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Guardian Angel
Category: Writing and Poetry
GUARDIAN ANGEL
My name is Gabriel. I’m a guardian angel who watches over children. Not to toot my own harp, but I’m good. Really good. I’ve been doing this for seven years, and not once have I failed in my mission. You can’t say that about most guardian angels, bless them.
I love my job, and I consider myself truly lucky to have watched over and taken care of all these wonderful children. I only handle one—-well, OK, sometimes two or three-—at a time. My current charge is a 5-year-old boy named Billy. I hate to play favorites, but, well, I’ll admit this: Billy’s my favorite thus far. There, I said it.
I’m not sure what it is about him, but there’s some ethereal quality that sets him apart from the other kids. Billy’s a darling little cherub. He has golden, tousled blond hair, and his eyes are clear blue. His voice is so sweet, so innocent.
He suffers, though, and it kills me. His father treats him so badly. I don’t know how his kindergarten teacher can ignore those telltale bruises on his arms and legs. Maybe she’s like Harlan, too. An abuser. Wouldn’t surprise me one bit. The horrors I’ve seen over the years from all sorts of people, rich and poor, young and old… But Billy is a truly brave boy. He keeps smiling and going and laughing. He’s a fighter.
I haven’t been able to do anything substantial about his situation, but that’s going to change today. This is Billy’s big day, and I’m so excited-—both for him and for me. I know he’ll be confused at first, maybe sad, even, to be away from his abusive home. It is the only life he has known. But like all the other children, he’ll come to love his new home and his new playmates. His life will truly begin, and no one will lay a hand on that innocent child again.
That’s right-—today, Billy ascends to Heaven.
What is Heaven like for children? Well, in a nutshell, it is wonderful! Completely wonderful, at least when the confusion of being in a new place wears off. There is food (pizza! candy! cake! chips!) aplenty and all the TV anyone would care to watch. But, don’t worry-—Heaven is educational, too. The kids take classes and put on plays. They participate in sports. Their brains don’t rot, and they become astounding physical specimens. There is no pain and no suffering. I couldn’t be prouder of the role I play in bringing the children to their eternal place.
I’ve spent the past few hours getting Billy’s spot in Heaven ready. The other kids helped, too. I’ve tried so hard not to betray just how much I care about Billy, but I think the other children sense it. I’m going to have to figure something out-—like I said, I hate to play favorites. I know, I know—-I should stop worrying. I’m probably being paranoid for no reason. But, hey, I’m a guardian angel. I have to worry, hmm?
Right now, I am watching Billy wake up. Most mornings, a fight between his parents starts his day off with a bang, and this chilly December morning is no different. His father has just slapped his mother because she forgot to sew a loose button on his shirt.
"I can’t go to work like this!" Harlan roars. "Fix the button now!" He is a big, tall man, teetering on obesity. His skin is pasty pale, like it’s never seen the sun. His hair is limp brown, and his eyes are stupid and thick. He has a piggish nose and a high voice. I don’t know how he got Donna to marry him. She is dull and washed out now, but she used to be beautiful. I’ve seen the pictures. She could’ve been in movies, even. There’s one photo that particularly haunts me. It’s of Donna, when she was 15, with her mother. They’re on a boat at the lake. They’re laughing. They’re carefree. They’re beautiful. They’re full of spirit and promise.
The Donna I know is not the same person in that picture. I am glad I will save Billy from Harlan’s curse.
"I’ll fix the button now, Harlan," Donna whispers.
Harlan jams the shirt in Donna’s face. "Hurry," he hisses.
Harlan is a banker. He is a big, important banker used to giving orders. Donna starts on his shirt, and he thunders to the bathroom.
Billy stirs. His long, light eyelashes tremble, and his lids flutter. His blue eyes peek out. He’s awake.
He lies in bed for a few moments. He is silent. He stares at the ceiling, unblinking.
I wish I could reveal myself to him now and tell him everything will be all right.
But I cannot, not just yet.
Billy hears his father tear into his mother. She hasn’t finished her task in time. Harlan slams Donna against a wall, and Billy winces.
It’s something no child should ever have to hear, and my heart breaks for this beautiful blond boy.
Harlan thrusts Donna against the wall again, and Billy reaches for his teddy bear. A sad smile steals across my face. Billy loves that bear. His name is Moe, and he’s old. He used to be Donna’s. Moe is missing one ear and patches of fur. Still, his face is serene, and he’s soft and comforting. I think Billy will miss Moe most of all when he ascends. I’ve considered coming back and getting Moe once Billy is in Heaven. It’s against the rules, big time. Still, I just might do it. We’ll see.
