mind again, then music. I

began to dance. I danced fluidly across my bedroom, swaying from one side of the
room to the other. I felt free, and I swayed my arms and my hips, like a snake, as

the music said. The dance was hypnotic and I felt ecstatic; the music was controlling

me, talking to me, and I was answering back with my body. I felt so free as I moved,

and I danced like that for hours, as song after song told the story of my life. Finally

after midnight, I turned the music off and went to be.

I woke feeling as if something had happened. I felt different, skeptical, but

more alive. Who was C.J. Money? It lingered in my mind. After that day, I began to

talk to him, so I went to the computer and wrote him a letter. It seemed C.J. wanted

a kiss, so I talked about a kiss.

Dear C.J., I wrote. I will kiss you if you kiss your best friend that melts in

your mouth like chocolate.

After I wrote the letter, I erased it. Days past and I kept the radio on for some

sign. Soon after, a song by C.J. Money came on. It was a new song called Candy.

Suddenly I heard it, he said it: Ill melt into your mouth like chocolate. The song

was sexual and he talked about kissing his penis like a lollipop and he compared

women to sweet candy he could indulge in. He was talking about sex, the kiss, and

he read my letter. He wanted to kiss me. The song filled me with lust and heat; I

almost felt embarrassed it was so sexual. Soon the song was playing everywhere,

and I knew its secret meaning. He was reading my letter, and speaking to me, but

how? How could he have read my letter? I erased it after I wrote it, so I didnt have

it anymore, but I remembered writing it just days before. I started to feel exposed; I

was being observed by who I thought was an Angel. The radio said that C.J. was in

Brazil on tour; he was so far from me and yet he could see me. I felt frightened; this

was immense and much bigger than me. I found the lyrics on the computer and
printed them out; then I took it to my therapist. I told her what had happened but

she said I was probably wrong; something like that was impossible. Was I involved in

a conspiracy? I was unsure. How and why would I be?

We grew up Catholic; my father taught me religion when I was in high school

and he was a firm believer in Jesus Christ. I was never sure what I believed and was

always skeptical. I rarely thought about God or religion, especially not in college, but

something told me to go to the local church. I began going to the church and

visiting the Virgin Mary. After many days, I often went to the church at night when

nobody was around. I stood before the statue of the Virgin Mary and I asked her for

help. I told her I was confused about what was happening to me, I almost felt

demon possessed my thoughts were often racing so rapidly. I was confused, scared,

in darkness, and I cried often by the radio. It gave me comfort to visit the statue and

I felt a peace when I was there. I began to read books about how the Virgin Mary

still appeared to people and performed miracles. I didnt go to church, I simply

visited the statue. Often I would bring flowers and just ask for help, but I was still

unsure if I believed in her. I was unsure if I believed in Christ. I thought about

miracles, and wondered if what was happening on the radio to me was a sort of

miracles occurring. I became devoted to the statue I went to visit so many times

and once I asked God to help me stop drinking alcohol. I felt I needed to advocate

for women, and I felt a certain bond with the female goddess. Something told me to

go to her, and I did often.

After days of suffering my father brought me to a priest. We sat and spoke to

him. My father asked the priest if my suffering was religious, but the priest said that

he doubted my mental illness was religious. It was rare that people became demon

possessed and he really doubted that what I was suffering with had to do with God.
 Why would a loving God make you suffer? the priest asked. God is love, he

is not evil.

Im not sure, I said. Maybe I am being punished.

God doesnt punish that way, the priest said.

The Bible talks about God punishing people. He punished Eve, and Noah and

the flood.

God is good, the priest said. God is love.

Are you sure God is love? I said.

Its not God causing your mental illness, the priest said. And I dont think

this is religious.

We left the priests office, and I was sure God was not afflicting me. But, I

knew I was afflicted. My back began to break out in these huge soars. I had blisters

all over my back that symbolized the mark of the Beast. The blisters were terrible,

and I was embarrassed. I was becoming ugly, and ashamed at how I looked. My

whole back was covered in soars from the affliction. At work at the bookstore, I

couldnt concentrate because my mind began to race. I felt people looking at me all

the time and tormenting me, judging me at all moments. I felt it difficult to move or

breathe without being judged. One day, a demonic voice came to my mind and

began to torture me about my hair. I remembered the book I read and felt like C.J.,

because he was Black, was tormenting me about my White hair. I began to feel

uncomfortable, and took to wearing my hair up in a bun so as to avoid the torment.

It was brutal; over and over again he tormented me about his Black hair in my mind.

I wondered if my affliction had something to do with race, or even something

forbidden. I felt uncomfortable going to work and being around Black people, even

though I had a Black friend at my job that I went to the movies with. I knew about

racism from school, but I never really witnessed it. My parents were good people

who taught us to accept people and do not be hateful regardless of race, so I

wasnt. I had many Black friends and we all existed in harmony. Secretly, I was

uncomfortable about my hair; C.J. had found a way to get into my mind and he was

torturing me about his Black skin all while destroying my White skin. I looked at the

blisters on my body; it was terrible. Terrible things were happening to me and he

was destroying me. I found it difficult to work at the bookstore I was so tormented.

I began to take baths to calm down and I also started painting because it

calmed me. One day I picked up a paint brush and just began drawing. I didnt know

what I was going to draw and just let the spirit guide me. Suddenly I had three

pictures, one was of C.J. in the city, the other was of a man and woman making

love, and the other was a pregnant woman. They were rather good and I was

surprised that I could do it; I was never really able to paint before. Suddenly, I could

paint and I was painting pictures of C.J. money. I put the pictures on my wall and

looked at them, surprised at what I could do. I felt possessed by a spirit that was

guiding the pictures and thought I was not alone. I was with a silent spirit who was

telling my life story with pictures. My brother, when we were kids, was always the

one who could draw. I was never good at drawing even though I always loved

paintings. Now I could paint, and I was painting these surreal pictures that seemed

to have secrets in them. The paintings almost seemed magical, and I was surprising

myself at what I found. There was a mystery to them, and as I painted them, I was

solving a little piece of the mystery.

 I began to listen to the radio all the time, listening for some kind of sign from

C.J. As the radio was on one day, I heard a preacher talking. The preacher was

talking about the times we are in darkness. He said the darkness is like making a

photograph in a dark room; in the darkness we prepare for our glory, or the final

picture of our dream. We must be in the darkness to prepare our picture. I was

touched by what he said, and I wrote a song after. I called it Angel Love and it was a

song, not a poem.

Preacher says making dreams like photographs

In a dark room
I put my hands through the darkness but nothing breaks
The world outside looks cold and empty
An angel waits on the other side of the moon
Sends me Angel Love

Angel love, angel love

I never thought what began in me
Would end in a picture of you

If I could only breathe into these dreams

And give them a life of their own
Because you feel like the realest thing that I have ever known

Angel love, angel love

Can you taste the magic in the air?
Our dreams will take us to forbidden places
Our love will take us there

Heavens breath makes words fly tonight

If I could only trust in the words I write
If I could only make you believe
You told me you would die for me
I want you to stay alive for me
We are not tragic

If I could only breathe into these dreams

And give them a life of their own
Because you feel like the realest thing that I have ever known

Angel love, angel love

Can you taste the magic in the air?
Our dreams will take us to forbidden places
Our love will take us there

What binds us is divine

Put your hands through the deep
There is a window in the stars that lead to me

It was a song to C.J. because not only did I believe he was an Angel and I was

surrounded by Angels, but I really believed he was MY angel, assigned to me to

watch over me. After two weeks, I heard the answer on the radio. A man was

singing a love song called Sexy Love, and he was talking about how beautiful this

girl was he loved and how much he adored her. Sexy love, sexy love, the singer

sang. The singer was not C.J., but I knew it was in answer to my song. He had heard

it and responded. I wondered what was happening and listened to the song over

and over again in awe. A few days later, C.J. came with a song about windows. The

song was about poor man who was looking into windows, wishing he could buy the

items in the store but he couldnt. I knew he read my song lyrics about the window

even though it was within different context. They were answering my lyrics on the

radio; I was somehow in conversation with them. I was sure they were Angels or
some other magical creatures that were divine. I stood up and began to dance and

scream in excitement; could this be really happening to me? I was acting silly but I

was so happy. I put the radio on and danced throughout the room. I danced

passionately for hours as the music played and played. I was enraptured by music

and it was uplifting me to this glorious and beautiful world filled with magical and

unexpected things.

I began to listen to the music on the radio all day, music was enrapturing me

and filling me with these unexpected wonders and surprises and I was possessed by

it. For a moment, I felt the feeling you would feel when you fall in love, and it was a

spirit filling me with such beauty and grace. I was in love with it, awed and amazed.

There was music everywhere, and I suddenly found myself captured by it; while I

was in a store, or coming from a car next me, the song was speaking directly to me

and I knew, I could feel it know me. After work I sat by the radio and listened for

more messages; I didnt know how this could be real, but I was sure it was. I knew

something that the world did not know; that God and Angels were real and they

possessed this beauty and power to absorb you and make you fall in love. Their

power was immense, and it spread across the universe in the celebration and glory

of a song, a song that was somehow mine now too. I tried to sing out and caught my

breath; I was not a good singer but I sang anyway in unison with joy I felt from the

revelation.

Strange and miraculous things began to happen to me. One day I was sitting

at the kitchen table of my mothers house. I told my father I wished I knew Spanish

to read the famous poet Pablo Nerudas work. I went to bed that night and then

woke with a spirit pulling me. It led me to a piece paper where I wrote.
 El dinero es rey l es la fuente del mundo
Bienvenida la baha en tus brazos

Me gusta su cancin de ventana

At first, I was unsure as to what I wrote, when finally I realized it was Spanish.

I quickly went to a dictionary and translated it.

money is king he is the fountain of the world

welcome the baby in your arms

I like his window song

I couldnt believe it. The Spanish was talking about C.J. Money from the radio.

It said he was King and talked about a baby. I wondered if it was the Virgin Mary

speaking to me. In one day, suddenly I was speaking Spanish. I ran to the church

and said a big thank you to the statue of the virgin mother. I was sure it was her

message and she had spoken the Spanish. Who was C.J. Money; it seemed he was

more important than I knew about. This message said he was King and he liked his

new song about the window. It was simply another clue into the mystery. I took the

paper where I wrote the Spanish, and put it in my room. The Spanish was a mystery

because whoever spoke to me knew C.J. Money and said he was king. I knew he was

wealthy and powerful, but I wasnt sure what it meant that he was King. And how

was C.J. able to communicate with me secretly? I still wasnt sure.

The anxiousness was beginning to make me crazy. I needed to know who C.J.

Money was once and for all. I began to drink alcohol in my room and then ran out of

my house without telling my parents where I was. I ran to the train station and got a

ticket to Manhattan. I was very drunk, and on the train I began to talk to a man

about C.J. Money.

 I got a message, I said.

A message? the man questioned. About the singer?

Yes, I said. In my house. His mother spoke in Spanish. She told me to

welcome the baby in the world and that he was King.

King? the man questioned. King of what?

Something mysterious, I said. Something not of this world.

What does that mean? the man questioned. What world is he from?

I dont know, I said. But I plan to find out.

And you are going to find him now, the man said.

Yes, I said.

And how do you think youll find him? Hell just come running for you?

I dont know, I said. I know he watches me.

What kind of things are you talking about? How could he?

Im not sure, I said. But I know it and I can feel it.

And you love him? the man said. You dont even know him.

No I know him, I said. Ive seen him before in another life. I was lost and

he has come to find me.

And now you are going to run through the city and find him? the man said

Yes, I said. Well, I dont know what Im going to find.

 You dont know him from a past life, the man said.

Do you believe there is more out there, I said. That this isnt all of it and if

you search, you can find it?

Like the meaning of life, he said. This is it and its meaningless. Life is

simply an experience, good or bad.

But its an experience that creates something, I said. Which always means

there is more to find.

And you are going to run through the city looking for it? he said.

Dont you believe in love? I said.

That is ludicrous, he said. Of course I do. What do you think we are all just

looking for love?

No, I said. Not all of us.

Do you believe this man loves you, he said.

There is someone there, I said. Someone I have loved for all time. And he

has come to find me again.

Good luck finding him in the middle of Manhattan.

Im going to find him one day, I said. I know I will.

The train stopped and we departed. I said goodbye to the man and he

shrugged, thinking me to be crazy. I was a little crazy and I knew people looked at

me oddly as if they thought I was weird. I didnt mind going crazy, it was creative

and the creativity was a freeing experience even in seclusion and prison. I felt the
spirit pull me to him and I started running through the crowd to follow it. I felt this

overwhelming love possess me and I was enraptured by it. I ran to it in a frenzy and

knocked over some people as I pushed by. I fell to the ground, so drunk I couldnt

stand. A young Indian girl stopped and lifted me.

What are you doing? she said. You cant run that fast.

I am looking for someone, I said. An angel.

This is dangerous, she said. There are no angels in New York.

He is a real Angel, I said. And I have to find him.

Are you crazy? she asked.

Yes, I said. A little bit.

Oh, she said. That makes sense.

I got up and started running again, this time more erratically through the

crowd. People gave me dirty looks and yelled at me.

Wait, the girl screamed. Im going to help you. She began to run beside

me. I ran into running traffic and fell on top of a taxi. The cars beeped at me and I

ran to the other side. The girl was panting beside me.

You have to calm down, she said. You are going to get hurt.

Stop, she said. What are you looking for?

I dont know, I said.

I have to go, she said. Please dont get hurt.

 I went into a bar and ordered a beer. I sat silently for a short time dreaming

about C.J. Money. The man next to me, who was an older man of about 50 years of

age, began to talk to me. He asked me what I was doing in the city.

I am looking for someone, I said.

A love interest? he questioned.

Yes, I said.

I then began to tell him about what happened at my parents house.

Strange things are happening to me, I said. It was the news about a car

crash, but when I checked the dates the news came out before the crash. I got very

confused. They knew about the crash before it happened.

You cant trust the news, he said. They have their own agenda.

Something else happened. I said. In college I left with a mental illness. I

began to sense this spirit that before I met him, I knew I was in love with him. I

didnt know who this spirit was; I simply could sense and feel him. I felt so utterly in

love with this man, but I didnt know who he was. In craziness I began to talk to a

man online, thinking that it was this man. I never met the man online.

Was it him? the man said. This is complicated.

I dont know who he is, I said. I just knew already that I loved him.

Well what happened? the man said. Did you find out it was him?

Well I never met him and we barely wrote any letters, I said. I was working

and he sent me a message.

 What did it say? the man said.

It said that he was madly in love with me, I said.

So he loves you, too, the man said.

Yes, I said. And even though we never met, I have never been more sure in

my life.

Very interesting story, the man said. But when love is real.

This is something not of this world, I said. But I have never felt anything

more real in my life.

Suddenly I heard the song on the radio. I am unwritten. Im undefined.

Staring at the blank page before you. Your life has not been written yet. I felt she

was singing to me. The idea seemed magical. She knew I was a writer and that I

wanted to be a poet. There were signs that I existed everywhere. I knew someone

was watching me and I knew he, whoever he was, loved me. I began to get

distracted by the song and get lost in it. I got so embodied by its power I was

transferred to this heavenly world through it.

You like the music? the man questioned.

Oh, I love it, I said. Its so beautiful.

The music will guide you, the man said. To whatever you are looking for.

In such a terrible world, I said. It is like this pure love that just captures

you.
 The world can be terrible, the man said. But it is also miraculous and

amazing.

Yes, I said. It can be amazing. It was nice talking to you.

I walked out of the bar drunker than before and stumbled down the street.

People grumbled under their breath as I past them. I began to think about the man

who wrote me letters over the email. I was feeling anxious about talking to C.J.

Money and I went to an online site and contacted a man. He didnt say he was C.J.

but for some reason I began to get the feeling that things were not as they seemed.

The man and I wrote casual letters to each other for a week. While I was working in

my cousins T-shirt shop, I received a letter in large bold print. Written in the title in

bold was, I am madly in love with you. The words made me feel soft and warm,

but I was taken back by them. Did he know me? It was then that I became earnest

and urgent to talk to C.J. Money. Why did he contact me in that way and how could

he? How could he be talking to me through radio when I was in New York and he

was in Brazil? I began to believe that things were not as they seemed. He must be

some other creature that the world does not know about, I thought, but I was not

sure who or what he was. I swore his face seemed so familiar to me and I knew him

from somewhere, I just didnt know where. He was not love, he was evil, and I dont

know why I got the feeling he was love. Maybe I was just confused. On the radio he

said he was a Pimp and that I was trying to get his money. The black culture was

different than I was used to being a white girl from the suburbs. Still, I felt an

overwhelming desire to see him and there on the street I started running to him. My

body was filled with the spirit of lust and I just wanted to kiss him. I began to run

again and I almost cried; what was I looking for?

 From across the street a man ran right to me.

Hi, he said. Im Mark.

Hi, I said, feeling naturally comfortable with him.

He grabbed my hand, pulled me, and said, Come.

