{"id":132,"date":"2012-08-29T18:55:19","date_gmt":"2012-08-29T18:55:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/kentrichter.com\/?page_id=132"},"modified":"2012-08-29T18:55:19","modified_gmt":"2012-08-29T18:55:19","slug":"the-angelology-of-bobby-vaughn","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/kentrichter.com\/?page_id=132","title":{"rendered":"The Angelology of Bobby Vaughn"},"content":{"rendered":"
I might have been drinking a little too much, so I\u2019m not exactly sure that this is how it all happened. But I am pretty sure that either my car got towed or I just couldn\u2019t remember where I\u2019d parked it. Anyway, it was while I was kind of stumbling around downtown on State Street that I bumped into Bobby Vaughn. I\u2019d known Bobby since High School; we hung around together some the first couple years of college. But then he just disappeared. Some of us figured he\u2019d been arrested, probably because he always was the guy who sold us our little baggies. But we really didn\u2019t know what had happened to him, and that night on State Street it was clear that he had been doing pretty well for himself.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
I had stumbled out of the X-O Club and wandered some blocks north. And there was Bobby standing outside of one of those swankier clubs, waiting for the valet to bring his car. I literally bumped into him, and it seemed good luck at first, because he recognized me and, in the course of trying to chat for the minute or so we waited, he asked me if I needed a ride home. I did, and it turned out he still lived out in the suburbs, though no longer in our old neighborhood. So when the kid rolled up in Bobby\u2019s black Mercedes, Bobby tipped the valet and beeped my door open, and I got in.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“How\u2019d you do all this?” I asked Bobby pretty directly, after we made the turn around the block and began to head down to Congress.\u00a0\u00a0 <\/strong>“What kind of job you got, man? You a fuckin\u2019 company president, or what?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
Bobby laughed. “Nah,” he said. “I don\u2019t really have a job. But I do OK.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“OK?” I coughed. “This is a hell of a lot better than OK. Your Dad die and leave you a fortune or something?” I knew it was a safe question; Bobby never had a Dad, as far as I could remember.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Nah,” Bobby laughed again. “No Dad, no job. I\u2019m just lucky.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Oh, the lottery, eh?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Nope,” he replied, “it\u2019s actually better than that.” He looked over and winked at me. “I got angels on my side.” He smiled.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“You got religion?” I asked. Boy, was I mistaken!<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Nah,” he said once again with another laugh. Then for a few seconds he went kind of silent, kind of looking over at me. There was a pause as Bobby manipulated the lane changes necessary to get onto the freeway. Then he said, “You really want to know?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Fuck, yeah,” I said. “Hell, I could use God or some angels on my side.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“God\u2019s got nothing to do with it,” Bobby said, switching lanes to go around some guy doing a mere 65. Bobby was doing at least 75.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“So what\u2019s the secret?” I asked, pretty naively.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Angelology,” Bobby said matter-of-factly.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“And what\u2019s that.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Duh!” he mocked. “The study of angels, obviously. Angel-ology. Get it?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Sure. Angel-ology.” I split the word up like he did. “So what is it? I mean, what do you do with angel-ology?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“You study angels, you dumb\u2026” He stopped; didn\u2019t call me anything impolite. “You just study angels,” he said easily.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
I tried to mock him back. “So you study how they fly and play harps and shit? How they bring little blessings to Catholic kids and watch over babies?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
Bobby looked over at me, but he didn\u2019t smile. “Be careful talking about things you don\u2019t understand,” he said. “Angels are as real as you and me. Maybe realer.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“OK, fine,” I said. I turned the little vent from the air conditioning onto my face, felt like I was a little soberer. “So what is there to understand about angels?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
He looked at me again, then back to the road. We were already out at Harlem and were passing cars in the right lanes like they were standing still.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Angels are creatures like you and me,” he said with a kind of confidence that made it seem true. “They think and act, though they have no bodies. They\u2019re intelligent and powerful, and they can help you out, if you know how to ask.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“So you did get religion,” I asserted. “You pray to the angels and they answer your prayers.” He let me talk nonsense. “All you gotta do is ask?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Ask in the right way,” he reasserted.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“And what\u2019s the right way?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Depends on what they want.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“What they want? What they hell does that mean?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Listen,” he said, taking his right hand off the wheel and waving it at me. “I told you that angels are like you and me. They get hungry. And if you feed them what they want, they pay you back.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“That\u2019s bullshit,” I laughed out loud, seeing the obvious error in his ideas. “You just said angels got no bodies. How can they be hungry.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
