Dream Angel : Heaven Waits (18 page)

“I try my best, honey.” He said with a glint in his eye.

As I circled around to the bench by his side, his eyes were fixed on me while his hands continued to play. He was humming a tune that I was not familiar with, but I wasn’t surprised. Even alive his knowledge for hymnals was vast, and as an angel, I imagined it to be unlimited.

“How’s our
friend
?” I laid my head to his shoulder.

“Dealt with,” he said in between humming.

As I leaned against him in quiet reflection, a flood of emotions rushed to the surface. The knowledge that I may not have been alive to see another day, if not for him, inspired a gratefulness that was too much to contain.

“After how I treated you, I’m surprised you came back for me.” My words quivered. “I’ll be forever grateful.”

The music suddenly stopped.

“I’d never leave you in danger, you know that,” he said, and as he turned, he gathered my hands and lifted them to his lips for a tender kiss.

I was already nodding in agreement, but my lip quivered as I tried to contain my tears. It seemed I was always crying in his presence.

“I never meant a word of it, I swear. I’m just so jumbled up inside, everything I do turns into a disaster.”

He smiled softly. “Yes ma’am I’ve noticed,” he said, still holding my hands, and managing to stroke my cheek with the back of his own.

“I’m sick in the head.” I moaned, and it wasn’t until Elvis chuckled that I even realized how horrible that sounded.

“You might be a bit
touched
, baby,” he laughed harder, “but I think you’ll be fine.

As we continued to chuckle, he went back to the piano, his fingers rolling over the ivory keys in a swaying melody.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me what God wants me to do now?” I was shaking my head, already guessing his answer.

“It doesn’t work that way, honey.”

“Then how does it work, please tell me.”

“You practice patience and you wait. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

I scowled at him.

“Hey, I just work here!” He was laughing again, only this time I didn’t laugh a long.

He cleared his throat and quickly turned serious.

“Baby girl, I know you want me to make it easy for you, but really, I don’t know everything. And what I do know, I can’t share.”

“Why? You knew I’d ask you to leave, and you shared that with me.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Course that’s not
how
I’d plan to ask you, all hateful and nasty and such, but… well, you knew.”

A sensuous smirk crept across his face.

“What’s so funny?”

“Exodus: 20-5.” Elvis said suddenly.

I squinted at him, normally well versed, but needing a moment to shuffle through years of bible camp memorization.

“Our God is a jealous God?” My mind was working the puzzle even as I heard myself utter the verse.

“Is he ever,” Elvis whistled, punctuating the statement.

“Are you saying you wanted me to choose? Why, does God think I love you more than him?”

“No. I’m saying you did.”

His words stunned me into silence. I just stared at him, the truth inducing new tears. They rolled hot down my cheek. And as I began to cry, he let out an exasperated sigh as if to say — here we go again.

“Samantha, you have the heart of a servant, but you’ve been too distracted with me to see what’s being offered right in front of you.” He drew me deeper into his arms. “Do you think God would allow you to go through all this for nothing? He wants to use you, honey, but he can’t if I’m always in the middle.”

I’d never considered that God, the creator of the universe, would want to use someone like me for his good. I was clearly unworthy. But after all that had happened, Elvis’ words made sense. I had to consider that had Elvis stayed away, I would have awakened in the hospital on that fateful day and believed it all to be a dream. The fact that he returned suggested a bigger plan had been in place the whole time.

“I-I’m no good, I’m a mess… weak.”

“He’ll make you strong.”

Me, be a servant of God? My father yes, but I’ve always lacked the obedience and discipline it required.

“I-I don’t see how I can help.”

“He’ll tell you when it’s time.”

“How?”

“You’ll hear him, honey, if you’re listening.”

Why me? I was not the faithful Abraham whom God had spoken to, requesting the sacrifice of his only son. I would have failed that test, never to have heard God’s reprieve, ‘Lay not your hand on the boy’!

“Is this what angels do?” I sat up away from his arms, whipping away my tears. “Ya’ll come down here and lead hard headed people to their Godly purpose?”

“It’s a tough way to make a living, boy, I tell you.”

As I laughed at his quick witted humor, he leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.

“So, if all of this was preplanned, what was Steve’s part?” His name almost made me retch, but there was still so much to understand.

“Steve’s the reason I’m here, honey. He was a loose end the Devil himself was desperate to tie and you were in no condition to handle him yourself.”

The irony that we were right back to that timeless battle didn’t escape me, and I no more understood it now than a few days ago.

“The battle continues?”

“Every day.” He nodded.

My head floated back to rest on his shoulder. As he went back to tinkering lightly on the keys, I let out a relieving sigh while tilting my chin upward to look at him, examining his profile. I felt my heart stir with love once again. I know God never makes mistakes, but it seemed to me he could have sent anyone to take me down this road. Why send the one person he had to have known I would fall madly and helplessly in love with?