We entered a bar and sat down. We were both drinking wine heavily. Mark

was a Muslim man who was tan and robust with dark black hair and eyes. All these

men I was meeting were from different cultures and with different faiths and beliefs;

each originated from a different part of the world and were involved in their own

select dreams and aspirations. They were all so different, with completely different

styles and yet I searched for the similarity in them. I watched Mark as he talked to

me and thought he was holding a secret from me; there was this unspoken

understanding we both shared that we did not speak about and there was

something I knew, but didnt know in what he said. I couldnt figure it out, or him

out, although I searched for the secret on him. It was as if his quiet eyes were a

mystery that he held and he told me with his shy smile. I didnt dare invade it or

expose it, because for some reason, I knew it was sacred and although the mystery

was starting to be revealed I stayed quiet about it and just rested in knowing. I

sometimes wondered if they were Angels around me, but I wasnt sure. Mark bought

me a drink and we even laughed a little bit about how crazy people really are. He

asked me why I was in the city.

I was looking for someone, I said.

A man? he asked.

Yes, I said.
 Well, you found him, Mark said. I somehow knew I did.He is probably in

love with you, Mark said.

I am unsure, I said, not believing that anyone would love a girl like me, a

whore.

I can guarantee hes in love with you, Mark said. And you broke his heart.

I didnt mean to, I said. It is sort of a mystery.

Life is a mystery, Mark said. Some things cannot be explained.

The more I live, the more I believe that life is a mystery, I said.

I know the man loves you, Mark said.

Do you think he does? I questioned.

Oh, I know he does, Mark said. Trust your intuition. Suddenly as he said I

remembered a song that sang follow your heart, trust your intuition. I began to sing

it.

Do you like music? Mark said.

Oh, I love music, I said.

Me too, Mark said.

Suddenly, I jumped up and began to dance. I threw my arms up and swayed

my hips seductively in the middle of the floor. My hair flew around my face and my

body answered the song with a perfect order. There was a sort of love affair

between dancing and music in which the musician knew how to move you and free

your spirit; by move you I mean it was powerful and it made you take a stand and
liberated you. In the song I felt like I was a bird flying and there was no ground and I

was gliding and larger than my body. The song took me right there and my body

brought me to such beautiful places. The movements were hungry and sexual and

summoned an ancient mating ritual as if by magic I drew the man to me. There was

something still ancient in me, like a belly dancer in the Middle East dancing for the

King; my hips and thighs moved in the same hypnotic patterns that put people in a

sexual trance and summoned lust. I twirled, and shook my breasts and thighs; the

movements made Mark crazy and he grabbed my hands and pulled me. I he took

me out of the doors and out on to the street. With my hands in his we started

running through the crowd. We ran blocks, panting and knocking over people

unnoticed of our action because we were too involved in the moment and too drunk.

Finally, Mark stopped at a hotel. He ordered a room, picked me up, and ran to the

room. In the room Mark took off his clothes and entered me. When he was finished

he said, I know he loves you.

I woke up the next day alone. I walked to the train station hung-over and

ashamed of what happened. Why did I go to Manhattan by myself, was I going crazy

to think that C.J. Money loved me? How could C.J. even know me? I remember how

he spoke to me about African American hair, how he tortured me about it and spoke

to me about his pain. I remember feeling him, sensing him, and how it made me

sing and dance with joy. I heard the song over in my mind; you cant get any money

from me, Im a Pimp. And the C.D.s: Thief of Women, No Mercy, and Gods

Plan. I thought about it again. It said, Gods plan. I rarely thought about God and

didnt know him. I knew what he said at church because my parents taught me as a

child and we grew up Catholic, but I really didnt know God. There were people
around me who knew God and said that he was good, but I wasnt sure. I wasnt

sure why The Whore of Babylon was in the Bible.

When I got home my mother yelled at me. She said I have no respect to be

dressed the way I was dressed and running around the city. I was wearing a short

skirt and a tight tank top. My mother told me I should be ashamed of myself and

vowed to take me to the church. I did not want to go to the church and I ran in my

room and cried. I fell asleep and had a dream that was so vivid it felt like real life. In

the dream I was in grammar school with C.J. money and we were walking down a

hall way. I suddenly starting running and I fell. I started falling further and further

into a void and all I could see was C.J. holding out his hand. I woke sweating from

fear of falling. I was beginning to have vivid dreams every night. The dream was so

vivid I remembered it as if it really happened. I could sense myself falling deeper

and deeper into a void and I started to get frightened.

The next day I was looking at the television and there a movie called Music

and Lyrics. I thought about the lyrics I wrote. When I listened to the captions I felt

like they were talking about my life. I dont know how I felt this, but they were

saying things that had happened in my real life. I wondered if they knew me and I

also wondered how that could be possible. I thought about a conspiracy happening

to me. After the advertisement for the movie there was a news program. On the

news it said that a young boy who was mentally ill massacred people in a school. He

killed hundreds of people with a semi-automatic rifle. I thought of C.J.s C.D. in

which he discussed a massacre, and wondered if there was a connection. C.J. was

always talking about war and guns: one of his C.D.s was titled a Massacre. Now

there were massacres all over the television. It seemed a young boy went into a

school and massacred people almost daily. It felt like America was at war there were
so many massacres happening. I wondered if the Anti-Christ was in America it was

happening so often. In one instance a boy asked a young Christian girl if she

believed in God, when she said she did she was shot with a rifle and killed. In the

next program, it was about a serial killer killing young prostitutes in my town of

Babylon. I started to become sacred and felt like evil people were watching me. The

fear made me want to commit suicide. I remembered calling my friend and telling

him about C.J. Money.

Come to the city, I said. I am going to see C.J. Money. He is talking to me

and he loves me.

He doesnt love you, my friend said.

I asked him, I said.

What? my friend said. How.

I wrote a letter to C.J. asking him if he wants me to go to the city and then I

received a random anonymous email that said, I would love to see you. I told my

friend John this and I also told him that I didnt know how C.J. saw the letter and also

replied, but I trust in it. John yelled at me.

C.J. Money is the enemy, he screamed. I didnt know who the enemy was

until I went to church. The enemy was Satan. Realizing the danger I was in, it made

me want to kill myself even more. The more I thought about it, C.J. did say evil

things. I ignored his evil and every time I looked at C.J. I thought him more and more

handsome and beautiful. I still ran to the city in answer to my message and found

Mark there. C.J. Money was a mystery and I looked up his name on the computer.

There were pictures of him and some articles. In every picture I noticed, his face
looked different. It was a slight difference and he was still a Black man, but he

seemed different. The structure changed and the shape as if it was a whole other

man. I looked again and it was more obvious, he looked completely different. It

appeared like many different men. I thought back to the first music video he put

out. In one shot he looks so beautiful he looks like a God, and then in another shot

when he is sitting over money he looks completely different with a strange face that

is almost demonic. The video was about him in jail and his love for a woman, trying

to contact her. A bully bullies him in jail and finally he gets out with all this money.

Throughout the video he is trying to contact this woman, but there are interruptions

and people try to separate them. The song was about if the woman would love him

if he was poor and down and out and in prison, or does she love him because he has

a lot of money. He was trying to figure out if the love was real or if the woman was

using him for his fame and money. Even in these pictures on the internet, he

appeared different. I read the article. It said he never had a father and when he

asked his mother about it she said he was born of the Immaculate Conception. I

wondered if there was something Godly about it. It was strange that he was never

as he appeared.

I went to my room and got the urge to paint. I couldnt afford canvas so I took

some old sheet rock wall and began to paint on that. The lines flowed freely through

my fingers. I wasnt sure what I was going to paint and I just let my fingers move as

if in improvised dance. When I was done I painted a picture of ghosts. I painted

another one of a wedding with a crucifix on top. Then I painted one of a woman

pregnant praying under water. I felt like it was hard for her to breathe. For some

reason I felt like I was painting my life in the future and the paintings were symbolic.

The paintings were a sort of prophecy of the future. I got the feeling that there was
meaning to the paintings, and a spirit was trying to tell me something. For days I

looked at my painting of a ghost, wondering what it meant and what was in it. Even

though I knew I didnt know, I was sure they were more than they seemed.

A week past and for most of the time I sat by the radio and listened for new

messages. Some hours I danced or read, but most of the time I listened to each

song on the radio that reminded me of my life. Sometimes, the song was able to say

what I could never say; it was able to describe the feeling or what I was too young

to understand at the time. My mind was so confused that when I tried to write

poetry, it was Babel or it didnt make sense. Poem after poem was a sort of

rambling that had no meaning and it embodied the confusion in my mind. The

mental torment at times made me suffer terribly and I grew tired and confused. The

result was confusion and poems that made no sense and were just Babel. Some

days I would cry for hours the suffering was so bad and I grew scared that I couldnt

make sense of anything. C.J. Money saw me crying and wrote a song on the radio. I

want to be someone who makes you smile after you wipe away your tears, he

sang. The song was called Smile and it was touching. By now I was sure he was an

Angel and was watching over me. I stayed in communication with him and wrote

him letters and even began speaking to him in my room. I sat on my bed in the dark

one night while I was alone and began talking to him.

Im scared of the unknown, I said. That makes me scared of this. I dont

know whats going on. I dont know who you are or if your real, but Ive never felt

anything more real in my life. The music makes me feel such love. I dont know if

Im confused about that. I dont know if you are real, but I feel you. I feel you more

than life. It feels so real to me. But I am not sure. Listening to the music, Im filled

with this glorious love. It is so empowering. You must be an Angel, not just any
Angel, but my angel assigned to me. I really dont know who you are or how you can

communicate with me. I wonder how you see me. Its so strange, and here I am

acting like its normal. We never met, but I already know I love you. I loved you way

before we ever met. I dont know who you are, or what you are, or where youre

from, but I know youre beautiful. You are gloriously beautiful. Its all so miraculous

when you think about it. How did you touch me from so far away? How did you pull

me to you? How did you find me? I guess Ill never know.

I knew he could hear me and feel me when I spoke out loud in my room. I

knew that I would receive an answer. I was falling deeper and deeper in love with

the spirit that possessed me and to not be with him made me crazy. I wanted to

touch him, to feel him, to lay beside him, to talk to him, but I couldnt, I wasnt

allowed. I walked around the house completely lost and in a daze; I was lost in the

spirit of yearning and it tormented me and tempted me. I felt an endless hunger for

love as if I needed it to stay alive and more than anything I wanted to talk to him.

While walking around the house, he answered me back in my mind. In my mind I

heard him say, Will you marry me. I jumped, too excited to contain myself. Yes, I

screamed. I ran to the computer and wrote a letter. I agree to Marry C.J. Money, I

wrote, At our Lady of Grace church before the statue of the Virgin Mary on January

16, 2005. Signed Kristie.

I became anxious for the day of marriage. I wondered if C.J. would show up

and anticipated it. I knew that he knew, although I couldnt be sure. I had nothing to

wear so I went to the store and bought a silk white lace shirt. I decided to wear that

and jeans as my wedding dress because I couldnt afford anything else. Days past

and I thought about wedding, wondering if C.J. would come. On the radio I heard my

answer. The radio said that C.J.s best friend was getting married again to his ex-
girlfriend on January 16, 2005. Everyone was surprised because the couple had a

public feud and fought often. The singer even wrote hate-filled songs of anger

towards his ex and once talked about murdering her. He was marrying her on

January16th. I knew that was a sign from C.J. When the day arrived I was standing in

my kitchen watching the news. Suddenly there a broadcast about C.J.s friends

wedding. He was getting ready to get married. The news program showed him in his

tuxedo and then they showed a picture of C.J. Money standing beside him. He told

the news broadcaster C.J. was his best man. It was the day of the wedding and C.J.

was going to a wedding. I knew that was another sign. When night came I went to

the church, my brother drove me. It was snowing and there were caution tapes all

over the church ground so as not to cross. I crossed over the tapes and went to the

virgin. I marry spirit, I whispered. Today. I love you. I then turned and walked

away.

C.J. didnt come, but for some reason I knew spirit married me right there.

Although we never met, I could feel him and I knew I loved him. I cried in my bed

because he didnt come, but I knew he married me. I could feel the bond we shared.

I knew he was my soul mate. I didnt know who he was, but I was sure that I was in

love him. I could feel him possess my body and soul and call for me. As I lie in bed I

could feel him reach for me, and the love I felt was powerful, beautiful, and

immense. The love was so beautiful it made me feel airy and light as if I was

floating on a cloud. And yet, it was torturous not to hear his voice or feel him, and in

my frustration I just cried unstoppably. I knew he could see me, and I felt like

prisoner to glances and judgment. I was not perfect, I was not the most beautiful

girl, and God was punishing me for it. I could feel the judgment lock me in my body

and I thought if I could just touch C.J. Id be free. The love was tortuous; it
imprisoned me so I stood up and danced for emancipation. I drank alcohol violently

to liberate my soul, and it did in some way set me free. I painted pictures as a sort

of meditation to calm my body. The paintings were a love story, and they had great

meaning to my life, but they also calmed me and kept me focused. The day of the

wedding, I sat and wondered what C.J. was doing, how he lived his life. I knew at

times he was thinking of me because of the radio messages. It was all so

impossible; so big and powerful. It often overwhelmed me to be watched, and I sat

there that night feeling his glance like a monster in the corner of my room. I was

finding myself in some sort of fairy tale written by God. Some kind of Beauty and

the Beast story and I was the woman in it, the powerless, the weak. I could always

sense my vulnerability and I got up and started pacing. I paced around the room

frantically; this was not made up, this was real what was happening. I began to get

tortured by the desire for freedom and I paced and paced, deathly afraid of C.J. and

yet marrying him. Something was wrong, something couldnt keep me still.

It was midnight, and I turned on the radio. At night on the Black station, it

was different and it took me unaware. I listened to C.J.s D.J. talk and then play

music. The music sounded like a war zone and all the men talked about was

criminality and shooting people with guns. I didnt know about this in American and

as I listened to them like warriors in a war zone I became shattered by what I heard.

C.J. had said, no mercy and I began to wonder if he was demonically attacking me

and that is why I couldnt stop crying and my thoughts raced. I already knew he was

talking about me. I began to pace and pace. C.J.s D.J. was very funny and he told

many jokes that made me laugh. After a line of jokes he said that C.J. was coming

into the studio to be interviewed. I wondered if C.J. was an Angel, but I wasnt sure
who he was. I waited in my bed until C.J. came into the studio. I listened to the men

talk about guns for a while, and finally C.J. came into the studio.

Oh, so you have a lot of businesses ventures going on, the D.J. said. Music,

movies, companies. Whats next?

I have a new C.D., C.J. said. But Im going to date Baby Blue.

The reality T.V. star? the D.J. said. Are you sure shell like you.

I think shell like me, C.J. said.

Baby Blue was a reality T.V. star. Reality T.V. was a show in which people in

their real environment were videotaped and put on T.V. Many of the people in reality

T.V. became very famous and everyone knew them. Everyone knew Baby Blue; she

was a socialite and came from a very wealthy family who owned hotels. She

became famous just because of the wealth and power of her family. C.J. was now

talking about dating her as part of his business venture. In the few years that C.J.

was singing he became so famous he amassed a huge amount of wealth; his

fortune included hundreds of millions of dollars, world tours, the most modern and

updated cars, clothing and jewelry. It was C.J.s goal to live a lavish life of great

wealth and power and Baby Blue would just add to his value. I thought about it

clearly; what am I? I worked at a bookstore for $7 an hour because I had dreams of

being of poet, I wasnt the most beautiful girl and the illness I contracted caused

blisters all over my back that left me ugly and unappealing. C.J. was around the

most beautiful women in the world and many of them went to bed with him. C.J. was

a typical rock-star, wealthy, powerful, spoiled, and evil. He used women for lustful

pleasures and wealth and then threw them away. I thought of the women he liked
from pictures he used in magazines; they were all surrounded by money, half naked

with huge butts and breasts. C.J. was all about sex, not love and married. Why

would I like him? For a moment I wondered if it was C.J. I loved, even though I was

sure I had fallen in love with a spirit that called out for me. I wondered what it was

that took hold of me. It was a mystery and yet there was no evidence that this love

even existed. From the evidence of what he said, I was becoming sure that C.J.

didnt want to marry me, he wanted to destroy me and I began to get scared. I

listened as he spoke about Baby Blue, observing his energy and his intentions.

What do you like about Baby Blue? the D.J. said.

Oh, C.J. said. I like the white girls. I think we can go into business together

and make this money.

She is very wealthy, the D.J. said.

I hear she gives good blow jobs too, C.J. said. He was always thinking about

wealth, power, and sex.

I dont think shes that pretty, one of the announcers said. Her ass is flat.

I thought Baby Blue was pretty and she had the nicest clothes and jewelry,

but often heard she was mean. I dreamed that C.J. was talking about me in place of

Baby Blue. Maybe he was talking about the marriage. I wondered if C.J. was thinking

of me and knew he was from the messages, but I wasnt sure what he was thinking.

Suddenly my Dog came up from down stairs.

Sparkle, I said. What are you doing here? My dog was magical and would

sometimes enter my room if I was crying, but it was a hard trip for her up the stairs

when she was old. We named her Sparkle after a black woman on T.V. who had an
afro because when she was young she was Black with an Afro. My dog looked at me

and then went up to the radio and barked.

Sparkle, I said. What are doing?

She barked again at the radio, looking directly at the sound. I was sure she

heard C.J.s voice and entered my room. In the middle of the interview I heard C.J.

stop talking as if he heard the dog bark. He must have heard the dog bark because

he stopped. Sparkle then looked at me, turned around and went downstairs. I was

sure the dog knew who C.J. was and came and talked to him. I wondered if she was

protecting me. C.J. stopped the interview and they began to play music. The last he

said he was going to Brazil for a concert. He was in New York for only a short time.

