Big Love (5 page)

There was a long silence as they stared at the dough.

“It’s very sticky, isn’t it?” Zing said.

“Not enough flour,” Miracle said.

“I’ll get it off the ceiling,” Zing said. She pulled out a kitchen chair, placed it under the dough and climbed on top. She reached as high as she could but still fell a good three feet short. She jumped off the stool. “The ceiling’s too high and I’m too short.”

“Why don’t you just fly up there and get it?” Miracle asked.

“I’m not that kind of an angel,” Zing said.

“Oh, I’ll get it.” Miracle pulled out a stool that she’d been using as a plant stand and propped that on top of the chair. “You just hold the stool steady while I climb on top of it.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Zing said.

“I’ll be fine,” Miracle said. She stared up at the ceiling. “But we’re going to need something to scrape it off.” She squeezed one eye shut.

“Is there something wrong with your eye?”

“No. I’m thinking. I close one eye because it helps me think. Oh, I know,” she said, and raced out of the kitchen.

Evidently, one-eyed thinking worked. Zing would have to try it next time she needed to think. Miracle returned with a snow shovel. “I’ll scrape it off with this. Easy-peasy,” Miracle said.

Zing considered the easy-peasy of the situation as Miracle climbed up the rung of the stool armed with a snow shovel. She stood on top of the stool which stood on top of the kitchen chair.

“Here we go,” Miracle said, positioning the snow shovel so it could scrape the sticky dough. She got the dough off with one quick scoop—a good thing in theory. The bad thing was that Miracle scooped so hard that it thrust her off the stool, which toppled off the chair.

Miracle hit the floor the same time as the stool. And then it seemed as if everything moved in slow-mo. The shovel arced high in the air, then spun, and began its downward descent. The tip of the shovel was aimed right for Miracle’s exposed neck.

Zing used her superior angel reflexes to quickly reach out and grab the shovel by its handle. She stopped the shovel when it was a mere two millimeters from Miracle’s throat.

Miracle gulped.

Zing pulled the shovel away and gently set it on the table.

“Wow,” Miracle muttered, slowly climbing to her feet. “I almost pulled an Anne Boleyn.” She looked at Zing. “You saved my life.”

Zing’s face was ashen. She began to tremble and shake.

“Are you okay, honey?” Miracle asked.

Zing turned and ran from the room.

***

Zing threw herself down on the bed, wailing, “What have I done?” She snatched up the
The Guardian Angel’s Handbook
from the nightstand and frantically paged through it, looking for a section that explained what happened when a guardian angel overstepped the boundaries of another guardian angel. Had Miracle’s time come—was she intended to die, decapitated by a snow shovel while removing pizza dough from the ceiling, dough that Zing had thrown up there? Was the entire universe going to wobble and fall because Zing had altered it by saving Miracle’s life? Was that possible?

Zing couldn’t find anything in the book that even remotely addressed what had happened. She was on her own. She wailed into her pillow, cursed herself, and beat the pillow with her fists. She wondered if this was what keening felt like. She’d seen people do it but never experienced it herself. There were so many things she hadn’t experienced until now: donuts, flowers, sunsets, baths, shopping, and she had so much more left to experience. And now she’d never get to do those things and it was all her fault. But she couldn’t have let Miracle cut her own head off!

Someone tapped Zing on the shoulder. Zing looked up from her pillow. Annabelle sat on the edge of the bed. Zing fell into her arms. “I’ve done it now. Haven’t I? Bertha’s going to kill me and the universe will be thrown into complete chaos because of me.”

“Technically, Bertha can’t kill a guardian angel, but you will most likely be grounded for the next thousand years,” Annabelle said.

“Is that possible?” Zing asked.

“I don’t know. But this isn’t as bad as you think,” Annabelle said.

“Really?” Zing wiped her snot and tears on her sleeve.

“You’re supposed to use a Kleenex. You don’t want to ruin your pretty new shirt.”