“Go ahead, Samantha, ask.” He smiled without looking at me.

I groaned, and briefly considered another round of mathematics. Where did I leave off, the nine-sees? I wondered while next to me Elvis scowled. Never mind.

“Why you?”

He ran a hand pensively across his chin. “I believe God counted on a love that I never fully understood, but one that continues to benefit his greater plan even today.”

My soul stirred. I had never considered the genius behind the design. It was only in this hindsight that God’s full intentions for Elvis’ life could be appreciated. He had lived a life full of great blessings, but it was not a life of his own. He was required to share it with the world. He’d suffered to be Elvis Presley. Now over thirty years later, God had himself an angel who was loved the world over. In fact, I’d bet only Jesus himself was more recognizable. He could send Elvis anywhere to preach, as he’d always wanted to do, for God’s purpose. Who wouldn’t listen? It was beyond brilliant, it was devout. And I had to admit I wondered what God could do with me, if I was only willing.

“I don’t know how I’m going to get on without you,” I muttered and fell back into his arms.

When Elvis chuckled, his humor bounced my head, now at rest on his chest. My nose was running from all the tears, and he’s laughing? I didn’t see any humor in this “letting go” business. I hate goodbyes.

“Now what’s so funny?” I sniveled.

“You, honey, still thinking you’re in control.” He laughed even harder, and I playfully slapped his arm in reply.

“Look at me when I say this,” He lifted my chin so that I had to look at him, “I’m your angel until God says I’m not, understand?”

Those baby blues were so intense I pulled back, but only an inch.

“Yes sir.” I sniffed.

“You stay focused on what’s important and don’t worry about me. Can you do that for me, Sam?”

“Yes sir, I-I’ll try.”

“Good girl,” he placed a finger to my nose. “I’ll be watching so be sure you do.”

He was smiling, but I knew he was serious. He had given me an order, spoken with a snicker and a smirk, but an order just the same. He expected me to do as he asked. Now, I just had to keep my word.

Outside the sun’s rays warmed the city. Steam rose up from every sidewalk, as if it were the burning of Atlanta all over again. Only in the South could the weather change so drastically, I thought. And as I stood in the church parking lot, my gaze lifted to the heavens, and I thanked God for the uplifting sight of the sun. My day was by far not over, but I could feel the Lord by my side, and that made everything easier.

What now? Do I go home or to the police, I asked myself. Part of me was waiting for God to tell me what to do, while the other half doubted I’d even hear him if he did. My track record was admittedly bad. Besides, reporting Steve seemed futile. I trusted what Elvis had told me, he wasn’t coming back. And as I considered all my options, only one allowed me any comfort — home. I could always go home.

Once again, I urged my car into the hustle and the bustle of the city. I was headed for small town suburbia. And after yesterday, I didn’t know what I’d find upon my arrival, but when I turned that last corner, and saw Heather’s car in my drive, my smile couldn’t have been any wider. Clearly our friendship had been given a pardon. And now more than ever, I needed my friend.

I glided my car into my drive and shut off the engine. My stomach bounced as I glanced up the road to my right. Not a soul stirred. The neighborhood was quiet. Maybe I could just stay here, I thought and then laughed. I knew it was silly to be this apprehensive, but I couldn’t seem to help it. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for — someone to yell “all clear” maybe? But after a few more counted minutes, I knew it was time to be a big girl.

Drawing in a breath for courage, I looked to both sides of the street and then finally exited. I stepped up three short steps, bag in hand, and froze at the door. The urge to knock swelled, but I did nothing. Instead, I checked and rechecked my watch. It was 3:00 in the afternoon. I’d been home an hour, and only made it as far as the porch? This was crazy! Disgusted with my lack of nerve, I reached out but before I could knock, the door jerked open.

To this day, I like to think that Heather had been watching for my return. I never asked her, and looking back I wish I would have, but when we came face to face that morning only awkwardness greeted me. The serious look on her face sank my heart deeper into despair. I couldn’t speak, but as it turned out I didn't have too. Heather broke the spell first.

“He’s not with you?” She glanced around.

I shook my head as I passed her, dropping my bag by the phone on my way to the kitchen. Heather followed, watching in silence as I went straight for the cabinet and the few bottles of alcohol I actually owned.

“You’ve giving up on baking?” Her words sounded with a hint of disappointment.

“If we’re going to do this, one of us might need a drink.” I said, while grabbing the martini shaker that Heather had given me last Christmas.

When I turned back, her yielding eyes made me pause. I didn’t even know how to make a martini. There was never a need to learn because I always had Heather. And as the thought of living without her settled, my frown deepened. Automatically, Heather reached out her hand and with a sly smile she took the shaker from my grasp. With a gentle pat on the shoulder, she offered me a seat at my own table, and I sat down with a heavy sigh.

“So, are we celebrating or mourning our friendship?” Heather asked while tending to the ingredients she knew by heart.