Billy kisses Moe and climbs out of bed.
I look at the clock on Billy’s nightstand; it’s a big digital clock with red numbers. Billy’s known how to tell time since he was 4; he’s an incredibly smart child. He’s also running late. He seems to realize this too, and he frowns. He won’t have time for breakfast—-it’ll be another hungry morning for him.
Billy’s frown turns into a little smile.
I can’t help but grin. Perhaps Billy is thinking that he will run into that nice man. That nice man, of course, is me. On mornings when Billy doesn’t get breakfast, I sneak him a Pop-Tart or a granola bar during his walk to school. For those occasions, I make myself visible and dress as a businessman.
Billy pulls off his pajamas and throws on sweat pants and a T-shirt with practiced ease. He grabs his little blue backpack from a chair.
The bedroom door flies open, and Billy jumps straight up. He gives a little cry.
"What you doing, boy?" Harlan hisses.
"Getting ready for school," Billy whimpers.
"Did you brush your teeth, huh, boy?"
Billy slinks back and shakes his head.
"Then do it!" Harlan yells. "Jesus Christ, do I have to tell you to do every little thing?"
A blackness swells within me. I don’t like it when the Lord’s name is uttered in such a way.
Billy winces too. He averts his eyes, and my heart fills with love for him. Billy has never said the Lord’s name in vain. Billy is such a good, pure boy.
Billy disappears into the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and kisses his mother goodbye. He and Harlan leave the house together. Billy gets into Harlan’s car, and my heart thuds.
This has never happened before.
Billy always walks to school. Greenfield Elementary, in this quiet residential neighborhood, is four tiny blocks away. Why is he riding with his father? Billy was supposed to ascend to Heaven during his walk to school.
No matter. This does not rattle me. I simply just misunderstood God’s instructions. Billy will ascend after school.
I am not the stereotypical white-robe-wearing, halo-headed, winged angel that has become a part of popular culture. Most angels aren’t. Sure, some like to have a little fun, and they dress up in that garb. But it’s rare.
Being an angel is a pretty isolated job, too. We get our orders and follow through. We have little contact with one another. We each live in our little part of Heaven. Our missives from the boss, from the big man, from God, whatever you call him, usually come in the form of phone calls. Yep, phone calls. Cellphone calls, to be more exact. Sometimes, we’ll see the boss in Heaven. Not often, though. He’s out and about a lot.
He handpicks all of the angels. Some of them are old as dirt, and so is he. Others are new and young, like me. I don’t know exactly how old the boss is, but he’s older than the universe, right?
There’s something about him, some vibe he gives off, that puts me at ease. Whatever questions I have don’t matter.
I grew up reading the Bible and going to church. When it came my time to ascend, I was only 15 years old. I accepted my calling with grace and dignity. The boss was so impressed that he offered me the opportunity to be an angel right on the spot.
Wow!
The memory, the honor of it, still sends chills up my spine. People, including my own parents, always thought I wouldn’t amount to anything. My teachers said I was slow, and I was always bullied in school. Through it all, I sought refuge and comfort in the Bible and in God.
I always imagined God as a huge man, perhaps 7 feet tall, with long, flowing locks and a snow-white beard. I wasn’t disappointed. He is all I imagined and much more. He has lively, twinkling blue eyes and a mischievous grin. He made me feel right at home, yet he made it clear he wasn’t my friend, if you know what I mean. He was a parent figure. I had rules to follow, and as long as I obeyed them and kept doing so, I would be rewarded.
One of the angels, a wiry fellow named Jamal, told me what happened to Azrel, who disobeyed the boss. What Jamal said was so horrible, I blocked it out. The boss doesn’t need to worry about disobedience from me. He never will. Still, I’m tempted to grab Moe, Billy’s teddy bear. It would really help ease Billy’s transition. I could have Moe waiting for Billy in Heaven! How awesome would that be? God wouldn’t mind too much, would he? But of course he would. He views all sins equally.
Still, as I wait near Billy’s school for his dismissal from kindergarten, Moe weighs on my mind even more.
Maybe God will call soon, and I can talk him into it ...
Yes. That’s it. He’ll call. All I have to do is wait and have faith.