Bobby kind of shook his head, and I felt kind of smug, like I\u2019d got him. But he went on explaining. “I didn\u2019t say they were hungry for food. They\u2019re like us, hungry like us for different kinds of things. Think about it. Sure we get hungry for food, but that\u2019s just our bodies. People \u2013 even people with all the food they want \u2013 are also hungry for other things, like love, power, importance, pleasure, control. You know. Like why does some millionaire or great politician keep on making millions and ordering people around? Why does some guy with a beautiful wife get a mistress? Why do people manipulate each other and put each other down. It ain\u2019t for food, that\u2019s for sure.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
I stopped and thought, maybe for the first time on the trip home. We were passing 9th<\/sup> Street. “So you got this fuckin\u2019 Mercedes and shit because you feed angels and they give you what you want?” I was trying to recap. “And somehow you know what they want?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“That\u2019s angelology,” he said, turning to me with a friendly smile. “Works for me.” I couldn\u2019t argue with the Mercedes.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“I thought angles was always, like, hanging around heaven and praising God and shit, and doing his bidding.” I was trying to remember the stories.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Well, some do.” He said. “But some don\u2019t. They\u2019re all hungry, as I said, and praising God, et cetera<\/em>, is what some of them are hungry for. They eat, if you will, the presence of God. And that\u2019s fine for them. But other angels want something else.” He paused, waited, as if he had something to say that was dangerous. “Some angels,” he said, “don\u2019t like the taste of God.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
Somehow that idea struck a chord in me. “You mean like devils and demons and them?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“See,” he said, responding quickly. “That\u2019s the trouble with trying to talk to people about angelology. They\u2019ve already got their heads full of religious doctrines and can\u2019t just think reasonably. It isn\u2019t about angels and demons,” he made his voice tremble, like mocking a spooky story. “They\u2019re all angels. And they\u2019re all hungry, like I said. It\u2019s just that some are hungry for God and some for, well, other things. Get off here?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Yeah,” I responded, looking up at the exit sign. “You remember my folks\u2019 house?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Sure,” he said, and there was a strange quiet while he slowed for the turn at the top of the ramp. We headed north, and I felt a little weird, curious like, but, well, a little afraid, though I didn\u2019t know of what.<\/strong><\/address>\n
“So what kind of things do you give the angels?” I asked. I regret asking now.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“I told you,” he said. “I give them what they want, what they\u2019re hungry for.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Yeah, you said that. And what\u2019s that?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Different angels like different things,” he said. Then he paused, again as if considering how much to say. Finally he just said it: “Some want despair. Some hatred. Some want lust or envy. Some want destruction or simple pain. Some want death; some want souls.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Shit,” I said, maybe almost laughing, since it sounded so ridiculous. “Sounds like demons to me.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Well, there you go,” Bobby said. “I can\u2019t explain it to you if you have to be stuck on some moral judgments from Sunday School. Right and wrong, good and bad, angels and demons, heaven and hell. All that bull\u2026” Bobby stopped and then went on, as if correcting himself. “All that is just human judgment. Angels are beyond all that. Shoot! We\u2019re<\/em> beyond all that. I mean, what\u2019s good to you is bad to me; what\u2019s great for penguins is freezing for flamingos. Feeding on God is great for some angels; feeding on lust is great for others. I told you: different angels like different things. Why make judgments? It\u2019s all so absurdly parochial.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
Traffic was slowing us down at this point. Even at one in the morning on a Friday night, there\u2019s always cars moving. So there was some stop and go. And meanwhile, I couldn\u2019t disagree with Bobby. I mean, it\u2019s pretty obvious. We\u2019re all different. What\u2019s good for you is bad for me, and all that shit, like he said. So some angels eat souls\u2026<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“And so,” I foolishly started again, “so you feed angels souls.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Listen,” Bobby said, like he was going to explain more angelology. Then he stopped, suddenly yanked the wheel over, and turned down a dark side street. I don\u2019t know what street it was. “Listen,” he started over, “let me show you what I mean.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