How could he see me from Brazil, Paris, London, and why would it be me he was

observing? Who was he? He was more than a man. Sparkle knew him and I

wondered if others knew as well.

That night I slept I had a dream. I dreamed of C.J. I was flying in the air I had

wings and the flying was so real I believed I really could fly. I then began to get lost

and ran through people looking for something. Suddenly I was in a room with C.J.

and we made love. After that I turned to a beach and looked at the sky. Written on

the sky were my poems. My writing ran for miles across the sky. I woke elated, as if I

really could fly. The dream was so real and vivid I believed it and I had to remind

myself I was grounded. For many nights I was having vivid dreams and the dreams

were affecting my moods. I often dreamed about C.J. as if he was my guardian

angel; I even took to calling him angel in letters when I spoke to him and started to

believe in Angels and guardians. I read a book about reincarnation and karma and

started to believe in past lives. I felt that in a past life I was a slave and it was why I
had no confidence. My sister told me she was a fat man in a past life and that we

were always sisters. She said this life is a learning experience for the next life. When

I got scared of dying, she talked about another existence in which we are eternal.

When I went to a psychic, I asked about my writing. She told me my fate is not

writing, its music, but I was sure it was poetry. At the bookstore, they played music

in the background and I was sure it was carrying us through our hard lives, so I

guessed for everyone it was music that was their destiny. When we were young we

were surrounded by music, as we cleaned the house, at parties, as we worked; it

was as if music carried us through our lives and here it was telling my story,

carrying me through my difficult times. I always loved to dance and in a way, music

was my destiny because it was like an angel picking me up and holding me while I

cried. I was beginning to get skeptical and become sure that there was more to life

than what we know.

I met an older Muslim man at the bookstore, but my mind was always on the

man I loved. The man lived in a little room in Bayshore and never worked but he

was always on the computer. Computers and technology were getting more

advanced; in college I had a typewriter to write my papers, but now there were cell

phones and laptops. The man worked on his laptop and I wasnt sure what he did for

a living, but I knew we were both very poor. We went out drinking one night even

though my mother told me she didnt like the man, and I got very drunk. I turned

the dial on the radio and listened to C.J.s station. I heard the D.J. telling jokes and

laughing with his partners. I liked the D.J. he was very funny and I became urgent.

Give me the phone, I said. Im calling the radio.

What? Mitchell demanded. Why?

 I have an Angel, I said. And I have to speak to him.

That is ludicrous, Mitchell said. There are no angels in the world.

There are and I have one, I said. I frantically dialed the radio station. The

D.J.s name was Epic Sounds and he picked up the phone.

Hello, Epic Sounds said.

Hello, I said. My name is Kristie Donohue. Do you know me?

No, Epic Sounds said. Why?

Do you know C.J. Money? I said.

Of course, Epic Sounds said. Everyone knows C.J. Money in this town. He is

the fastest rising star on the block. Why?

I love him, I said.

You and a million other women, Epic Sounds said.

No, I said. It is different. He watches me. Hes my Angel. I was out of my

mind.

C.J. is no Angel Kristie, Epic Sounds said laughing.

There have been strange things happening to me, I said.

C.J. doesnt know you, Epic Sounds said. I think you are a little too drunk.

Epic Sounds hung up the phone. He thought I was crazy. Maybe I was crazy

and little too wild.

 Now why did you have to do that? Mitchell said. He didnt understand what

was happening to me. It was something I couldnt explain and I couldnt tell him; I

couldnt tell him because I didnt know what was happening myself and also

because I was afraid of the truth. I was revealing a mystery; unraveling an ancient

secret known only to a few select people. Also, I was unaware of who I was. The

men I came in contact with looked like men, but I was beginning to question if they

were men at all. The world was not as it seemed and there were powers now

revealing this. It was a matter of belief. When I tried to explain what was happening

to me most people didnt even know about it; they didnt know about other

creatures of existence, miracles, or the mysteries of life. Only a few people believed

that what I was experiencing was spiritual; psychologists and my family said I was

mentally ill. I couldnt even explain it to my family about the fall, the mental

torment, the spiritual warfare, and now C.J. talking to me on the radio. Why did I

want to see him if he was evil? I was beginning to believe he offered for me

freedom, liberation from the confines of womanhood and poverty. I believe it was

freedom I was seeking, from drinking so heavily I erupted, to dancing erratically in

my room, to painting and acting crazily, to wanting to travel all the time; I sought

liberation for women. And yet, my mind was so shaken and shattered, I felt like

prisoner to my own fear in some great irony. I had this great compassion for the

Muslim woman and her confines, and I was beginning to feel that I had this great

compassion for women like me. Revelations is a revenge story by God in which the

girl is unfaithful and gets punished. I was unfaithful to Belfry, and here I felt him

punishing me. I wrote it in my story, the painting being burned by the ex-boyfriend.

Revelations is also a judgment, in which Christ comes and judges the whole world.

The church is to say these men destroy me, and strange men destroying me. C.J.
often discussed the fire. What I felt about him was wrong, C.J. would not offer

freedom to me, but he wanted to make me his prisoner. The mental illness was a

demonic attack and the fear was telling me to stay away, and yet, the desire for

freedom tormented me so much that I wanted to run to him. How could I tell this

man all of this; that I felt like a prisoner to my own tormented mind and to the men

who sought to destroy me, and yet ironically, in all my doings, I desired liberation.

The thought caused confusion and even though I ran to him earnestly, just wanting

to be released of judgment, I was beginning to feel that he was dangerous. The fear

locked me in my own body and I was under constant surveillance. How could I

explain this to this man? How could I explain what was happening to me? He was a

man, and there was no way he or anyone else would understand. Mitchell was upset

with me that I was so drunk. I told him to take me home and he did.

The next day I felt guilty that I acted so irrationally. There was no way that I

could explain what I was experiencing. I decided to read a spiritual book by an

author who wrote often about God. The author was a Jewish woman, but she

believed in Jesus and his teachings. Many Jews rejected Christ as the messiah, but

this woman often talked about Christs teachings. I thought of the cross C.J. often

wore around his neck, so different than C.J. himself and wondered why he always

wore it. Here in this womans book I read a passage about a slut who Christ loves

and opens the door for. She directly referenced the whore of Babylon; she knew me.

She talked about Christ opening the door for the whore and easing her pain. Could

this be real when God hated Babylon; could Jesus love me? I wasnt sure. I also was

not sure why God hated Babylon, but it was clear that this woman talked about me

as if he loved me. I was beginning to feel very insecure with low self-esteem and the

feeling that I would not be loved in life. All I ever wanted was to fall in love, and
here was C.J. evil, greedy, sexist, and misogynistic. What I really found myself in

was misogyny by the church and a demon who sought to destroy me. It was so

traumatizing I needed a therapist.

You are the scapegoat, the therapist told me.

What does that mean? I said.

Well in ancient times they would put all their sins on a scapegoat and throw

the goat away. This atoned for their sins. They use that term to describe someone to

blame.

I recalled Hitler scape-goating the Jews and got scared.

Oh, I said. I understand. I am the sacrifice.

All I ever wanted to feel in this life, I said. Was to fall in love.

Men plan different things, she said.

I was beginning to get angry at men, even hate them. Instead of falling in

love, I decided I wouldnt have a boyfriend. And still everyday I watched what C.J.

was doing, observing his evil nature and watching as he battled person after person,

seeking to destroy their lives. He lived a glorious life filled with fame and fortune;

here I was poor and sick. The temptation for freedom tormented me. I didnt want

this sexist fate. I had my own dreams and aspirations and here a man with a gun

comes and destroys it all. All the torment, I needed to just get away. I started to

drink and walk through the city. I just needed to get away and walk to be freed from

my confines. I walked many city blocks drinking vodka. I was so tormented by my

mind, I couldnt see the people around me. After walking for hours I sat in a park. A
man came up to me and started talking to me. He said there was a party uptown

and asked me if I wanted to go. I agreed. We bought beer and went to the party. The

party was a group of men drinking beer. A Spanish man came up to me and began

talking to me.

What are you doing in such a dangerous part of town? he asked.

Im lost, I said.

We began talking and I mentioned something about God being mad at me.

He looked at me with endless eyes and said, I am God.

Youre God, I said. He looked like a normal man. I assumed he must be

joking. I mentioned that I had to go home, but I had no money for the train. He said

if I had sex with him he would give me $20. I went into the bedroom and lay down.

As he got on top of me, I stopped him and began to cry. I ran out of the room.

I have to go, I said.

Are you going to give her the $20? His friend asked.

The man got the money and gave it to me. I ran out with the man from the

park. I was crying heavily now.

Why do you cry? the man said annoyed.

I dont know, I said. Im always crying.

Dont cry, he said.

I have to go, I said.

 I went home and my mother yelled at me, Stay away from that Black man. I

told you to stop drinking. You are a terrible drinker. You look like a whore and Im

telling you stay away from that Black man.

I should have listened to my mother. I lay in my bed crying. I was falling apart.

Finally, I fell asleep. I woke with a spirit making love to me. He was kissing my body

and kissing my vagina. I tried to get up, but I was pinned down. The feeling was so

soothing and mesmerizing; the feeling was bringing me pleasure and ecstasy. I

opened my eyes, but nobody was there. I tried to lift my hands but I couldnt. I felt

him all over me, kissing me softly and sliding on my body like smoke. Suddenly, I

passed out. When I woke I wondered what happened. A ghost had come to me and

made love to me in the middle of the night. I was confused. What had just

happened? I couldnt see him, I could only sense him. I thought about the long

silence. The ghost had not said anything. I wondered who he was, but something

deep in my soul knew that I was in love with him. I woke feeling in love with

universe and questioning everything around me. I was confused, but I knew I was

right in a way. There was a man I loved who I was looking for. I wanted the ghost to

visit me again, and thought of the silence he held. Who was he? I didnt know, but I

sensed that he was beautiful, very beautiful. I walked the house lost, yearning for

him again. The desire tormented me. I wanted to see him, to speak to him, but I was

forbidden and it wasnt time. I wanted the hour now and I began to ruminate in my

mind the desire to see him. I stole some coins because I had no money, bought

liquor with the coins and ran to the train station. I couldnt explain what was

happening to me. In my seat, I met a young man who talked to me and gave me

some beers, but I couldnt sit still. I jumped up and asked a man if I could use his

phone. I called C.J.s D.J.

 Hello, I said. This is Kristie Donohue. I think C.J. knows me.

The D.J. laughed and said he wasnt sure. Are you pretty? he asked.

Tell him Im coming to see him, I said. I remembered my mother telling me

to stay away from him. I was nervous so I drank more heavily. The young man I was

with gave me more beers.

Where are you going? the young man said.

Im going to the city, I said.

To see C.J. Money? he asked.

Yes, I said. I couldnt explain what was happening or the long story.

You love that guy? the young man asked. Why?

Its a long story, I said. Ever since the ghost came, I felt in love. The feeling

was so intense that it drove me to madness. I couldnt see him, I couldnt touch him,

and my body ached with longing. I remembered for days I cried, dreaming about

him.

Can I come with you? the man said.

Yes, I said. He gave me another beer.

I went to Mexico once with my sister and my friend. We met some men there

and they asked me what I did. I told them I was a writer. He asked me what I wrote

and I told him I write poetry for now, but I wanted to write novels soon. As the man

edged close to me, I could smell him. Just the smell made me feel love for him. He

told my friend he was leaving, but I told her to tell him not to because I liked him. I
got up and danced with a group of men to make him jealous, hoping that would

make me desirable. He did get jealous and came and got me on the dance floor. He

told me he would be back the next day. That night I looked at the blisters on my

back; how could I let him see me like this? He never came the next day as I waited

for hours. As I was walking home another Spanish man said he would drive me. In

the hotel room he tried to sexual with me. I was uncomfortable, but as I looked at

the man my mind twisted and I thought him an angel. He pulled down my pants and

kissed my vagina. Then he put me on the bed. I stopped him and told him I couldnt

be with him. He rolled his eyes. I apologized for being weird and he left. He didnt

seem like a compassionate angel, but I remembered my mind mistaken him for an

angel.

I think hes an Angel, I said.

C.J.? the young man question. No hes no angel. Devil maybe. I dont know

what you see in that guy.

It is some kind of spiritual connection, I said. I can feel him and sense him.

I know he watches over me.

That guy is not C.J., the young man said. Im sure it is something real that

you feel, but you are getting confused.

No, I said. C.J. talks to me. He watches over me.

I remembered hearing one of his songs in a club and how his voice

enraptured me. It was a knowing sound as if it really saw me and felt me. I listened

to the secret words, knowing secretly that it was from my letter that the song was

created. I looked around me, knowing that everyone around me was unaware of
who I was and of who C.J. was. Even I didnt know who I was. I was unaware of the

bible story and I didnt know what it meant. I also didnt know who C.J. was in the

Bible. I rarely went to church or thought about God. When church goers came to my

door to convert me I asked them why people are not allowed to have sex. They

talked about marriage, but I said I wasnt interested. Even when many of my family

members were religious, I was not a religious person.

I think you lost your mind, the man said. But thats OK because its funny.

Life is stranger than fiction, I said.

Youre right, the man said. There is always more than we know.

Why do I feel in love? I asked.

I dont know, the man said. Maybe youve been tricked. Many young girls

are victim to it.

Have you ever been in love? I asked. Do you know what its like? Its

torture not to have the man with you.

I have loved in my days, the man said. But not in that way. That I would

sacrifice my life for it.

The train stopped and we got out. I was feeling very drunk. We got a taxi

Uptown to C.J.s DJs radio station. We walked to the radio station. There were a

group of men waiting outside.

Kristie, one said. Come with us.

 We began running down the street. They took me to a roof top party. There

were many people of mixed races on the roof. A Black man pulled me to the corner

and put his arms around me.

Give me a kiss, he said.

No, I said. I love C.J.

I am C.J., he said.

I looked at him, but couldnt recognize him. No, I said with my arms around

him. I love C.J. Im not going to give you a kiss.

He kissed me anyway. I walked away and went towards the stairs. I was

getting dizzy from being so drunk and I started to see things. Everything was

spinning. I stood up in a trance and stumbled down the stairs. I couldnt see my way

I was so high. I wound up on an elevator. I remembered a video about meeting a

lover on an elevator. I pressed every button and blacked out. I dont know how I got

off the elevator but I met a woman on the street who told me to come with her. She

took me to a mans house. The man threw me on the bed and took off my clothes.

We rolled around and he attempted to kiss my vagina but the motioning was a sort

of struggle. The man turned me and saw the blisters on my back. I began to vomit

in the bathroom. He threw me in the shower and scrubbed my back.

What is this? he said disgusted.

Its from the demon possession, I screamed as he scrubbed my back. I was

limp and felt so degraded.

 He threw me on the bed and began to molest me again. I passed out and

woke in his room. When I woke, he was looking at me.

You got very drunk last night, he said. Do you want to go to the spa?

I have no money, I said.

Ill pay, he said. He said he was a movie producer. He wrote movies. He

walked into the other room and I took the money on his dresser and left.

I walked the streets of Manhattan for hours as if I was lost. I was so sad. My

mind was foggy and I couldnt think. I decided to stop and get a drink at an Irish

pub. It was noon and I ordered French fries and a beer. I sat and drank the beer

quickly. It was beginning to have effects. Suddenly, a young man sat with me.

Hi, he said. Im Joe. Those are my friends.

Hi, I said.

What are you doing here? he asked.

Just trying to think, I said.

Im a hip-hop artist, he said. What do you do?

Hip-hop was the music that C.J. sang. I write poetry, I said.

I write poetry, he said. He took a piece of paper and began writing a poem.

He then asked me to write something. I couldnt think or write so I wrote something

about the moon. His lyrics were better.

Do you have a boyfriend? he asked.

 No, I said.

But there is a man, he said. I know there is a guy.

I met someone, I said. But I dont think he likes me.

I think he is probably in love with you, Joe said.

Do you think? I said.

Oh yeah, he said.

So how do you plan on being a poet? he asked.

I dont know, I said.

We began to hang out. Joe took me to another bar where we played pool and

flirted and then he took me to a karaoke bar where he sang off-key and loved every

minute of it. I was beginning to wonder why I was meeting all these men and where

they were coming from. Everywhere, these men approached me and told me a man

loved me. I wondered who the man was that loved me, and I knew I loved him too.

After the night was over I slept at Joes apartment. When we woke I told him I had to

leave.

Are you going to Palm Beach? he asked.

I never mentioned that I plotted to commit suicide in Miami, but he knew. I

was being too tormented and I was aching and crying almost every day.

Yes, I said. I might.

I have family in Palm Beach, he said. I go there often.

 I love it there, I said.

He kissed me on the lips and I left.

MY uncle found out that I was in the city and he contacted me. He told me I

could live with him in Queens and he didnt want me on the street. I met up with

him at his apartment and he told me for a low rent, I could live with him. I moved all

my stuff to his apartment and still thought about the suicide. As I was moving I

began to listen to the radio. I heard a song by C.J. Money.

Pack my bags, he said. Were going on an airplane and getting married.

Im going to run to the justice of the peace and marry me.

The song was called Ghetto Star and he was talking about leaving and

getting married. He was talking about me I knew and I jumped. He knew about the

marriage and had finally answered me. I had $700 in my bank account and I took it

all out and ran to a taxi with my stuff in garbage bags. I told the taxi to take me to

the airplane. I got a ticket to Miami and began to drink.