But God does not call. At 2:30, the school bell rings. Seconds later, children, many of them laughing, stream out of the sprawling, red-brick building. A line of school buses awaits them, and an even longer procession of yawning housewives and scowling househusbands wait in their cars. I’ve already eyed the vehicles, and there’s no trace of Harlan or Donna.
Billy will be walking home as he always does.
He sets off, a small, lone figure weighed down by his blue backpack. And this child is only in kindergarten! The schools are giving out too much homework.
There is no spring in Billy’s step, and why should there be? For all he knows, this afternoon will be like all the others. He’ll arrive home to his bruised mother, whose dull eyes would only see the people on the TV screen. She’ll barely acknowledge Billy. He’ll have to fare for himself until his father clomps home from yet another draining day at work and takes out his frustrations on his wife and son.
I take a deep breath and peek around. I am on a sidewalk, invisible as always. No one’s watching, so I make myself visible. I am dressed as the sharp businessman who sometimes slips Billy breakfast. I have black hair, spiky and ultra-cool. My eyes are green, so dark sometimes they appear black. I am tall and muscular and handsome. No one from my pre-angel life would recognize me.
The Gabriel they knew was short, pudgy, ugly.
The crossing guard waves Billy across the street. I keep an eye on the boy and take a roundabout path to meet him. Once the school and the guard are out of sight, I am ready.
"Billy!" I call out.
The child stops and cocks his head. He turns toward me, and light floods his face. "Mr. Arch!" he cries. He is so happy to see me. "Do you have a Pop-Tart?"
I go over to him. "Not now, sorry. Hey, how was school?"
Billy furrows his brows and pushes a mop of blond hair out of his eyes. "Hey, I’ve never seen you after school before."
I grin. Didn’t I tell you this was one smart kid? "I got out of work early. Hey, I have an idea. Wanna hear it?"
Billy bobs his head eagerly.
"My car’s right over there, at the curb." I point toward a red Cavalier. "I’ll take you for some ice cream. Isn’t that better than Pop-Tarts?"
Billy hesitates. "I’m not supposed to go with strangers."
"But you know me. I’m not a stranger. So, how about some ice cream?"
Billy contemplates some more. I do not rush him. He will say yes.
And he does. "Okaaay," he answers. "Chocolate?"
"Whatever you want, my boy."
Off we go. "You’ll love Heaven," I tell him as we get into my car.
Billy doesn’t hear. His eyes are closed, and he’s already dreaming of chocolate ice cream. His ascension has started.
Days pass, and Billy is still distraught. He has not calmed down like the other children did after their ascensions. They and the other angels tell Billy that Heaven is a great place, that he’ll live like a king and be able to do anything he pleases.
Billy says he pleases to go home. The oldest child in my group, Chas, a red-haired boy of 14, frowns. "Anything except that," he clarifies.
I ask if having Moe will help. Billy just stares at me and trembles. He’s scared of me now, and it breaks my heart. I do love this boy so.
Word about Billy’s difficulties gets around to God, and on the seventh day after Billy’s ascension, the big man glides in, his hair and beard flowing behind him. He heads straight to Billy. "Child," God says. "What’s wrong?"
The tears in Billy’s eyes evaporate immediately. His face is pale with fear. "You’re not God," he whispers, defiant.
The boss arches an eyebrow. "Why do you say that?"
Billy wrinkles his nose. "I don’t know," he admits.
I do not understand this. The big man has always put me at ease, from the moment we met, from the moment I ascended. He puts everyone at ease. Except this little Billy.
I can tell this unsettles God, too. He strokes his long beard and stares at the little boy under him.
"Billy," the boss finally says. "You read the Bible, don’t you? You say prayers with your momma. You go to church with her."
"Momma says Heaven is nice and cool, and everyone flies around and no one’s hurting. Momma says Grandma and Grandpa are in Heaven. This isn’t Heaven! Grandma and Grandpa aren’t here!"
"Your momma was wrong," God replies evenly.
Anger flushes Billy’s cheeks. "My momma wasn’t wrong!"
The boss snickers. "I think you need to go to that other place, where the bad children go."
A cold fear grips my heart. I want to tell God to give Billy a few more days. He’s just a boy. A scared, confused little boy who wants his teddy bear.
The boss is looking at me. "Gabriel," he barks. "Something on your mind?"
"I think ..."
"Yes?"
"Let me get his teddy bear. It’ll help him feel right at home."