“You like it?” Zing brightened looking at her shirt. She’d gotten it at the thrift store. Zing figured she should go thrifty because she was spending Miracle’s money, not her own. The store had racks of silky Hawaiian shirts and they were five shirts for three dollars. Zing couldn’t believe how cheap they were. She bought five, of course.

“I like it very much,” Annabelle said. She ran her fingers over the hem. “It’s so soft.”

“I know, right?”

“Let me get you a Kleenex.” Annabelle went to the adjoining bathroom. “Have you taken a bath yet?” she called out.

“Yes, they have these bath salt things that make the water smell nice, like flowers.”

Annabelle returned with a box of tissue. She handed them to Zing, who wiped her eyes and blew her nose. It suddenly occurred to Zing that she was blowing stuff out of her head and through her nose and she didn’t know what was coming out. She opened the tissue to peek, but Annabelle stopped her, saying, “Don’t look. You don’t want to know what’s in there.”

“It’s so weird having a body,” Zing said. She tossed the tissue into the waste can. “All kinds of weird stuff comes out of it.”

“I bet.”

There was a knock on the door. Miracle’s voice asked, “Zing, are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m talking to my friend.”

“A friend?” Pause. “Is she an angel, too?” Miracle asked.

“Yes. In fact, she’s your guardian angel,” Zing said before Annabelle had a chance to stop her. Annabelle made slashing motions across her neck with her hand.

“Can I meet her?” Miracle asked.

Annabelle shook her head vigorously.

“Um, she says not right now. It’s kind of against the rules.”

“Okay,” Miracle said, sounding dejected. “I’ll start cooking the pizza. Come out when you’re ready.”

“Okay, thanks.” Miracle’s footsteps padded back down the hallway. Zing sighed heavily and said, “Why are you so much smarter than me about humans?”

“I’ve paid attention. The human race is very interesting,” Annabelle said. “Like a giant soap opera.”

“I thought I paid attention,” Zing said.

“You stopped paying attention quite a while ago.”

“It’s my ADD.”

Annabelle laughed. “I think you got bored because of Nell’s lack of adventure.”

“I shouldn’t have spent so much time playing Hacky Sack,” Zing added.

“Well, there was that. And messing up the Zen garden.”

“And getting chased by rakes.”

“And putting kale in the water jugs.”

“You have to admit that was pretty funny,” Zing said, chuckling.

“But the point is that you weren’t learning how the world works.”

“True dat,” Zing said.

“Dat?”

“It’s how cool people talk,” Zing said. She held out her fist. “Here, bump your fist with mine. Cool people do that. It’s called fisting.”

“Um. . . That’s not what fisting means.”

“Oh? What’s it mean?”

“Never mind.” Annabelle fist bumped her then she said, “I think we need to get back to your problem. Now, I’ve read the book and it doesn’t have one reference to what just happened.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Here’s my take on it. You didn’t rescue Miracle from being beheaded—”

“I most certainly did. If I hadn’t caught her, her head would be rolling around on the floor like a bowling ball,” Zing said, furrowing her brow.

“Don’t furrow. You’ll get wrinkles in your forehead.”

Zing huffed. “There sure are a lot of things you shouldn’t do when you have a body.”

“Yeah, well get used to it. Okay, so you did save Miracle, but you did it as a human not as a guardian angel.”

“Oh, I see where you’re going with this! It won’t even be on the books, right?”

“Right. And I have no intention of reporting it, either.”

“So, I’m safe?”

“Yes, but you need to watch yourself from now on. Promise me?”

Zing put on her most serious face. At least, she thought it was a serious face. She’d have to practice faces in the mirror so she’d use the right one. “I promise.”

She held up her fist. Annabelle smiled and they bumped fists.