The plane landed and I took a taxi to Miami. When I got out, a man was

waiting for me.

Come with me, he said. Ill take you to a nice hotel.

I wondered how the man knew me. He knew where my taxi was and where I

got out. We stopped at a liquor store and bought vodka. He then took me to the

hotel. I paid for the hotel and went to my room. The man and I began drinking in the

room.

Do you like to dance? he said.

 Oh yes, I said. I love to dance.

Theres a club down the block, he said.

We walked down the streets to the club. The music was blaring and the club

was dark with a few colorful lights in the corners. I ordered a drink and then I began

to dance. I was dancing seductively in the middle of the dance with another man.

The man who brought me there left and was gone. I was going in out of black outs

because I was drinking so heavily. I danced all night, dancing so heavily I began

sweating, and rarely talked to anyone. It was like I was in my own world on the

dance floor and I got lost in the music. A man came up to me and started dancing

with me. He then pulled me out on the street. He held my hand.

Where are we going? I said.

To my apartment, he said.

How did you find me? I said.

I have good senses, he said.

We went to his apartment and he threw me on the bed and started having

sex with me. I was going in out of consciousness and rolling on the bed. He got up

and screamed.

If you just make me cum Ill give you $500, he screamed.

I couldnt. I lay lifeless on the bed from the alcohol. His friends came in and

one of his friends started having sex with me while I lay lifeless. The man was

screaming that the sex was so bad while his friends pushed himself inside me. He

then got up and played a song. I heard his voice; it was C.J. Money and a song about
a girl who doesnt love him because she loves all these other men. The music was

pounding and loud. I tried to lift my body but I couldnt, and I reached for C.J.s

voice. Suddenly, his voice was giving me strength. I wondered why he was playing

C.J.s song now. Did he know something I didnt know? I passed out and fell asleep.

When I woke the man didnt talk to me; he looked at me weirdly and said nothing. I

felt awkward and left.

I began to walk the streets of Miami. I looked into the clubs and walked

around the beach. I walked the streets for hours. I went into a liquor store, bought

vodka, and drank it on the beach. I looked at the water sadly and contemplated

committing suicide by drowning myself. I wasnt sure that I would die if I committed

suicide. I walked the streets again and looked into the stores. I couldnt afford any of

the items in the store. A man came up to me and started to talk to me. He said he

was from a famous Hip-hop group, the same Black music that C.J. Money sang.

Im in Miami doing a concert, he said.

We walked down the road. Youre from the famous group, I said.

Yes, he said.

I wondered how he found me. We talked for a while and then before he left he

said. Be careful of the promoter who comes to you, hes a thief.

I drank so heavily I was unconscious and barely remembered the

conversation. In a black out I went in and out of clubs, drinking and dancing. While

walking on the street a Black man came up to me. He ran across the street and

approached me.

Hi, he said. Im the promoter.

 I remembered the musician telling me about him and to be careful of him, but

I was very drunk. He followed me to my hotel. I passed out on the bed and he

started to have sex with me. His face looked angry and rigid, and I was scared. I

began rolling around and he continued to rape me. When I woke, he was gone and

all my money was gone. I had no more money and I didnt know what I was going to

do. I began walking on the street in desperation. I couldnt afford another hotel

room and the man stole all my money. A man came up to me and I told him I would

have sex with him for $100. He said OK and took me to his hotel. I dont know how I

thought of prostitution to get money, it just came to me. I was so drunk at the

mans house I could barely have sex with him. He lay down and I rubbed him. The

world was spinning and I looked over on his bed. There was a picture of Venus on

the wall and I stared at her, remembering the art I loved. The picture was by a

famous artist and I knew him. All my dreams were gone and I knew it. The man

lifted me and took me down stairs. I was all drugged up I could barely move. He

paid me the money and took me to my hotel.

At the hotel I started pacing; I was so nervous I couldnt stop pacing. Back

and forth I paced around the room and began to think. I looked on the computer for

money and saw sex for money everywhere. I contacted a man called heart online

and we talked about meeting up. Was he the man I loved, I doubted it, although I

couldnt stop thinking about the man I loved out there, seeing me like this. I was

desperate and anxious and I couldnt stop drinking. I began drinking more vodka

that I bought at the store. I stood in the corner and began crying. The tears fell

rapidly down my face and I was overwhelmed by sadness. I looked on my computer

for C.J. Moneys song, the one about the marriage. I played it after I found it and fell

on my bed, thinking about him talking to me. He knew about the marriage and had
responded. It was the first time he said something since that day. I played the song

again and soaked in the words and his voice. I could feel love surround me and in

my sadness, for a moment, it comforted me. After getting heavily drunk I went

outside to find another customer and get money. I walked down the street and two

men stopped me. They told me to sit and I sat with them.

What are you doing alone? one man asked. Where are your friends?

I knew by then I had no friends. I had stopped hanging out with friends

because of sadness for years.

Im a far away from home, I said.

Run away? he asked.

Prostitute, I said.

Really, one man asked smiling. How much?

One hundred dollars, I said.

OK, the man said. Ill buy.

The man came back to my room. He paid me the money and lay on the bed.

We began rolling around and he was laughing hysterically. Smiling proudly he

entered me from the side and pushed awkwardly. Then he fell backwards and I

pulled at him. The sex was simply rolling awkwardly back and forth while we pushed

and pulled each other. He got up proudly and laughed. I then pushed the other guy

to the wall, tried to enter him, and missed. I was too drunk to be on point. I fell

backwards and he looked flabbergasted.

 Its OK, he said. I dont need it.

The men left and I had the money. I had enough to pay for my hotel room. I

went outside and paid for the room. On the street I met a man who told me he was

a Pimp. He wanted to make a business deal with me.

Ill get you customers, he said. And you pay me.

No, I said. Im getting customers myself.

I know this town, he said. Have you been drinking?

Yes, I said. Ive been drinking heavily.

You cant drink with customers, he said. Thats dangerous.

I came here to drink, I said. The promoter stole my money.

You have no money? he asked.

No, I said. I have nothing.

I can get you money, he said. If you go into business with me.

I declined the offer and started walking down the street. I heard music

coming from a store and went inside. It was a book shop with music cds inside.

They began playing one of C.J.s songs. I turned to the magazines and saw him;

what had this mysterious man led me to? I started thinking I was not moving my

own body, but I had been led by destiny. Destiny was in my whole being and it was

walking me. A man came up to me in the store and began talking to me. I was

looking at C.J.s picture and felt exposed. I wondered if he saw me and knew.

What are you doing this side of town? he asked.

 I was looking for an Angel, I said. I got robbed and now I have no money so

Im prostituting myself.

Oh youre a trick, he said. Ill buy.

We went to my hotel and he took off his clothes. I jumped on the bed and lay

backwards. He entered me quickly then stopped. He gave me the money and left. I

lay on my bed and cried; this time the tears couldnt stop. I could feel the darkness

surround me and I ached in it. The pain and sadness was unbearable. My mind

raced and I contemplated suicide. I didnt pray to God or even know to pray.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. I opened it.

Hi Kristie, the man said. Im Francis, your fathers cousin. I come here to

help you. Why dont you come with me and I can get you back to your parents. They

are worried.

Im not going home, I said. I wanted to drink more and I was unsteady.

Are you sure Kristie, Francis said. God doesnt want you to be this way.

Francis was a religious man and he went to church often. God I thought with

hatred; God did want it this way.

Please Kristie, Francis said. Your family is concerned. Just let me help you.

Im going to stay here, I said.

OK, Francis said. If you change your mind, call your mother. Shell call

me.

Thank you, I said.

 As Francis left, I thought about going home, but I was still contemplating

suicide. I wanted to drown my sorrows in a drink and just walk the streets of Miami

lost; my parents did not let us drink and I had been living at my mothers house.

Here, my father had saved me by calling his cousin. My mother called and said she

was coming down to Miami to get me. She wouldnt leave me on the street. I felt my

own weak and worn body; what had I become? Alcohol had driven me to madness. I

stood against the wall and cried with vodka in my hands. I thought about Angels

and how C.J. seemed so much like my Angel. I wondered who he could be and why

he watched me and I also thought about the marriage song he sang in answer to

our marriage. The prophecy had come true here and I felt destiny pull me to him. I

was the prostitute of Babylon and ten years had passed with these men. The tenth

year was in Miami and I was crying uncontrollably. My life had been so painful. Why

would God want this for me?

I thought about Francis again and called my mother. She called Francis and

told him to come to my hotel and pick me up the next day. That night I went to a

bar. I was sitting at the bar and saw a black man walk up to the bar. I looked at him

and said, He is going to come up to me. As he turned, he walked right up to me

and we began talking. I told him I was in Miami to party and he told me he was

trying out for a singing performance. He began to sing a love song in my ear. His

voice was sweet and tender.

Can you sing? he asked.

I tried singing, but I was terrible.

No, I said. Im not a good singer.

 We played pool and flirted and then he came back to my hotel room. At the

hotel he took off my pants and sucked on my vagina. Then he entered me. The

sexual movements were slow and sensual and gave me a little pleasure. I passed

out as he was having sex with me. I woke with him in my room and jumped up.

Francis was coming and I didnt want him to see me with this man. I tried rushing

him out the door. He wrote his name and phone number on a piece of paper and

then left. Francis came and hour later and drove me to see my mother. My mother

told me I should stay with Francis until I recover. She was mad I came to Miami and

said there was nothing else she could do for me. Francis would help me and take me

to the church.

Francis drove me to his house. The house was small and modest and he had

three daughters. I slept in a room with Bethany, who was wise with a cat. For days I

lay in bed and cried. Sometimes I went outside and smoked cigarettes. Francis

spoke of Jesus and took me to his church; he made me listen to the sermons and

told me I was a sinner. When Bethanys friend came over, he tried to convert him

too. At night he watched sermons on T.V. I was shaking daily I was so traumatized

by Miami. When I stood outside I often cried and contemplated committing suicide.

In a conversation, I mentioned it to Bethany.

Why did you come down here? she asked.

I was thinking about committing suicide, I said.

If you commit suicide, she said. You go straight to hell.

How do you know that? I said.

Its God law, she said. Youre not allowed to commit suicide.
 I was contemplating suicide, I just didnt know how to do it. I thought about

drowning myself in the ocean, but I wasnt sure if that would work. I didnt have a

gun or access to poison. My life was just getting worse and worse.

God is love, Francis said.

I didnt know too much about God, I just knew my life was turning into a

nightmare. I watched the cat as he held Bethanys head. He seemed like a magical

cat and he moved with compassion. I went outside, put my hands in my head, and

cried again. The cat came up to me and hugged me in my lap.

My God, I screamed. The cat is magical.

I began to think about a poem I wrote called, My Army of Wildcats. I named

it that poem after my mother who was so tough as a young girl they called her

wildcat. It was a poem for women and was addressing a man she loved, but could

not be with. I thought of the poem and its reference to magical cats.

My Army of Wild Cats

I must forget the rhythm that

Seduces me with shadows

I must forget as woman

That the music you found was forever the hand

I must forget

How your heart lived in your eyes

How I could see sound take

Shape in the wind

And it was forever

The deep color of soul

I must forget that

I am a kind of death

Walking through

Waves made of no ocean

As a woman I must forget

How once I loved untouched snow

Because it was forbidden

To me

The kind that lives in Burlington

Lost to the world

That looks for it

As a woman I must forget

My body

Leave it where the

Moon never sleeps

And the sun never rises

As a woman

I must forget your breath

How even in sleep

You were reaching for me

Waiting for a nude world to turn

To

I must I must

I must never remember the gift

The kissing

The time when you held

Me without hands

And I smiled

Because that was as honest

As I could be

I must forget my weakness

How time changes the one who creates voices

It is only in dreams

That I see love

I must forget this

Go against it for the sake

The worlds plan for me

I saw life once

A kind of light burning

Off the earth

It reminded of you

The way a man looks

Left vulnerable in a world

That has abandoned him

I am at lifes mercy

Its promise that

Those things

One day will return to shape

There is a promise that

You exist

Somewhere in this air

I know youre kissing my temple

Youre telling me

That life is a kind of memory

We have never found

But keep looking, you say

Keep looking

You were the picture I painted

Come out to greet

My body

Tell something in me

That part was beautiful

The one we never saw

The one we never touched

But we knew it was there

Smiling on our faces

We knew

In time

We were one broken

Now the roses are telling me to go

Hold onto

The sweet light

That shares no misery

I must as a woman forget it

That happiness

Was so pure

It was made of rain

On a dark night
When you listened

I must as woman forget this and that

That I saw you once

Not in a dream not in hope

But in the only thing that is real

You were walking

Beside me

The air parted and

Life looked like a crystal lake

So peaceful

I could not bear to touch it

I could not speak about my heart

Because it was not there

It was in you

The music was in you

Thinking of the cat as magical, I said the last lines out loud into the air. I

could not speak about my heart because it was not there. It was in you, the music

was in you. I turned and looked up and there written in the sky were two perfectly

shaped hearts. I jumped when I saw them, who could have done that? Who could

have heard me? It had to have been God. I couldnt believe my eyes, it felt so

magical and I felt in love even in the pain.

Francis, I screamed. Come here.

Francis ran outside. Look Francis, someone drew two hearts in the sky for

me.

The thought was so magical. Oh, Francis said. Hearts fade.

 No, I said. This is magical. This is love, real love.

Someone loved me, I knew it. I knew he was out there. The hearts were so

perfect and beautiful and I knew they were for me. I went inside and sat on the bed.

The feelings from the hearts made me feel euphoric even in my misery. Whoever

this man was, he was magical and he was a King. The hearts felt like I was in a fairy

tale. Suddenly, a voice came to me in the room.

Youre married, it said. Im coming to see you.

Im married, I thought. Oh yes, I got married. But what about the men and

the prostitution that just happened? I had forgotten I was married in my urge to

drink alcohol. I knew then my husband was coming to see me soon. When will he

come? I thought. Who is he? Was he C.J. Money, or another beautiful man out there

waiting for me? I also knew I was in love with him. I knew he was beautiful and

perfect without ever meeting him; I knew I was in love with him. It was as if he was

a real soul mate destined for me. I knew I had to stop drinking and vowed I would

then.

This is the moment, Francis said. When you find out who you are.

But who was I and what did that mean? I didnt know.

Jesus is God, Francis screamed.

Jesus is not God, I said. Jesus is the son of God. God is different than

Jesus.

Jesus was soft and compassionate and God sometimes destroyed things. In

the Bible, the personality was different. God got angry and got revenge often, but
Jesus was loving. The two were very different. After some convincing by Francis, I

started to believe Jesus was God.

God is love, Francis said. God is good.

I had to admit, I didnt know that much about God. I didnt know that this

story was in the Bible. When I went to the priest with my father, he told me my

affliction was probably not religious. I rarely went to church or knew anything about

the Bible. For some reason, I knew nothing about God. I didnt know why they were

answering me on the radio, how they could see me, and who they were. I didnt

know the mental illness was a punishment from God because I didnt know too

much about God or the way he works. Considering the aspects of my life, I would

consider God a terrible man. I didnt know that God was against and hated Babylon

because I never read the Bible. Now, Francis was telling me, I would find out my fate

and who I was. I didnt know that what happened to me was a prophecy as

described in Revelations and that it was all a part of my fate. Youre married, the

voice said to me. Im coming to see you. Who was he? Who was C.J. Money? And

what did that mean?

I left Franciss house in two weeks and moved in with my uncle in Queens,

New York. It was hard to make money, but I finally got a job cleaning houses. I

cleaned houses in Manhattan and Queens and at night I read and wrote poetry. I still

had the dream of being of poet and I never forgot the music who watched me. I

remembered the voice telling me that he was coming and I tried to guess what day

he would come. From messages from music, I sometimes thought he would come on

a Wednesday, so every Wednesday I would put makeup on and get dressed nicely in

case he came. I often sat and thought of who he was, what he looked like, how he
lives, and what he liked. When I sat at my desk and looked outside I could feel him

watching me from a car window. I looked at the car and felt like he parked outside

and looked into my window with yearning. When I walked to work I could feel him

looking at me and as I passed him he sometimes said, Hi beautiful, or Keep your

head up. Moving through the crowd, I could feel his eyes upon me, and I struggled

not to make eye contact. I quit drinking and went to alcoholics anonymous meetings

where I struggled to cope with my own alcoholism. I thought about him often and I

waited everyday for him. I wondered what he was doing and how he was living and I

tried to dress nice in case that was the day he came to see me.