At that, Bobby clammed up and drove. Maybe for just a couple minutes he drove back and forth on the side streets, careful of the deep gutters that crossed his path, but utterly inconsiderate of the stop signs. Right then left; two blocks then three, then another turn. I had no idea where we were going or where home was from here. But finally Bobby saw what he wanted. There on the sidewalk, this late at night, in the dark, were two kids walking. I guessed they were teenagers. Of course I don\u2019t know for sure. But Bobby drove past them and pulled over. “Quick, give me your left shoe,” he commanded. I protested, but he just kind of yelled at me. “Quick,” he said, “the shoe.” I didn\u2019t even untie it.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
Bobby began to mutter something I couldn\u2019t understand. Muttering and muttering, he stared toward the two kids as they walked up and then, nearly up beside us, they stopped. Bobby, still muttering, reached under his seat. He opened his door and the flash of the dome light reflected on a blade in his hand, along with my shoe.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
For reasons I still cannot imagine, the two kids just stood there and watched Bobby approach. In a kind of stunned silence \u2013 certainly sober by now \u2013 I watched as Bobby came up to the first kid, easily leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. Without a word, the kid\u2019s eyes went wild, he turned and ran away. The second was not so lucky. If I saw it right, there was no scuffle or fight, just a quiet forward movement of Bobby\u2019s hand, and the kid fell in his own tracks. Easily, Bobby bent over him, paused for what seemed a full minute, leaning over the kid, doing something I couldn\u2019t see. There seemed to be at most a kind of low moan, a weak cry, and then Bobby was back at the car, carrying only my shoe.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“There,” he said, as he placed the shoe on the floor by my feet, put the car back in gear and eased up the street. “That\u2019s done.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“What\u2019s done?” I almost yelled. “Fuck, Bobby! What the hell did you do?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“I fed an angel,” Bobby replied.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Fuck, Bobby! Shit!” I must have said that six or seven times, having really nothing else to say, but suddenly scared as hell. “What the hell did you feed to an angel?”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“At least a life,” Bobby said easily. “And I let him wake up before he died and I told him he was dying for nothing, so I might have gotten some despair, probably some fear. At least I got some pain.” He paused, nodded down toward my feet. “And I got the hand. Think of it as a little souvenir.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
I looked with horror into the darkness by me feet, barely seeing the outline of my own shoe. “In my shoe?” I asked slowly.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Sure,” he said, smiling at me. “Here\u2019s your house.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
While I was freaking out, Bobby had driven me home. And here I was. Of course I couldn\u2019t take the shoe, and I couldn\u2019t stop shaking. I got out. “You\u2019re fucked up, Bobby,” I said. “You know that? You\u2019re fucked up, man. They\u2019re gonna come get you and fry your ass. They\u2019re gonna\u2026”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
Bobby laughed and waved me away as I stood by the car door. <\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Nah,” he said. “I told you. I help the angels and the angels help me. One way or another, I figure they\u2019ll pin it on the other kid. Heck, I bet by now the other kid thinks he did it. He\u2019ll probably confess.” Bobby laughed again.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Shee-it!” I said. I slammed the door and froze there on the curb. The side window slowly went down. “Want your shoe?” Bobby called across the passenger seat, maybe with a little laugh in his voice.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Fuck you,” I said to Bobby.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Well,” he replied, “it\u2019s like I said. Different people like different things.”<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“Fuck you,” I repeated.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
“See you around,” Bobby called as he drove away with my shoe.<\/strong><\/address>\n
<\/strong>\u00a0<\/address>\n
I was scared shitless for a month, wondering if my shoe would reappear. By now, two months later, I\u2019ve calmed down a little, and, well, I\u2019ve been thinking. “Different angels like different things.” Hmm. You can\u2019t argue with a Mercedes.<\/strong><\/address>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/address>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I might have been drinking a little too much, so I\u2019m not exactly sure that this is how it all happened. But I am pretty sure that either my car got towed or I just couldn\u2019t remember where I\u2019d parked … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":43,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"full-width-page.php","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-132","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kentrichter.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/132","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kentrichter.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kentrichter.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kentrichter.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kentrichter.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=132"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/kentrichter.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/132\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":133,"href":"https:\/\/kentrichter.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/132\/revisions\/133"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kentrichter.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/43"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kentrichter.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=132"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}