"No," God growls. He crosses his arms. "I’m not going to break the rules for this child." He snaps his fingers, and a dark, hooded figure rushes in. "Take Billy to that other place."
"No!" I cry.
"Don’t you dare challenge me," God hisses.
My stomach churns as the fire of truth overtakes God’s eyes. He has tested me, and I have failed. God knows what is best. Always. Always. I will pay the price for questioning him.
"I’m sorry," I whimper.
"Take Billy and Gabriel to that other place," the boss commands.
I wet myself. I am so scared.
"God, no, please, God," I beg. "I don’t want to go to Hell!"
Now I am strapped into a gurney. In minutes, I will die from lethal injection. There are curtains around me, but in my mind’s eye, I see what is happening just outside. People file into the room and sit. They stare at the black curtains, wondering when they will get to see me. Their faces are big, curious and fearful. Some have hate in their eyes. Others have love and compassion. I wonder if Billy will come. I wonder if Harlan and Donna are still together.
I am not sure how many years have passed since I last saw God, but I still feel him with me. I hope I’ve done enough to regain his trust.
The police said I kidnapped Billy. They also said I killed Chas, that beautiful red-headed 14-year-old boy, and 18 other children, over seven years.
The police said I kept the children in my basement without food or water and that I starved them to death. What rotten nonsense. I explained to the police that I was a guardian angel and that my mission was to bring Billy to a better place. I told them about my fall from God’s grace. The police just laughed. They asked me to identify God and the other angels from a book of pictures, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
They also said they had a witness who saw Billy get in my car. At my trial, Billy testified, and he had Moe in his arms. Doctors and scientists also testified about DNA and blood matches from the other children. Newspapers said I was the furthest thing imaginable from a guardian angel.
I have looked in the mirror many times since I was sentenced to death. I am no longer handsome. I am the pudgy, ugly Gabriel of old.
I have prayed to God every night since he banished me. I have called out to him to forgive me. "Please, God," I begged night after night, my hands clasped together as I kneeled at my bed. "Dear Lord, forgive me. I did not mean to question you."
He has yet to answer me.
I will admit I am confused. I thought I had already ascended. Why am I about to ascend again, then? Why did God breathe life back into my mortal body? I try not to dwell on this. God works in mysterious ways, and I certainly will not challenge him again. I only hope that after I take my last breath, I find myself back with him, this wise man who puts me so at ease. I do not want to find myself with the red-faced, horned man.
I refuse to allow myself to think about what happened to Azrel.
Now, big needles poke my veins. I keep my face still. I do not look at the men who are doing this to me.
If this is what God wants, I shall do it without complaint.
The curtains fall away, and I allow myself to scan the people who have assembled.
Billy, Billy. Is Billy there?
A group of red-headed people is up front. I remember them from the trial. Chas’ mother weeps pathetically. My heart goes out to her. This woman, in the name of God, pleaded for my life during the penalty phase of the trial. She said the jury was wrong. They should have found me insane. She said I was sick and that I did not know what I was doing. Even now, she weeps for me. She will go to Heaven, I am sure of it. She has a kind heart. Chas will be so happy to see her.
And then my gaze locks onto Harlan. He is squinting at me from the front row. I stifle a cry. I don’t know how I overlooked him before. He is as big and as mean-looking as ever. Donna, little and frail, sits with him.
Billy, Billy!
Where is my favorite child?
There is a young man at Donna’s side. He is rail-thin. He seems to be barely out of his teens. He has dirty, limp blond hair, and acne chokes his face. He isn’t Billy, is he? Not my beautiful, innocent Billy.
The young man meets my eyes for just a second. I know those blue eyes, even though there is no fight in them.
My heart falls. Yes, this young man is Billy. He has come to say goodbye, just as I hoped he would. But he is distorted now. Harlan has killed Billy, like he killed Donna. Even though they breathe, they are dead inside.
The air around me changes. The process of putting me to death is about to begin. I squeeze my eyes shut before anyone can see my tears. My beautiful Billy.
A thick, gravelly voice asks if I have any last words.
I dare not speak, lest anyone discern that I am crying. I do not want people to think I am crying for the wrong reasons. I am not crying because I feel sorry for myself, or because I finally accept whatever guilt they are trying to foist upon me.
I am crying for Billy, the beautiful, pure, sweet child who is dead inside.
He should have stayed in Heaven.
THE END
7:27 PM
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