One day while walking to work I stopped at the corner. A group of Black

women were stopped in a car before me and they were laughing. I swear they were

pointing at me, saying, That is Gods wife. I looked again and swore they knew

who I was. I walked to work thinking about him, missing him and hoping he would

come soon. As I walked the streets, I swore there were people that knew me and

that they were looking at me. I constantly felt eyes upon me and I knew it was him,

waiting for me too. Who was he and how did he know me? I wasnt sure, but I swear

I felt him near me always. I loved him, even though we never met yet, and I knew

that as the most real thing that ever existed. I walked miles of city streets feeling

nothing but him, sure that I loved him more than I loved anything in my life. One

day, I painted a man with the ghost of a woman coming out of his mind. I named it,

Loving the jailor, because it was talking about my confines as a females and the

man who kept me locked in his eyes. Feeling his constant stare I felt exposed,

vulnerable to his touch. On another day, I painted a deformed creature with a

madman coming out of his mind. I called that True Story. It was true that he had

somehow locked into my mind. When I went walking around the city, he would just
sing to me. Famous songs on the radio I could hear perfectly in my head as I walked,

and I memorized all the words and just listened intently as the spirit sang to me

when I was sad. On another occasion I was in an A.A. meeting and I sat next to a

Black woman. Suddenly I heard him say, Nigger, you think Im a nigger. I rushed

out of the room disturbed and screamed, No, I dont think youre nigger. I knew it

was C.J. Money and he was somehow upset that I was white. When he did it again, I

blocked him from my mind as my heart pounded. No, I said. I think youre

beautiful. He began to torture me with his Black skin even from the far distance

and it disturbed me so much I needed to be alone. He talked shortly to me, and I

could hear him. Often, he sang. He knew I loved novels and often visited the

bookstore so one day I came to my apartment and there was a stack of books

waiting for me at the front lobby. I knew it was him who placed them there and I

looked over the titles and picked some for myself. I visited the bookstore often. On

one occasion I visited the bookstore I looked at the front of the New York magazines;

there I was, my face blurred in a picture on the front of the magazine. I couldnt

believe they had taken pictures of me while I was walking through the city. The title

read, The Loneliness Myth, and I thought of a poem I wrote about loneliness. I was

very lonely in the city and did not have any friends to talk to. I went to A.A.

meetings and met a couple of people, but for the most part I was by myself. Here he

was consoling me, telling me I really was not alone on the front of the New York

magazine. It felt eerie. They read my poem again and answered me, this time with a

picture of me walking. Who was this man, I wondered, and why was here in

America? He seemed to have magical powers and even though I was afraid of him

and his powers, I was touched and intrigued by his gestures. There was a romance

about him, but also anger. I knew he was a lover, but also a warrior. Without ever
meeting him, I found him to be magically beautiful, as if his beauty were

spectacular and glorious. He surrounded me, but you couldnt see him. One day, I

thought of Shakespeares Romeo and Juliet. I recited the moment that Romeo first

saw Juliet by memory and said it out loud. I walked into my room and sat at my desk

to write. Something moved and then my painting of a woman singing fell to the

ground. I jumped; he was angry. He was in my room and even though you couldnt

see him, he threw the painting from the wall.

Stop scaring me, I screamed. What are you angry for?

But he said nothing. I was frightened to go to bed that night. There was a

ghost in my room and he had been violent. I knew he was near; he was right next to

me. Even though I couldnt see him, I could feel him. He was close, closer to me

than anything had ever been.

Why do you have to do that? I screamed at an empty room. Why do you

have to get angry?

I wondered why he was angry and what upset him. I wondered who he was. I

knew he had been watching me because I could feel him, but I didnt know who he

was or what he wanted. I could feel him and sense him everywhere I went; I could

feel him watching over me and protecting me, holding me, and I could feel the pull

and desire that ached inside me to be with him. Most of all, it was his silence that

broke my heart; I just wanted to be near him and for him to speak, to say something

that I could recognize and find comfort in. For years I yearned for him, and the

desire was more painful than the truth, and the pain caused rage. Now here he was,

angry at me too, throwing the painting off the wall to be known, his heartache

shown, thrown to the floor. For years we wept in that silence and pain, yearning for
love; for years he watched me locked in his own seclusion, yearning to be known to

me and yet although I felt his presence, the years were forbidden to me too. Now he

was blaming me for being blind, for not waiting or recognizing him. Still he said

nothing and just watched me move, his powers so unlike the real world, his power

to let me know love through faith alone and to let me see into him with no evidence

and yet I was never so sure that he would come for me. I knew real love would bring

him to me and this love controlled both us from far distances.

Speak, I said. I beg you. Say something. Why are you angry?

But he said nothing and hid in the silence he kept for many years. He didnt

have to say anything, I knew why he was angry because I was angry for the same

reasons, we were both in our lives denied love, and the yearning left a hole and

made us ache. Throughout my life I filled that hole with words, poetry, but the

experience wasnt real enough to be the truth and I needed something real and

magical. It was everything I could feel he was, a perfect element, and yet for all

these years I was forbidden to know it or touch it. I knew why he was angry, it was

for the same reasons that I was angry, and when the painting fell, I fell with it. Love

suddenly entered me and tortured me; it was enticing and tempting and yet we

were both forbidden to it. Maybe I thought, he is another creature and he not

allowed to contact me because I am human; maybe there were rules between

humans and the spirit and if crossed something dire could happen. I was not sure

about the long silence and secrecy, and yet I could still feel the forbidden yearning

with pain and heartache. The pain was so deep I felt like I would die from it. We felt

the same anger and resentment, and it was beginning to shatter us inside. He was

close, getting closer to me, and he was beginning to make himself known, so with

some ease I felt it was some kind of hope that he was real.
 In order to relax I made myself a nice warm bath and some classical music. I

thought about the spirit in my room as I closed my eyes in the bath and tried to

imagine him. In the bath, my body filled with sensuous lust and I rubbed my thighs

warmly. The desire pulled on me and I yearned for love, to be near him, to know

him. I relaxed in the bath and just dreamed of a better life with him, I dreamed of a

great love affair and long walks around the city. I wondered what he was like, but I

already knew I loved him. I already knew he existed and I was just waiting for him to

come to me. In the bath, I could sense him watching me and I could feel him fill my

body with the same yearning he shared. I rubbed my skin; the touch was soothing

and releasing the yearning to make love to him. The desire pulled on me and filled

me with urgency; the guessing was filling me with madness and I screamed out a

long sigh just to let it go. I was like a prisoner to my own desire, and I felt if I could

just see him, talk to him, touch him, Id be free. And it could be never, I would never

know where my pain originated. It could be, he didnt exist, and the pain was

loneliness and a figment of my imagination, but why was I so sure? Why was I so

sure I could feel him? I didnt know.

I decided to go for a walk after the bath to ease my mind. Outside, in the city,

I walked for miles lost in my own thoughts. As I walked I felt people look at me, as if

they recognized me, and through the crowd I felt their knowing stare. At times I felt

like they were whispering, and talking about me, but everything they said was

secret. I wondered who I was. I went home and made coffee. As I sipped the coffee

something came to me and I ran to the Bible I bought Vermont to read. Something

told me to turn to the last pages of the Bible. I read Revelations and the story of the

Whore of Babylon. My God, I thought, I am Babylon. It is written here in the Bible

and the story has been un-coded, but what did that mean? Who was I really? I read
messages with numbers, ten, seven, five fallen kings. Then I read about the Bride. I

couldnt believe I grew up in Babylon, and the ten years with these men while

drinking was accurate. The fall happened in college where I was punished by God.

Everything seemed accurate exactly as it was written and the prophecy came true. I

wasnt sure why the prophecy was true, but I saw that Jesus would judge the living

and the dead upon entering his kingdom. I was Babylon, and I was the Bride of the

spirit. The spirit had been trying to contact me and was watching me, and I knew by

some act of fate, I was in love with him. Reading the Bible, I found out who I was. I

was the Whore from Babylon and I couldnt believe it was written in the Bible.

Everything said to happen, had happened, and I was living proof. I lay down and I

heard a voice, Wait for me, it said. I wondered who it was.

The next day I went to work thinking about the voice that came to me and

the fact that my story was in the Bible. When I went to the church, they said my

affliction was probably not religious, but it was. According to the Bible, C.J. Money

was the Anti-Christ, and I got scared. That explained his evil nature and rough

personality. The Bible mentioned the return of Jesus, to judge the living and dead. It

also mentioned a judgment on me. I didnt know anything about God or his plans,

because I rarely went to church, but I knew the prophecy was correct. When I read

the Bible, I was not sure what it meant and took it as a judgment God places on

human kind for their sins. I was very angry at God, and I rarely went to church, so I

was not sure why he chose me for this plan, unless he didnt like me.

I came home and lay on my bed. I was confused and I didnt understand what

was happening to me. As I lay there, I suddenly felt like I was not alone. He was in

the room with me and he was close. I closed my eyes and felt the rush of lust flow

through my body. He had touched me intimately and I could feel him. I began to rub
my legs to ease the tension and then I rubbed my stomach. I was teasing him and

he jumped on top of me and kissed me. Then he rocked back and forth inside me,

making love to me in a smooth rhythm that accelerated my passion for him.

Angel, I said as he moved inside me. Angel, I love you.

My breath was getting heavier as he rocked inside me, so the words floated

on air when I spoke and hid in his silence. The pleasure was heightening and my

body felt like it was on a cloud, he was a spirit so the movements were fluid and

sensual and he curled around me like smoke, making my own body flexible when it

answered his. He rocked back and forth inside me and then pushed me off the bed

and to the wall. On the wall, he entered me and the movements were so much like

singing because they were glorious and weightless and in perfect harmony, my

body answering his spirit in synch with one another. He was melting into me, and

when he moved me, I felt like I was a bird flying it was so freeing and graceful. As

he moved weightlessly inside me I could feel pulls of pleasure tickling my skin and

bringing me higher. Although I was against the wall, I felt like I was suspended in air

and floating effortlessly into him, closer where in the final moments when we meet,

it has become so much more than I could ever dream of. As the spirit possessed me,

I felt like I was in a dream world, and I floated into the love making with color and

ease that for a moment I couldnt recognize the beauty of my body in his and the

joy that followed it didnt make sense.

Angel, I breathed out. Angel I love you. Say something.

But he said nothing and just floated in my body, rocking inside me and then

moving me to the other corner of the bed. There he got behind me and continued to

make love to me, as I panted his name over and over again. I was sure I was in a
dream world and this couldnt be real life; I couldnt see him because he was a spirit

but I was making love to him in silence, a silence so bare and raw I never felt more

alive in my life. The pure love embodied me and the entire universe was this golden

light of love for a moment. The feeling was glorious and it filled me with softness

and an untouchable beauty that was so magnificent I knew he had to be a King. He

had the power to command me with just a touch, and he summoned pleasure as he

moved me inside him effortlessly. His touch tickled, and I laughed lightly, and when

he put his head to my chest, I could feel him smile even though he said nothing.

The movement was playful and erotic, and I laughed again, knowing him already,

and letting out deeper breaths. We twisted and we twirled, it was a sort of dance

that was making me emotional and hungrier for more touches. I thought of silence,

and spoke again.

Angel, I repeated. You finally came for me.

I really believed he was an Angel. For years I had called him Angel in letters,

thinking that he was from heaven. Here now, I was never more sure that he was a

real Angel and even though I couldnt see him, the feeling of beauty captured me

and held me. He had finally come for me after all these years and all this time I

waited while I was in love with him. He was real, and he was my soul mate, and I

was right for rushing to him. I wished that he would just speak, but he moved in

silence and the silence was mysterious and heartbreaking at the same time. Ill

never forget that silence and how it filled me with curiosity and intrigue; there was

so much more to know there so much more about him.

Angel, I repeated. He grabbed me and moved closer to me without a word.

I love you, I said. Ive never loved anything more in my life. But he said nothing.
 The love was true, and although the experience was something from another

world, nothing ever felt more real in my life like love. For years men had used me

and wasted me away, but this felt different, like real love taking shape around me.

Suddenly, the whole universe was just love, and I was getting higher, floating into it

as he suspended me in the air. The spirit filled me with beauty, and we made love in

a dream world that was golden and crowned by the magnificence of the universe. It

was awesome and spectacular, the awe was so much larger than our bodies, and I

was struck and moved at that moment that the experience was actually happening

to me, held in this great beauty that gave me chills and made me emotional. The

ghost was awesomely beautiful, and although he never spoke, I knew it and I could

feel it in his touch. I knew him from somewhere, some far-away place, and through

millions of people, he was still able to find me.

How did you find me in this city? I screamed out, thinking about the

impossibility of all of it.

But he somehow found me, and he knew me too. He knew how to touch my

body and trigger a craving for him; he knew the slightest movements and the most

knowing kisses that sent my imagination and my body into lightning in the sky. He

could change me like magic and speak to me without a word. It was all so

overwhelming and wonderful, I couldnt contain my excitement. He stopped making

love to me, and I got up and sat by my desk. I needed to think and breathe. I looked

around the room, but nobody was there. Then I put my hands in my face and began

to cry.

No man ever showed me such love, I said as I cried. They dont show

whores love. And you, I know your love. I have felt you for years. The tears fell
rapidly down my face and I was sobbing. The experience made me so emotional the

tears could not be contained. I cried from the pure beauty of it and also the victory

of love, finally in my life. As the tears fell I felt like I was being released; love was

setting me free. I was so free and weightless my whole body could have been wind

and I melted into my own arms, finally tasting the victory. He had come and he had

come with an unexpected glory, beauty, and release. It was so beautiful I couldnt

stop crying. I could feel him watch me as the tears fell, and suddenly I understood

him; I understood that the desire drove him mad, just as it made me crazy, and the

parting was painful. The pain runs so deep you could die from the loss, but finally,

love had come for me.

I didnt know who he was, but I felt this urgency to speak to him, I wished he

would say something, so in my confusion I left the house to find him. My whole

being was lost and my mind was in a daze; I walked the streets lost and looked

around at all the faces, wondering if I would find him. I walked miles and miles of

city streets, and then I got on the subway and went to Manhattan. There were

crowds in Manhattan and I struggled to look at every face, wondering if they were

him. When a Black man was close, my heart raced, and I wondered if he was near

me. I was confused and unsure; the faces didnt make any sense and I couldnt

recognize them. I wouldnt know who he was if he came up to me, but I swore he

was so familiar I would know him. I knew him when he touched me, but I didnt

know his face. It suddenly didnt matter what he looked like, he could be a monster,

but I knew I would still love him. Without a word, I was sure I loved him, and I had

been looking for him my entire life.

I looked at the faces, Where are you? I whispered under my breath. How

could you do something like that and say nothing.

 I continued to walk through the city, looking for him, but I found nothing. I

inspected every face, wondering if one of them would walk up to me, but nobody

did. They didnt know anything and they didnt know me. I was filled with confusion

as I walked and I knew I didnt have an answer. Finally, I walked home slowly; he

wasnt out on the street. When I got home, I sat in my room and looked around;

nobody was there. I looked again, I could not see anyone. Suddenly the spirit

grabbed me and threw me on the bed; the love-making resumed and this time it

was more passionate. With fervor and strength he moved inside of me, enticing me

with great pleasure and pulling me to this magnificent ecstasy. He was smooth and

rough, aggressively and hungrily commanding my body and diving deeper into the

yearning that made us crazy for so long.

I cant believe, I said out-loud. This is happening to me.

The feeling was so beautiful, it was practically unbelievable, and I had to

breathe to get a moment to comprehend the beauty that was happening to me. As

the lovemaking resumed, I yearned for his voice; I wanted him to tell me

everything. But, he didnt and I was left with simple confusion and curiosity. Who

was he and what did it mean that he was here, near me for so long? What world was

he from? He was a spirit, a powerful and beautiful spirit that transformed me with

his touch, but I still didnt know him. As he made love to me, I yearned to know him

and ask him a million questions. At that moment, I believed love was real and it was

perfect. His love was transforming my life and me with every touch. The entire

universe suddenly seemed more beautiful and magical and I lay there stunned by

amazement and wonder like a child. Just a touch was like a magical rainbow, and it

made me feel like I was trapped in a fairy tale with him. For some reason, I took the

spirit as a normal occurrence and not a supernatural event; I simply had faith and
did not question if it was real. I knew it was real because I felt it with everything I

was. I loved the spirit, and I knew he loved me, deeply and passionately. The love

was realer than anything I have ever known in my life and although there was no

proof that he existed, I knew what was happening was real. He touched me, and

moved me in a way that profound, so there was no denying his existence. Even

though he didnt speak, I could feel his passion with every touch and I knew he

loved me too. The pure love melted into me and I softened in his arms. His silence

made me bewildered and confused, wondering how such a beautiful event could be

happening to me. As he moved inside me, I fell into this deep, golden, and beautiful

love that made me genuinely joyful. The love was immense, so much bigger than

what our bodies were experiencing at that moment, and it spread into

immeasurable distance across the universe, into music. Finally, he had come for me

and the feeling was so much more spectacular and glorious than I could ever

imagine. I wondered what I did to deserve the spirit; why would he love a woman

like me? But, I was sure it was love that brought him to me, and the victory of love

that came to save me now. The touch and love felt victorious, and in his arms I felt

release. Finally, love had come for me, and I wished he would stay. It was a moment

of sweet glory, after years of being used by men, and in it I was powerful, immense,

and free.

He stopped making love to me and I fell quickly to sleep. I woke bewildered

and looked around the room. Nobody was there. The room was quiet, yet heavily

filled with his silence; the silence had a mysterious air about it so that it was not

empty, but full of intrigue. I looked around again, but there were no movements.

The stillness was eerie and filled with an ever-present knowing. I was different

because of him, a woman now, and nothing would ever be the same. His silence left
traces of mystery everywhere, and I kept looking around the room to see if I could

see him, but I couldnt. There was nobody in the room. I didnt expect it to be this

way when he came, and I was filled with questions. Who was he? What did he look

like? How did he find me in the midst of this big city? It all seemed impossible, but I

knew it was real. I was late, so I quickly got ready for work.

I walked to work feeling light and giddy. He had come for me and it was

glorious; making love to him was one of the most beautiful experiences I ever had.