***

“So, when I’m sad I’m supposed to do this?” Zing asked. She turned the corners of her mouth down and raised her eyebrows. They were sitting in the living room on the couch. Miracle’s living room was crowded with Victorian vases, busts of famous people, and a lot of other antique stuff. The couch was large, overstuffed, and covered in a burgundy fabric.

“Don’t raise your eyebrows. Scrunch them down lower. Then make your lower lip tremble a bit,” Miracle said. “I did summer stock theatre when I was younger. I used the method acting technique. So, I’ll pretend like I’m a guardian angel. I will become you and you will become me.”

Zing remembered when Miracle tried her hand at acting—Annabelle had told her it hadn’t gone well. Annabelle had watched the play—excited by this new interest of Miracle’s. She’d gotten the role of Wendy in Peter Pan and during the flying scene, her flying wire had gone haywire and she kept smacking into Peter Pan. A high-wire argument had ensued between Peter Pan and Wendy. When they got down to the stage, Peter had to be prevented from beating Wendy about the head with his wooden sword. Annabelle intervened by making Peter trip, which sent his sword skittering across the stage. Both Miracle and Peter were fired and their understudies performed to rave reviews.

Zing said, “I don’t think you could be me. Guardian angels are special, but I don’t know how we get that way, so I can’t really tell you how to be me.”

This was all getting very confusing. And to make matters worse, Zing didn’t know what a confusing face looked like. She’d be sure to ask Nell because if she were going to be hanging around Miracle, a confused face would come in handy.

“Don’t worry. I’ll just be an honorary guardian angel, not a real one. Now practice making your lower lip tremble.”

Zing trembled her lip. Once she mastered that, Miracle had her practice being angry. Zing learned to scowl and ball up her fists and huff and stomp her foot. Then they worked on compassion—which was by far the easiest emotion. All she had to do was tilt her head and lightly touch the other person’s arm.

“You’re doing an excellent job, Zing. I think you’re ready for the hardest emotion of all: Broken-heartedness.”

“Will I need that one? I don’t have a sweetheart,” Zing said.

“Definitely, because you never know when you will fall in love. And after you fall in love it always ends with a broken heart.”

“Always?”

“Always,” Miracle said. “That’s how you know it was true love.” Miracle stood. “Now, let’s dress the part. Broken-heartedness requires costumes and props. Go put your pajamas on and I’ll get the ice cream.”

Zing complied. She put on her gold-with-avocado stripe
men’s 1950s pajamas. She’d purchased two sets because the lady at the thrift store said it was a two-for-one sale. The second set was brown with white polka dots. Zing thought they were both very stylish. The sales lady told her they’d been there for a while. She couldn’t imagine why.

When she came out, Miracle studied her pajamas and deemed them perfect. “You can’t get any more depressed lookin’ than that.” Miracle seemed pleased. “I think you should pick out your own flavor of ice cream because Ben and Jerry make a lot of flavors.”

Zing didn’t know who Ben and Jerry were but anyone who made ice cream was awesome in her book. “I love ice cream,” Zing said. She wondered whether ice cream would be even better on donuts.

“Then you’ll love Ben and Jerry’s. It’s heavenly.” Miracle laughed. “I can’t believe I just said heavenly to an angel.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t that where you’re from?”

Zing followed Miracle into the kitchen.

“No, I don’t work in heaven. That’s a separate department. We don’t have wings or play harps. Although, we do have a ukulele player and a clogging troupe.”

Miracle handed Zing a spoon and opened the freezer. It was filled with pints of ice cream. Zing chose a pint at random and read the label. “Chunky Monkey? Is it made from real monkeys?”

Miracle laughed. “Of course not.” She grabbed a pint of Cherry Garcia. “I hope this isn’t made from real Garcia.”

Zing dug up a spoonful of ice cream and tasted it.

“Well?” asked Miracle. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know which one’s better, donuts or ice cream.”

“You can like ‘em both. It’s not an either/or kind of thing. Let’s go sit on the couch and I’ll teach you how to be a Sad Girl,” Miracle said.