On the subway I wondered if he would come again that night. He had come for two

nights so I was sure he would come again. When I got to my job I quickly started

cleaning the house. I was filled with imagination and wonderment; his touch had left

a lasting impression on me, and I found myself moving slowly through the house

cleaning because I was distracted and dreaming of him. I was caught in this dream,

and everything started to move very slowly and lazily. What took me an hour to do

suddenly took me two hours, and I was so distracted and lost I didnt realize I was

moving so slowly. I finished the bathroom, and then I moved into the bedroom, still

lost in dream and moving lazily through my routine. I noticed that the dream had an

air to it that felt like substance and I felt possessed by this lazy and golden air that

seemed to carry me.

Kristie, I heard. Kristie.

I looked around, but nobody was there.

Yes, I said.

Im God, the voice said. Im your husband.

You are my husband? I asked, but I already knew I loved him.

 Yes, he said. We will be married soon.

You are God, I said. What does that mean?

I wasnt sure by what he meant by saying that he was God. I accepted the

marriage and continued to speak to him.

You have been my wife since you are born, he said. I have known you

since you were a child. I know everything about you.

How do you know me? I said. How did you find me?

Youre my wife, he said. I always know where you are. I would never leave

you.

When will be married? I said.

Soon, he said.

Last night, I said. It was you?

Yes, he said. It was me. Ive been here for a while. I know everything about

you. And I love you.

When I was born, my parents named me Kristie. It was Christian in a way. I

wondered if he really was God. He said he loved me, I knew I loved him too. It was

love come to recue me.

Wait, I said. How did you know where I was in this big city?

I always know where you are, he said. I know everything. Ive known you

since you are a child. And you are more beautiful than I could ever imagine.
 It seemed almost impossible that he found me. Through all the people, he

found me. I was suddenly so happy that he found me because I had been waiting for

him and I knew I loved him too. At that moment, I knew love was real.

Are you really God? I said. Why would you come for me?

I love you, he said. We will be married soon.

He planned to marry me, even though I was a whore. I couldnt believe it

especially after the way the men had treated me. Why would you love a woman

like me? I said. I prostituted myself and Im poor. I clean houses.

I know everything, he said. And there is so much to love.

The feeling made me want to cry; that was not how I was treated in life for

many years. I was moved by his love.

Believe me, he said. Theres so much to love about you and I am right in

doing so.

I couldnt believe this man was saying these kind things to me, especially

after the world had been so unkind to me. I was touched by his gestures and I felt

safe in his voice.

There are others who wouldnt say that, I said.

I am the correct one, he said.

I was stunned by how beautiful he was and kind.

Will you marry me? he said. Will you be my wife?

Yes, I said, sure I loved him too.

 Then we will be married soon, he said.

Are you going to leave me? I asked.

No, he said. Ill never leave you.

I looked around the room; I could not see anyone there.

When do you want to get married? I asked.

Soon, he said. Very soon.

I finished doing my job in dream and then he said, Come we have to go.

As I walked to the subway, I didnt hear him, but I still could feel him with me.

On the subway, he began to talk to me and tell me jokes about my past. I began

laughing thinking about how crazy I was when I drank alcohol. A man looked at me

laughing at myself and I started to cough to control the laughter. I couldnt stop

laughing, the spirit was so funny and my laughter could not be contained. I looked

around; nobody on the subway could see him or hear him but me. They all looked

lost in their own worlds, and some looked at me laughing to myself. I got

embarrassed, so I tried to stop laughing, but I couldnt. Finally, I stopped and got off

the subway.

It was as if the spirit carried me home; I could feel him inside me, he was fluid

and whimsical, and I began to realize he possessed my body. At the house, I sat on

my bed. He was quiet for a moment and then he lifted me. He was able to control

my body and lift me and he led me to the desk. On the desk, he grabbed a piece of

paper through me. He began to speak through me, and write.

I am God, he wrote. I am you. God is in you.

 What does that mean? I said.

He wrote again. I am C.J. Money.

You are, I gasped. Youre God.

I couldnt believe it. You are my wife, he said. If you dont believe me.

He lifted my body again and led me into the living room where there was a

stack of books. He grabbed a book through my fingers. I read the title. It said, Talks

with God. He then threw the book across the room.

Why did you do that? I said.

I am God, he said. And I love you.

You love me? I said surprised.

Yes, he said. I have loved you since you were a little girl. Youre beautiful.

I am? I said surprised.

Yes, he said. Youre beautiful in and out.

He ran me across the room and grabbed the book on the floor. We began

looking at the titles my uncles displayed. They were all religious from all religions all

over the world.

Well, I said. If your God should I ask you questions about the universe.

No, he said. You should just love me.

I do love you, I said.

 Well Im just here to spend time with you, he said.

And make love, I said.

Yes, he said. Thats my favorite part.

Where are you from? I asked. How could you be a spirit? How could you

move my body and speak through me?

Im eternal, he said.

You dont die, I said.

No, he said. I dont die.

Are you dead, I said. And now youre a ghost.

Im not dead, he said. Im eternal.

He had fully possessed my body and I could feel him inside me. He led me

into the bedroom and we sat on the bed. He began to make love to me again, softly

caressing me and bringing me comfort.

Look, he said, and turned my head towards the window. Those people over

there think you really know how to masturbate. They cant see me and they think

youre really enjoying yourself.

I looked, there was really a man staring out of the window. I began to laugh

out loud thinking about it. The ghost was very funny and he kept making me laugh

uncontrollably. We rolled around the bed and laughed.

They cant see you, I said. Nobody knows youre here.

 Only you know the truth, he said.

Why, I said. Can I hear you?

I talk to you, he said. I came for you.

They cant hear you either, I said.

Only you can hear me, he said. But I can speak to them through you.

Are you from heaven? I asked.

Something like that, he said.

Why did you wait so long to come and see me? I asked. I am 29 years

old.

I have been here your entire life, he said. I did speak to you; you just

didnt know it was me. Now you know me.

And your beautiful, I said.

It has been more beautiful than I ever expected, he said.

I thought of the people on the subway that talk to themselves; my God, I

thought, now Im one of them. But I was having conversations with a real man who

loved me.

Close your eyes, he said.

I closed my eyes, and he was able to draw pictures in my mind. I saw the

pictures clearly and he moved images around in my mind. The pictures were

beautiful and they were of cartoons and two people in love.

 We are going to draw them, he said.

You paint? I screamed.

Yes, he said. Well paint them. I know you love art.

How did you move those images in my mind, I said. How could you do

that?

I can do a lot of things, he said. And I write.

You write? I said.

Yes, he said. Well write together.

Do you write poetry? I asked.

Yes, he said. I write poetry. I know you love that.

Youre amazing, I said. What else can you do?

I can do a lot of things, he said.

You can draw pictures in my mind, I said. Clear pictures.

He laughed.

They cant see you? I asked.

No, he said.

And they cant see you? I asked.

No, he said. I could not see him either.

 I feel such love for you, I said. I wouldnt even care if you looked like a

monster.

I am a monster, he said, growling. Close your eyes again.

I closed them. In my mind he showed me a picture of two people embracing.

Is that you? I asked. The Black man.

He laughed and then he said, I love you. He then kissed me. The kiss was

like wind, soft and sweet.

It was not just a little mental illness, I said, talking about my affliction.

No, he said. It is bigger than that.

What a journey, I said. Its been an amazing experience. I cant believe

you found me in this big city.

I always know where you are, he said.

Seems practically impossible, I said. But Im so glad you have finally come,

and you are here with me now.

It has been better than I could ever expect, the spirit said.

Yes it has, he said.

When we made love, I asked. Did you feel it too, the great love and joy.

Yes, he said. It was the most wonderful experience I ever had. Kristie, Im

madly in love with you.

I love you too, I said. And I dont know why, but I just always knew I did.
 We were made for each other, he said.

Dont leave, I said.

I wont leave, he said. He grabbed my finger and put and imaginary ring on

my ring finger. I could feel his soft touch. Here, he said. Will you marry me? That

means forever.

Yes, I said. I will marry you.

Great, he said. And he kissed me.

The next day I woke and he said, Good morning. He told me to get my

coffee and eat. I had begun to realize he was taking care of me and protecting me.

He told me to get my camera and that we would go into the city and take pictures. I

thought of my song angel love and the preacher who talked about making dreams

like photographs in a dark room. I started to believe the picture of all of my dreams

was coming to life with the spirit and the preacher was right. I grabbed my camera

and we took the subway to the city. On the subway I looked around again; nobody

was aware he was there. I couldnt see him either, but I heard him, and yet they

could not hear him. He talked to me throughout the ride and guided me to Central

Park. Walking to Central Park there was a big sculpture that just said Love and as I

passed it I took pictures of it. It was as if it was a sign and I was walking through a

threshold from pain and confusion to this great heavenly love with the spirit. The

whole city was filled love and I began to take pictures of people holding hands, and

families laughing with their children. There was so much love around me I got many

pictures of people in love and at peace.

Am I in heaven, I asked the ghost.

 Its the city of love, he said.

I began to believe it was a different city than the first I experience, because

the feelings of love was everywhere and as I snapped pictures of people in love

holding hands and laughing, I could feel loves great beauty captivate me. There

were millions of people and I sat in the center by the fountain and hotel and took

pictures. There was a movie theatre near and I saw the title of the movie they were

playing. I couldnt believe it, it was called, Im madly in love with you. I began to

quickly take pictures of people holding hands under the sign. Love was in bold

letters and it shined in the pictures as couples passed holding hands and enjoying

each other. Each person was different, from a different culture and belief, and yet

they all had someone to love. I now had someone to love and I felt the ghost guide.

There, he said. Wait.

He pointed to a boy sitting in the center by himself reading a book. The boy

looked so lonely and there cab drivers on the street and crowds of families all

around him. He looked lost, like me, and I began to take pictures of him. The ghost

told me to stop and led me to Times Square. We walked to Times Square and I

began to snap picture after picture of the crowds and the big lights. We then walked

down to the Hudson River as the sun was setting and as the sun set I took picture

after picture of beautiful people enjoying themselves by the river. As I sat there, a

peace fell over me. The peace seemed sacred and I knew the ghost touched me. I

rested in that peace feeling how sacred and beautiful it was and as I took pictures,

for the first time in my life, I felt calm and at home. It was almost a church peace,

and I could have been in prayer, but it made me realize how beautiful the world was

and it filled me with gratitude and awe. I began to look at the world for how
amazing it really was and beautiful and I knew the spirit was making me see that.

The peace washed over me and I bathed in it, feeling how sacred it was. I walked

home feeling like I was just in prayer and fell asleep quickly and in a calm that I

have never known before. It seemed to be a kind of miracle that happened and I

began to see the world as miraculous.

The next day the ghost said we would take pictures again, this time in

Washington Square Park. It was May and there were beautiful flowers everywhere. I

began to take pictures of people in love by the flowers. There were so many couples

in love that I got many pictures of them. I then began to take pictures by the

fountain. I walked around for hours taking pictures and feeling the same meditative

peace that washed over me the day before. As night descended the ghost and I

went home. At my house I decided to look at the pictures of the previous days. I

developed them on my computer and looked at all the pictures we took. I noticed

that some of the pictures had energy in them and were out of focus, especially in

Times Square. Suddenly, I screamed. The ghost was in a few of the pictures. In

Central Park, I got a picture of the ghost far behind the lonely boy. By the Hudson

River I got pictures of his face, looking at a young girl running. The pictures were of

a ghost, a spirit. His face was unclear and his body was air. In Times Square I got a

picture of the ghost standing next to me pointing. In Washington Square Park I got a

picture of the ghost with Angels around him. He was not alone and Angels in all

white walked the park next to him. I didnt remember seeing him when I took the

pictures, but his image showed up in the camera. The ghost was a Black man, large

and muscular, with dark skin and a comedic personality. In most of the pictures, he

was being funny.

 This is you, I screamed. I got pictures of you. I got pictures of Angels in all

white. Angels really wear white.

The ghost laughed.

Youre so funny, I said. I wondered how the camera was able to pick up on

his energy. Wait, I said. Stand there.

I quickly snapped a picture in my room. Then I looked at it, but nobody was

there. I couldnt get pictures of him in my room. I saved the pictures I got on my

computer and looked at them again. I was amazed at the Angels, and then the clear

image of the ghost.

But nobody can see you, I asked.

No, he said. They cant see me.

And they cant hear you, I asked.

No, he said. I can speak through you.

They dont know you are here, I said.

No, he said. They dont know.

What world is this? I screamed, amazed at this experience. I was beginning

to be able to see ghosts and Angels, which meant that the world was not what it

seemed. There were people, secret and sacred people, that existed among us that

most of the world did not know about. They spoke about it at church, but now I had

witnessed it with my own eyes.

Can you do a miracle? I asked the ghost.

 You have seen many miracles in your life, he said.

Just you being here is a miracle, I said.

Lets go for a walk, he said.

We went outside and walked through the streets. I lived in Queens, in a busy

neighborhood, and there were crowds of people in the center of the town. We

walked down some residential streets where there were less people. At first the

ghost was quiet, and then he held my hand. I looked around, hoping nobody noticed

me, knowing they could not see him.

Dont be embarrassed, he said.

We strolled through the streets, holding hands and then he stopped me.

What? I asked. Then he kissed me.

I just had to do that, he said.

I began to walk again and he stopped me again to kiss me.

Youre so beautiful, he said.

You are so beautiful too, even though I cant see you, I said. But I wouldnt

even care what you looked like.

The truth was, I was captivated at his beauty and amazed at him. He was so

intelligent, with so many talents, and so many magical elements. Amazing things

were happening around me and in me. It was so touching that he stopped me to

kiss me, and he was so compassionate and loving. I felt so grateful for him and I
was filled with thankfulness that he had come to me. He continued to hold my

hands, and I swung it. A man looked at me and I stopped.

My God, I said to him under my breath. I am one of those crazy people on

the subway talking to myself.

Maybe they are really not alone, he said, laughing. And youve always

been a little crazy.

I never knew I was this crazy, I said, and I began laughing to myself. I tried

to stop myself from laughing, but couldnt. I was on the street, completely

immersed in laughter and joy, and it appeared like I was alone, but I wasnt. An

angel was with me, and he was more beautiful than I could ever expect.

We got back to my apartment and I sat on the bed.

Look, the ghost said. At what C.J. Money is doing.

I looked at the computer and saw that C.J. Money would be at a bookstore

near Central Park signing a book he co-wrote about Power. He was going to be so

close to where I visited everyday and I wondered if he knew I was there.

Who is he? I asked. He watched me. He talks to me on the radio. How can

he see me? Is he an Angel?

Yes, the ghost said. He is a sort of Angel. But hes evil.

So, I said. He is more like a demon.

I heard about demons, but never knew they were real.

Why, I said. Does he watch me?

 You are Babylon, the spirit said. You have many angels around you.

And this is in the Bible, I said.

Yes, the spirit said.

Why is it in the Bible? I asked.

Youre my bride, he said.

A woman like me? I said.

Yes, he said. I love you so much.

You love me? I said. Didnt he know I prostituted myself in Florida? Why

would he love me?

There is so much to love about you, he said.

It was so touching after the way men treated me that I found real love.

In the Bible, I said. Who is C.J. Money?

C.J. Money, he said. Is the Beast.

And who are you? I asked.

I am the spirit that marries you, he said. Lets go to see C.J. tomorrow.

It would be interesting, I said. To learn the truth.

The next day, I showered and got dressed nice to see C.J. Money. I was

nervous and I put on make-up so that I was presentable. The ghost and I walked to

the subway and waited. On the subway, the ghost started telling me jokes again
about the crazy people who talk to themselves. Again, I started laughing. There was

a woman sitting next to me and she looked at me.

Sometimes, I said to her. I just think of something funny and I cant stop

laughing.

I do it all the time, she said.

I hope you dont think Im crazy, I said.

No worries, she said. She was reading a book about the same woman who

spoke about God loving Babylon.

I love her books, I said.

Yes, the woman said. Shes very good.

On the train, I tried to stop myself from laughing, but the ghost was being so

funny I could contain my laughter. I looked around, wondering what people thought

of it, and the secret made me laugh even harder envisioning how ridiculous it was.

When I got shot, and almost died, the ghost whispered. You came to my

hospital bed and tickled me.

I did, I said, under my breath.

Yes, he said. You were always there in spirit.

I should have married you at 18 years old, I said.

I have been here since youve been born, he said.

 Many times my sister talked about karma and past lives; the ghost made me

wonder who I was in a past life.

Did you know me in a past life? I asked.

I always know you and I always find you, he said. Through centuries I have

found you and found you again.

I looked around as I whispered, hoping nobody saw me talking under my

breath. And you are always my husband? I asked.

Eternally, he said.

He must have known me from a past life, if he followed from birth to 29 years

old. The world was more than it seemed and love was making me believe in magical

elements of the universe that were spectacular and amazing.

And I came to you and tickled you, I said. I knew too, and waited for you.

Yes, the ghost said. You tickled me.

The ghost was talking about C.J. Money. C.J. Money got shot in the ghetto

when he was 25 years old, but he survived the bullet wounds. To the world, his

recovery was a miracle and it was miraculous that he was still alive. To some

people, it made him more than human and a man capable of overcoming almost

any obstacle. They didnt know something that I knew now; that maybe he wasnt

human but some kind of Angel that never died.

I felt it when Reynold died and I collapsed, I said. I got very drunk and

collapsed. Maybe I felt it too when you were shot.

 I wondered where I was when the shooting occurred and how I behaved. I

wondered if my emotions were often a reflection of how he was feeling and what he

was experiencing in life as well. If this was true, we were real soul mates, and we

were able to communicate even through the distance.

I know you feel me, he said. You have felt me for a long time. There are

some things I dont need to say because I just know you know.

Youre right, I said. For some reason, I immediately knew I loved him, and

yet we never met. Now I was positive I was right, I did love him even more than I

expected. He was much more beautiful than even I could anticipate. I felt so safe

and comfortable with him, and it was as if he was my best friend, and we had been

best friends for centuries.

Im so glad youre here, I said under my breath. And that you didnt die.

What would the world do without you?

Even if I died, he said. Id find you again and again. Dont worry yourself

about dying. Dying is just another experience.

I often got so sad, I wanted to die. I wanted to just be saved from the pain,

but the ghost gave me new life and made me want to live and experience life with

him. He must have been right, and found me through life times, marrying me in

each life and through each experience.

The train stopped and we got off. The ghost led me through the streets and

towards Central Park. I was suddenly getting nervous to see C.J. Money, and my

heart was pounding rapidly out of my chest. We walked down one block, then the

other, and I could barely hold my body up I was so scared. Finally, we got to Central
Park and walked down a block to the bookstore. At the bookstore, there was a long

line of people waiting to see C.J. Money because he was very famous and popular. I

didnt cross the street; I looked at the line and stopped.

Hes in there, the ghost said.

I know, I said, very nervous.

Your moment of truth, the ghost said.

I guess so, I said. Should we wait in line?

No, the ghost screamed, and he pulled me.

His pull was like a hurricane, and he pulled me with such force I started

running. I ran down one block and then through another. I was panting and tired,

but he kept running me.

I almost saw him, I screamed at the ghost. The moment of truth. I almost

saw C.J. Money.

What I cant give you money and power, The ghost screamed. I have no

money; Im like a slave boy.

I dont want your money, I screamed. And I dont want his money. I want

the truth.

The truth is: not everything is what it seems, he screamed. And you love

me, not him.

What about him talking to me on the radio, and how thats impossible, I

said. And him watching me. I can feel his stare.

 You love me, the ghost screamed. You dont love him.

Youre right, I said. I do love you, but I still want the truth.

This is the truth, the ghost screamed. Love is the truth.

He then grabbed me and started running me again. As he pulled, I started

getting confused. I was so close to C.J. Money and learning the truth, and the ghost

pulled me away from it. He ran me down three blocks and then to Central Park.

Lets make love, the ghost said. Ill meet you in the hotel.

What, I said. Are you really going to come?

He pulled me into the hotel and down hallways. It was a very wealthy hotel

and I couldnt afford a room even on a years pay. He had me look at doors and

finally he ran me out of the hotel.

Why did you do that? I screamed.

I wanted to see you, he said.

Then come see me, I said.

I will, one day, he said. Im here now.

Why are you acting so crazy, I said frustrated. That was C.J. Money. He

holds the truth. The truth of my life. I was so close to him, I could have found out

the truth.

The truth, the ghost screamed in the middle of crowd. What is the truth

anyway? You, you are scared of the truth. You have been scared of truth for years.

Im the truth; Im the man who has always loved you.

 Its not about money, I said. This is deeper than that. He watches me; he

talks to me. I want to know why. I want to know who he is.

He is bad to the bone, the ghost said. And dangerous.

Maybe he loved me, I said.

Youre delusional, the ghost said. C.J. money doesnt love women. He uses

them. C.J. Money is rich, powerful, and spoiled. And hes evil. My love is for real. I

love you without asking for anything.

What about the messages he sends me, I said. When will I know the truth

about that?

You are Babylon, the ghost. My wife, not his.

He walked me to the center of the park by the garden. We sat there quietly,

and then he kissed me.

You frustrate me, I said.

Do you forgive me? the ghost said. Im sorry.

Yes, I said. I forgive you.

We sat in silence for a long time and I looked at the people in the city. They

looked happy and content, and they were enjoying themselves in the park. The

truth was, I did love the ghost and I felt his love was more real and genuine. The

thought of the ghosts love filled me with wonder, but the thought of C.J. Money

filled me with fear. I couldnt believe, I was actually being confronted by real Biblical

figures and the way they described the Beast was exactly the way he was. I was the
whore, and C.J. Money was the Beast of Revelations. Poets and prophets from the

1800s had talked about this event and it had really occurred in my life. We sat in

silence and I thought about the impossibility of it and the magnitude of what was

happening to me. Suddenly, I heard a car honk and looked up. A Black man

screamed and waved his arms out of car towards me. He laughed out loud, an evil

laugh and sped away.

My god, I screamed to the ghost. I think that was C.J. Money.

He knew where I was and grabbed my attention. I stood up and screamed at

the car, but it was gone.

That was him, I said. That was C.J. money. He knew where I was.

The ghost began to pull me.

Wait, I said. Where are we going?

He pulled with more force and we began to run again. He led me so quickly it

was as if I was flying and he guided me to the subway. Through my hands, he got a

ticket and put me on the subway. I was angry, frustrated at the ghost, but I said

nothing to him. We traveled home in silence, but the rage was attacking me and

was painful. The ghost led me off the subway and walked me to my apartment. We

got into my room and sat on the bed.

I cant believe you did that, I said to him.

He said nothing, and began to make love to me. He moved me around the

bed passionately making love to me in silence. Then he said, Im the one who loves

you.
 The next day, I expressed my anger towards the ghost, but then I forgave him

easily. He was right, he was my true love, and C.J. Money was just a distraction. I

was suddenly grateful that the ghost came, and C.J. Money didnt. Still I looked on

the computer and saw a video of C.J. Money at the bookstore. In the clip, he said

something about The Art of Seduction, a book that taught men how to attract

women, and then he got up. I wondered if he knew I was there, so close to him.

You dont love him, the ghost said.

I love you, I said. I love you more than I have ever loved anything in my

life.

God is love, the ghost said.

And your love is real, I said.

What I feel for you is real, the spirit said. Its more real than most things.

But Ill never know why this happened to me, I said.

Some things are too complicated to be explained, the spirit said. Im here

now. Ive been here the whole time, I have just been silent.

Why, did you take so long to come? I asked.

Ive been here. I saw everything. I know everything about you, he said.

And I love you.

It is like you are my guardian Angel, I said.

I am more than an Angel, the spirit said.

 He then held me, and his touch was soft and sweet. I almost cried in his arms.

Thinking about everything that happened, I felt sad and hopeless. I would never

know the truth, or why this happened to me.

The next day, we were listening to the radio and we heard a new song by C.J.

Money. It was called, Youre right, and the announcer said it was from his new C.D.

War Angel. C.J. had known I called him Angel, and yet he was talking about a

battle. He heard me express things about Angels and yet he was declaring that he

was no real Angel but a warrior. This made me scared and I asked the ghost about

it.

Dont worry, the ghost said.

Who is he? I asked. Is he a devil?

Pretty close, the ghost said. He is a warrior.

A warrior? I questioned.

Yes, the ghost said. He battles people.

I was not prepared to fight C.J., and feeling my own weakness I knew I was

not ready.

You are the poet warrior, the ghost said. Dont be scared. Youre stronger

than you think.

No matter what the ghost said, I knew I was not strong enough for this. C.J.

was very powerful and he could crush me easily.

 My friend told me hes the enemy, I said. Does that mean hes the devil at

church?

Yes, the ghost. The enemy is Satan.

That means hes evil, I said.

He is evil, the ghost said.

Im scared, I said.

I know, the ghost said. Dont worry. Im here.

The ghost and I worked in the cleaning jobs and talked for hours. A few days

after I called C.J. Money the enemy, there was a song on the radio. The song was

called, Make me your enemy and was by a popular female singer who sang Pop

music. I voiced my concern to the ghost.

They heard me call him the enemy, I said. And now it is on the radio.

They have been talking to you through the radio, the ghost said.

How does he hear me? I said. Are they spying on me?

He is not human, the ghost said.

And there is no way youre human, I said.

No, the spirit said. Im not human. I dont even speak your language.

What language do you speak? I said.

You wouldnt even know it, the ghost said.

 I was working, I said. Cleaning a job in Astoria. The man came into the

room and then he just disappeared in thin air.

Many things have been happening around you, The ghost said.

He heard me call him the enemy, I said. And now there is a song. But it is

not by him, its by another singer not even in his genre of music. He must be very

powerful.

He is very powerful, the ghost said.

And these people just disappear into thin air, I said. What is happening?

There is a lot more than you know, the ghost said.

The other day, I said. I heard a singer sing a song called Babylon. That is

me?

Yes, the ghost said.

I am Babylon? I questioned.

Yes, the ghost said.

I looked up Babylon on the computer. It read, And the great walls of Babylon

shall tumble down, says the Lord. I looked up more instances of Babylon on the

computer. It read, Prophecy fulfilled by Babylon proves the accuracy of the Bible.

And another one that read, Babylon destroyed and the Beast of Revelations. Then

another that said, Judgment on the Whore of Babylon. Then another one that

read, God is good.

 God hates Babylon? I asked. I didnt know this. I never read the Bible

before.

Kristie, the ghost said. You dont know God or why he does certain things

in history. Many religions say different things but so far nobody has been able to

prove the existence of God or know how he thinks.

I remembered expressing my anger towards God to my sister, and she said,

God is good. It seemed, Korkie knew God if she knew he was good. I was starting

to believe that there were others who knew God too.

Muslims believe in Allah, Indians believe in Krishna, and Christians say Jesus

is God. Who is right?

I dont know, I said. If some man came up to you and said, I am God they

would put him in a mental hospital. They would think him crazy. And yet these

people believe this with all their heart and soul.

It is a matter of faith, the ghost said. But nobody knows God or how he

thinks.

And Babylon, I said. Is the witch in the religion?

You are the spirits bride, the ghost said. You are my bride. It is a love

story.

What does that mean? I said.

Its a love story, the ghost screamed.

Am I going to meet Christ? I asked.

 You met the spirit, the ghost said. The holy spirit.

I remembered my sister having a child and talking to my mother. Its just

amazing, I said. One minute they dont even exist, and the next minute they are

this magical creature with these full lives. I wonder how that can happen.

Only God can do it, my mother said.

God must be amazing, I said to the ghost.

He is, the ghost said.

This world is just so amazing. I said. And you are amazing.

It is also terrifying, the ghost said. Especially for young girls.

Is God sexist? I asked.

I dont know, the ghost said. But I do know the world is.

I began to wonder, What would they think of a whore?

They think terrible things, the ghost said.

Why would you love me? I asked.

There is so much to love, the ghost said.

For the first time, I believed him. I believed that I could find love in this life

and the love was with him. More than anything in life, I wanted to experience the

pleasures and ecstasy of true love. Now love was here, with me, and it was more

beautiful than I could ever imagine.

C.J. Money wrote that this is Gods plan, I said.

 It is in the Bible, the spirit said.

I wondered again who C.J. Money was and how he could see me.

And the church is talking about destroying Babylon, I said.

People have been talking about this prophecy for centuries, the ghost said.

William Blake in the 1800s wrote about it.

Why? I asked.

They dont even know, the spirit said. Because it is a mystery and they

dont know about the spiritual realm. Everything they have learned, they learned at

church.

I didnt know about you either, I said. I mean, you are invisible. People

cant see or hear you, and yet I can.

I am a spirit, the ghost said. And there are other realms out there that

have so far remained a secret. Even still, I am a secret, your secret, and it is a

matter of belief.

C.J. said once he doesnt die, I said. It was true. On a music C.D. he wrote,

Im deathless.

Maybe he doesnt, the ghost said.

So he must be an Angel, I said.

There are more things happening around you than even you can expect,

the ghost said. God is a magical creature and he has powers.

What kind of powers? I asked.

 Magical powers, the ghost said.

It was true, the music, the hearts in the sky, the glorious love and how it

made me feel; it was all sort of magical and spectacular. Even the poetry had a sort

of romance and magic to it.

I know what glory is, I said. I felt it when you came; it was the glory of

love.

True love is wonderful when it happens, the ghost said. And you found

love, finally.

It is like release, I laughed. And you are perfect; you are perfect for me.

Come, the ghost said.

He sat me by the computer and started typing through my fingers. It was a

poem.

Your Song

I swear

Your song is so powerful

It holds up the moon in the sky

For me

It gives me a smile

In sadness

For free

It keeps the New York City buildings

From crashing down on me

It stops the bullet

In mid air
Before hatred deforms my body

It loves

When nobody seemed to care

About me

And nobody dared

Fight the

Violence ruining our eyes

Everyday

In the oyster

Its the surprise

Its what happy ending sunsets

Mean to say

Its the way flowers cry

Their own song

When they lose the sun

Even in all that unsaid silence

Your song is blending in to someone

Even when

I cant express it

You know what it really means

When I cry

You said what I could not say

You knew why

Your song is still in New York

When youre in Brazil

I swear

Its the reason

The birds fly

I swear your song is the reason

The sun rises everyday

Its keep me alive

Its the reason I didnt

Die of heartbreak today

I think

I was young once, nave, and idealistic

But now I know

What men are made of

And even though I know

What they are made of

And this world broke my heart beyond repair

In a world where evil rules

In the dreams of the girl I once was

In a world that wants you to be hateful

Your song is different

It is still love

I went to work

When I didnt want to

I was good

I didnt say the things I shouldnt say

I cleaned the house

And just got lost

In your song as it played

It took me away

To a paradise of milk and honey

It never once asked me

For any money

I swear your song knows me

In places

I didnt know existed in me

One kiss

Sets beauty free

When Im in New York

But youre in Brazil

Dancing right next to me

I swear your song

Sews wings on my feet

It has to be the one

Paintings dreams

On my sheets

Your song is playing

While I cry

Your song is playing

While they hate me

While they lie

Your song is playing

As I die

Rocking me to rest

With a soft lullaby

I can live through World War 3

On the ground

With your song

Holding me in the sky

I dont know what the stars

Are supposed to mean

What holds them up

Why when we look at what we dont know

About ourselves

We think we are dreaming

I dont know

If there is something better

Out there for me

But sometimes when I hear your song

I think if I could just touch it

Id be free

Finally

I swear

Your song is a

Diamond

That hasnt been found

We are glass

That could

Break with just a sound

I know in everything

I know

It could save the world

If they felt it pound

It could move them to love

It could spin the sun around

Unconventionally

Where dancing through life would be

The only way to be

I dont know if Ill live through this pain

You gave to me

But I know your song made living

Worth it

I swear your song is a smile

On a face

Nobody can see

I can feel it

In everything I am meant to be

When Im in New York and youre in Brazil

Singing just to me

If there was a returning flower for death

Or a rainbow for tears

If there was a wine for my emptiness

Or a sword

For my fears

It would be your song

Still playing

When I was too tired to go on

After all these years

I swear Id see things

People said I couldnt see

It would be your song

Out there

Somewhere

Holding the moon up just for me

As I read the poem, I couldnt believe how beautiful it was.

 Youre a fantastic writer, I said. Thank you for that.

We will write more, the ghost said.

It is about the music helping me through hard times, I said.

Yes, the ghost said. The beautiful music.

And how, I said. We are together even when we are apart.

Yes, the ghost said. The music will help you remember who you are.

I love the poem, I said. It is so beautiful.

Life is beautiful, the ghost said.

I was starting to believe that life was beautiful, even in the hardships.

I have loved you since you were a little girl Kristie, the ghost said.

You knew me then? I asked.

Yes, the ghost said. I knew you. And I love you now even more than ever.

I couldnt believe the ghost knew me from childhood. He told me memories

often of my past and even knew them better than I did.

Remember at your summer house when you would put on dances, the

ghost said. You loved to dance.

Yes, I said, remembering. You were there when I was 12 years old.

Oh yes, the ghost said. I was there. I saw it.

And that is when you wanted to marry me? I said.

 Oh yes, the ghost said. You were the prettiest little girl.

I never thought of myself as beautiful, but the ghost was making me believe

that I was beautiful.

I cant believe this, I said. I cant believe you and how beautiful you are.

Were beautiful together, the ghost said.

It is like you are my best friend, I said.

We are very close, the ghost said.

Come, the ghost said.

He guided me to the radio. He put on a song through my fingers and started

dancing with me. I began to laugh it was so fun. Together, we swayed to the music,

and then he twirled me. I laughed into the air and he dipped me. Then he kissed me

in the dip.

I know the alcohol is bad for me and I get very drunk, I said. But I love

dancing at the club.

It was fun for a little while, the ghost said. Then it got sad.

Were you there in Florida? I asked.

Oh yes, the ghost said. And I cried with you. It is terrible what those men

did to you.

I dont understand it, I said.

They raped you, the ghost said.

 It was terrible, I said.

It is hard for women, the ghost said.

Yes, I said. It is.

Before you came I would suddenly get very happy, overwhelmed by this joy

that spilled out of me, or then I would get very sad and cry. Most of the time when

this happened, it happened when I did not expect it and I did not know why it was

happening. Now looking back, it was as if I felt your love, or I felt the pain of the

distance and knew you were missing me, even though you were so far away. I knew

you, even though we never met, and I felt you. We communicated.

I have experienced the same things with you watching you through all these

years, the ghost said. For many years I communicated with you in silence, and I

knew you could feel me.

Yes, I screamed. I would suddenly feel this urge to paint, but I would go to

the canvas without a plan and just let my fingers move spontaneously across the

canvas. I never knew what would come of it, but suddenly I would have a picture of

a wedding with a Christian cross on top and even though I was unsure about what it

meant, I knew you were speaking me, telling me a secret. It was as if I was painting

these secrets, this mystery in my painting, and you were telling me the future and

still speaking to me from far away.

I was still speaking to you, the ghost said. Even though I was silent. That

picture was our wedding. Remember you painted ghosts years before I came.
 Yes, I screamed. I remember. I can feel you even through the distance, feel

you calling for me and yearning for me. I know how to talk to you even when youre

not there.

It is as if I have loved you forever, I said. Through all time and space.

I have loved you forever, the ghost said. And the love is real, without

conditions.

Who are you? I asked. Where do you come from?

I come from another world, the ghost said. An eternal world. But Ive never

had more fun than when I am with you.

Sometimes I would just write love poems, I said. And it was as if you were

writing through my fingers. This was before you came. You were telling me you were

coming.

I was writing through you, the ghost said. I told you very young I was here

and made you aware of my existence.

And you know everything, I said. Even since childhood.

Yes, the ghost said. And I want to get married. Will you marry me Kristie?

Yes, I said. When?

Next week, the ghost said. In front of the Virgin Mary you go to in

Babylon.

OK, I said.
 Over the course of the week I got my hair done and bought a cheap white

dress, preparing for the day of the marriage. As the week came, I went home to my

parents house in Babylon the ghost and I talked more and also danced. On the day

we walked to the church, in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary. I stood there in

silence and then the ghost spoke.

I agree to marry Kristie Donohue before God and the Virgin Mary, the ghost

said. And I will love her forever.

I agree to marry the spirit, I said. And remain faithful to him forever.

The ghost grabbed my finger and put an invisible ring on my finger. He then

kissed me. As we walked home he held my hand.

I am now your husband, the spirit said.

I cant believe you married me after what happened, I said.

There is so much to love, the spirit said.

I believed him, for the first time in my life I believed in him and his love. I

believed I deserved his love. His love filled me with joy and beauty; it was magical

and spectacular and divine. Now, we were married. The love would be forever. For

the following weeks, we made love everyday and the ghost filled me with ideas and

dreams, writing poem after poem of love and womanhood. Every poem was

beautiful and I was filled with this creative energy that inspired me. In each poem, I

found hope again and inspiration. The ghost was inspiring my dreams and uplifting

and empowering me with words. Each poem had power and beauty in it. The lines

were filled with meaning, and liberation, and glory, and I felt uplifted experiencing

the creativity as he wrote through me. I felt hope again as we wrote. After we wrote
poems, the ghost started painting through my fingers. He drew these beautiful and

creative pictures of people in love, using every color of rainbow.

The painting is so colorful and vibrant it looks like a party, I said.

It is a celebration of love and life, the ghost said.

Yes, I said. A celebration. That is what it looks like.

Its a celebration of love and all of lifes beauties.

And there are secrets in them, I said. They tell a story. A story of me and

you.

They hold meaning and they tell a story, the ghost said. It is our love story

in them. It is a celebration of our love.

It was true. The ghost was telling a story through paintings and poetry and it

was the story of our meeting and life together. There were hidden secrets in the

paintings and poems that only the ghost and I knew about. In one painting, he

painted a monster or the beast he called it, symbolizing C.J. Money. In another

painting, he painted a King. He also painted many lovers, but when he drew the

man he colored his skin dark and the womans skin light.

Are you a Black man? I asked the ghost.

Yes, he said. I am.

I wouldnt care what color you are, I said. Or if you were really were a

monster. I would love you even if you were fat and ugly.

You would, the ghost laughed. I love you unconditionally too.

 I quit the cleaning job in Queens and moved back to my parents house in

West Babylon, Long Island, where I got a job freelance writing. It didnt give me a lot

of money, but it was an experience and I was learning. At my parents house in West

Babylon, the ghost and I spent a lot of time together. We wrote, and painted, and

danced together, and he often made me laugh out loud. The only other person who

ever me laugh so hard I almost peed my pants was Korkie, my sister, when we were

children. At the house, I would laugh and my mother would yell me. She wasnt

aware of the ghosts presence and neither was my father. Nobody was aware of his

presence until I told them, and even then, when I told them they asked about my

anti-psychotic medication and took it as a mental illness. During that time, the

ghost filled me with many ideas and dreams and we would write them down in

poems or draw them. Often, the ghost wrote me letters and he would speak to me

through my fingers. I kept all his letters in a diary in a draw under my desk, and

soon there were tens of them filled with letters from the ghost. In the letters, he

talked about my life, my past, and often expressed his undying love for me.

I loved you since you were a little girl, the ghost wrote. Then he would,

again, write a memory.

My teeth were all rotten from the anti-psychotic medication they put me on

and I found out I had to pull all of them from the dentist and get dentures. I

expressed my concern to my ghost, that I would lose all my teeth, and he was quiet.

The weeks past and the day to pull the teeth was coming. One day, I was eating

lentil soup and I started coughing.

Im choking, I said.
 After that day, I couldnt eat. The ghost stopped me from eating normal food

and fed me liquids. He tortured me with hunger and told me he would choke me.

What happened, I said. Why are you starving me?

You cheated on Belfry, the ghost screamed. If you cheat on me, Ill murder

you.

Hes not my husband, I said. I barely knew him. And I didnt cheat, they

set me up.

Im getting revenge, the ghost said.

I didnt love him, I screamed. There was more in the world, more I had to

do that I couldnt do with him. He got mad at my writing, and cursed it. He held me

back. There was more in the world for me than with him. What about you?

Apologize to Belfry, the ghost screamed.

No, I said. Youre tormenting me.

The ghost pulled on me, and as I ate, he pressed on my head so that I would

choke. We began to fight.

Stop, I said. Stop what you are doing. You are torturing me.

You know what is real torture, the ghost screamed. Seeing you with those

men when I am your husband. I saw it; I saw everything Kristie. You cant hide.

You did it, I screamed. You did it to me.

Youre right, the ghost yelled. It was me. I did it to you. I was those men.
 You were those men? I yelled.

Yes, the ghost said. It was me. I did it. And I planned to marry you.

After all these years, I yelled. Years of crying and heart ache. I was lost.

And you were the one who did it.

I needed to be near you, the ghost said. Do you forgive me?

No, I yelled. You put me through hell. And it was you the whole time. How

could you do that?

I am not human; I am something else, the ghost said.

What else? I yelled. What are you?

Im from the spirit world, the ghost said. I can change my body. I wanted

to marry you at 18 years old.

Why go through all the trouble, I yelled. Why didnt you just marry me at

18?

I couldnt, the ghost said. Would you have loved me then?

Yes, I yelled. Of course I would have loved you. All the years I waited and

cried. It was you who did it.

Im sorry, the ghost said. Forgive me.

For weeks, the ghost and I fought. I walked around the house screaming

about how horrible C.J. money was, how horrible men had been to me, and how

horrible God was for taking my college degree and punishing me. Often the ghost

pushed on me or screamed back, and we stormed around the house yelling. One
day the ghost and I were fighting and I went into the kitchen. My father mentioned

something about my husband.

I dont have a husband, I said, keeping the ghost a secret.

Jesus is your husband, my father said.

He is not Jesus, I said, still angry at the ghost.

I went into my room, and talked to the ghost calmly.

Who are you? I asked. Are you Jesus?

I am many things, the ghost said. I am from the spirit world.

On the computer I saw that C.J. Money started selling drinks to feed the

starving. He had seen what the ghost did to me and responded. He had seen

everything.

How can he see me? I asked the ghost.

Hes not human, the ghost said.

What? I yelled. What is he then?

He is something else, the ghost said. Youll never understand.

There is a song called Babylon, I said. That is me?

Yes, the ghost said. You are Babylon.

And the song knows me? I asked.

Yes, the ghost said. The Angels know you.

 Theyre not singers? I questioned. Theyre Angels.

Something like that, the ghost said.

And C.J. Money is the Beast? I asked.

Yes, the ghost said. He is the Beast.

C.J. Money was the Beast which explained the evil, the guns, the crime and

the theft. In the Bible it said that great evils happen at the hands of the Beast, and

people run from him.

Is there really a Jesus and a Devil? I asked the ghost.

Why wouldnt you believe? the ghost said. After all the miracles you have

experienced in your life.

There are some philosophers who say there is no God, I said.

Well what do you believe now? the ghost said. That you have experienced

me and a great love.

I dont know, I said. There must be a God.

After all the miracles you have experienced in your life, the ghost said.

Why wouldnt you believe in something greater, more magnificent than just this

life?

You are very amazing, I said to the ghost. More amazing than I ever

expected.

There is more out there, the ghost said. There are greater things that will

really amaze you if you just let yourself experience them.

 I fulfilled the prophecy, I said. I dont know how I did it or why.

You were destined to be my bride, the ghost said.

Over the following weeks, the ghost and I worked and we posted our

paintings and poems on a blog. Through the blog, a man contacted me and told me

he was in love with me. I told him I was married, but the man continued to write me

letters expressing his affection. I wondered how the man knew me or found me, but

strange things had been happening to me so often that I was beginning to get used

to it. The man said he lived in Bellmore and he worked at the airport, and when I

went to an antique sale in Bellmore one day he said he saw me. I wondered how he

could see me; he never came up to me and he didnt know I was going there.

They are watching me, I said to the ghost.

Theyve been watching you, the ghost said.

He says he loves me, I said. It is not the first time. I have always wondered

who this man is who does this.

Youre married, the ghost screamed. To me.

I know, I said. I told him that, but he didnt care.

Why doesnt he care that youre married. Youre married to the man of your

dreams.

How, I screamed. Does he see me? How do these men always know where

I am? And yet, they are so secret about it.

They always work in secret, the ghost said.

 This really is a mystery, I said.

The mystery of Babylon, the ghost said.

A few weeks later, I went to the dentist and they pulled all of my rotten teeth.

I now had to wear dentures and I had no teeth in my mouth.

Youre ugly, the ghost said. Youre ugly now.

In act of retaliation, I put on a swimsuit and took pictures of myself.

Ugly, I wrote and put it on a blog.

I wouldnt care if youre a monster, the ghost. I was lying, youre

beautiful.

Im ugly now, I cried. Im old and ugly.

Youre beautiful for your age, the ghost said. I dont care about the teeth.

I dont want you to see me like this, I said.

I love you, Kristie, the ghost said. I dont care how you look.

Meanwhile, while I turned ugly and old, C.J. Money got a gorgeous model

pregnant and posted all of the pictures on the internet.

You still love me? I asked the ghost.

Of course, he said. I love you now more than ever.

It is like you are my best friend, I said.

We have such good times together, the ghost said.

 He was right; it was wonderful. The ghost and I were soul mates and it was

as if we knew each other throughout many life times. The ghost was perfect in so

many ways. He inspired me, and he taught me, and I learned so many new things

from him. We talked for hours. The ghost talked often and I could just listen to him

speak for days. He knew so many new and exciting things and he shared his

knowledge with me. I loved listening him talk to me, and we talked for hours about

my past, love, religion, social issues, and how human characters interact. I was so

intrigued by the ghosts mind, and with him possessing my body, it was as if we

shared the same mind and I was having new thoughts and ideas that inspired me.

Often, the ghost told me jokes and we laughed heartily together. Many times, we

posted the jokes on the internet. One day we posted a picture of a lion in roar

having sex with a lioness; the lion looked mean and aggressive as the lioness lay

passive underneath him. Hes having a good time, I wrote. Days later C.J. Money

came out with a C.D. called Animal Goals. He was reading my internet posts and

responding. On another day we posted a picture of Beauty and Beast. This is my

ghost, isnt he so cute, I wrote. The ghost and I laughed at the picture, but days

later C.J. Money came out with another C.D. that said, The Beast is C.J. Money; the

Beauty is Liberation.

Hes reading my posts, I told the ghost.

You know he has been observing you, the ghost said.

After months with ghost, C.J. came out with a Television series in which the

main characters name was Ghost. C.J. was aware of the ghost and had even seen

me interact with him. Ghost must die, C.J. wrote in the caption, and Ghosts

never die. The television series was an urban crime thriller and it was about a man
who owned a club, had affairs with women, and got into trouble trying to make a lot

of money. C.J. money played a bad boy in it who just got out jail and caused trouble

within the group of characters. For over a decade, C.J. money had been observing

and talking to me this way. I wondered if it was him who sent me the messages of

endearment throughout my life, but I knew I would never know.

When I left college because of mental illness, I said to the ghost. A man

was sending me love letters, professing his love for me. I went running into the city

looking for him, but I never found him. Was that man C.J. Money?

It was me, the ghost said. I wrote you those letters. I have loved you for a

decade.

It was you, I screamed.

Yes, the ghost said. And I finally came. I wanted to come sooner.

You loved me? I questioned.

Yes, the ghost said. Greatly. I loved you so much.

And you wrote me, I said.

I contacted you, yes, The ghost said.

Who is C.J. Money? I asked.

He is the Beast, the ghost said. Youll never know. It is a mystery.

Yes, I said. It is a mystery.

I am your husband, the ghost said.

 You are the one who has been good to me, I said.

The religion is mysterious, the ghost said.

How could this have possibly even happened? I asked.

It was destined to happen, the ghost said.

You must have known me, I said. From another life.

I did, the ghost said.

Are we eternal? I said. Im starting to believe in what the Religion says

about heaven and past lives.

We are eternal, the ghost said. This life is merely an experience. Then we

travel to different dimensions and experience different things.

In this life, I said. Even through heart ache, I found love.

Love will find you, the ghost said. Over and over again.

That is all I ever wanted, I said. All I ever wanted was love.

If you search for it, the ghost said. Youll find it truly.

While I was searching for love, I said. Love was searching for me.

Yes, the ghost said. It is perfect that way.

I am so happy you found me, I said. I dont know how you found me in this

big world, but you did. And it is just so beautiful.

What are the chances? the ghost said. What is the likelihood in this big

universe?
 It is nearly impossible that you would love me of all people, I said. And C.J.

Money is huge. He is around tens of thousands of people.

But I do you love you, the ghost said. Even against the odds.

It was true, the odds that ghost would find me were nearly impossible, and

yet he did. He found me when I was just a child, and continued to love me for

almost 40 years. Even in the heart ache and despair, he held strong and loved me.

He stayed with me throughout it all and encouraged and protected me. Now I had

grown old and deformed, and he still loved me through it. His love was magnificent

and nearly impossible; it was so great it could only be from the divine and the spirit

world where he came. I suddenly no longer needed the truth because the ghosts

love was the whole truth. His love was so great its beauty spilled out of me and I

wanted to scream out and shout about the glory of love and the magnificence of the

universe. Even though I lost everything, and we had nothing, I was still filled with

this great joy that uplifted me; the ghost filled me with dreams again and hopes. He

made me believe in things like magic and miracles, and he made me see the world

as if everything was magical and exciting. As we talked and wrote love poem after

love poem, and painting after painting, I began to believe I was in a beautiful place

surrounded by colors, and music, and language, and ideas. The music lifted me, and

I rose to soaring heights, dancing and laughing with the ghost, talking about

important issues and feeling, knowing the magnitude and impact of his love. Our

love stretched across the universe and left a golden light; it swept us away and

freed us from the confines of poverty and despair. It filled us with these great

powerful thoughts that liberated us and empowered us and gave us strength

through the hardships. It made me want to scream out, Love is great and

beautiful. I believed, I believed again in great things and that the ghost was the
carrier and creator of many great things. After the way men treated me, the ghosts

love was a sort of justice I received; it was real and it was good.

Feeling the power fill me and the glory release me, I began to dance in this

great release. I lifted my arms out and then I curved my hips in a sensual and

provocative dance. The spirit danced with me and made my body agile and fluid;

my hips swayed weightlessly like a snake and my arms twirled around my head. The

spirit began to grind with my body, and move me fluidly across the room as we

intertwined and knew how to answer each others calling. He turned me and I

seduced him, feeling the freedom of dancing awaken me and lift me to this glorious

scream and laughter that released me. As I spilled into the music, I began to fly

across the floor; forgetting my body I was full spirit and I flew like a ribbon in the

wind, feeling, tasting, hearing the freedom call me and summon me to powerful

heights. I reach out and grabbed the world and I danced with it, summoning

courage, and new beginnings, and something to believe in again. The song was

telling my story, and I remembered even after the heartbreak; I knew who I was. I

was a girl in love with the universe, in love with the spirit that possessed me. I was

wild and untamed. I was on my way to my destiny and I couldnt be held down or

stopped. I was dancing there in a storm and rage, and I was singing out with joy and

liberation that my day had finally come. The ghost held me, and we moved into it, a

new world.

Every night, the ghost made love to me, and we talked. We talked about our

day, our plans for the following day, and we talked about our love.

I cant believe you love me of all people, I said.

There is so much to love, he said.

 Youre so special, I said.

So are you, he said.

Who is C.J. Money anyway? I said.

We may never know, the ghost said.

It is a mystery, I said.

Yes, the ghost said. I love you. Ive always loved you.

You are my hope, I said.

You are my dreams, he said. I had the best time I ever had in my life with

you.

Its been fun, I said.

He grabbed my hand and put an imaginary ring on my finger.

Be my wife, he said.
A few days later I was