“Neither.”

“We’ll call it a “peace” drink, then?”

“Sounds ok to me,” I said, and just like that it was over.

Friendships that last a life time don’t need many words to heal. There was no need for a bunch of “why’s” or “how comes”. While I knew Heather regretted her decision to keep Steve from me, Heather knew I still loved her. These were sentiments, truths, that didn’t need to be spoken. In the end, all that’s left is the ritual of making up. It’s a respected formality. And weather friends want to admit it or not, the trend for how to handle such a delicate matter is set early on.

“What does it say about us, that all our squabbles are settled over booze?” I rarely drank, but I never bucked the system, and in fact it was greatly anticipated.

“It says that we’re brilliant, of course. And while everyone else is busy fighting we’re moving on… drunk.” She said with a firm nod.

Holding two drinks in her hand, Heather took a seat. She slid mine across the table, and as always, I waited for her customary first taste. And when her eyes narrowed over the potency, I didn’t bother to hold back my snicker. I just let it go, relief found in the freedom of laughter. For a brief moment it felt like old times. I wanted life to pause, allow me the time to soak it all in, but as usual it just moves on. Funny how life has a way of skipping ahead, with or without you, I thought as I sipped timidly, bracing for the question that I knew was bound to come.

“So was prince charming waiting for you at the cabin?” Heather lifted her glass, but she never got another taste.

Pesky headaches, everybody gets them. Don’t they? Whether its stress or a cold, or even seasonal allergies. But who thinks to run to the doctor for every little twinge? I didn’t. So imagine my surprise when I found myself sitting at the doctor’s office three weeks later staring at a cat scan. Sure I see the “damage”, I think. Though, at a second glance, it very well could have been an ink blot for all I knew.

Then the big words start. There’s no avoiding them really, and because I have no idea what they’re talking about, my mind wanders. I start to question whether I need a dictionary, and then consider if asking for one now would be rude. Probably, just nod and smile, I tell myself. Something is bound to sink in, and if it doesn’t, call the nurses desk later. They’re used to lost people like me.

All of this and more was running through my head as I heard the words Post Concussion Syndrome, or PCS. It was a pretty fancy word for a mild case of amnesia, I thought. But then I’m certainly not a doctor. As it was, I was literally just putting the pieces together while they were explaining my condition in detail. Talk about last minute shock!

“Have you experienced erratic or aggressive behavior?” The very young, too young, doctor asked.

I just stared at him.

“Have you found your senses heightened, say your hearing or your sense of smell?”

I grinned. Elvis does smell good at great distances, but I was sure he didn’t want to hear about that, I internally chuckled.
Focus Sam!

“You may have found yourself easily aroused.”

He had my attention.

“Sexual intercourse would have been very optimal at this time, very heightened, scientifically speaking of course.”

Blink-blink-blink.

They told me the symptoms can often stay dormant for months, even years after an accident, and that I was lucky. I didn’t feel lucky. The mood swings and headaches, all warning signs of PCS, almost alienated me from everyone I cared about. Not to mention I almost lost my life. All that, and I didn’t even get to experience the good stuff, scientifically speaking! If that was good fortune, I’d pass on luck.

When I left the hospital that day, I felt like half a person. It was too much information too fast. And the only improvement was that I, at least, understood why I no longer recognized myself. Yet that didn’t turn out to be as wonderful as I had imagined either. For instance, I couldn’t work, and flying was an important part of my life. It was not just what I did, but who I was. And without the daily routine of airports and hotels, I was lost. Who was this woman who was home by six every night and asleep in her own bed by ten? Home-body was not in my dictionary.

As if that wasn’t enough, there was always counseling sessions to look forward to. Round and round I’d go, chatting about my problems with a virtual stranger. The healing process was tedious and often painful. The doctor would sit across from me, head down and scribbling an endless string of notes. Often, I’d wonder if she was even listening, so, I’d talk about something off track. That didn't go well. Let's just say that by the time I discovered my error, I was practically drowning in my own embarrassment.

I never mentioned Elvis, but we spent a lot of time talking about Steve. Apparently, I was an anomaly in the fact that I’d had a singular memory lapse instead of, say, a whole time frame. Everybody was scratching their heads over the mystery, but I wasn’t surprised. I never did anything “normal”.

At first, I thought the sessions were a big waste of everyone’s time. I mean really, when did anything good come about when I did all the talking? It seemed hopeless. But I never missed an appointment, and before I knew it, I found myself discussing raw emotions like the loss of my mother and my relationship with my father. Nobody was more surprised than me to find I was shedding real grief. And after every appointment, I would walk out to my car feeling lighter, as if another brick had been removed from my shoulders, and I'd wonder how they’d managed it.

“So what did the doctor's have to say today?” Heather’s voice blared through the hands-free speakers of my car.

“Oh, you know just more ink blots and a lot of talking, that’s all.” I said.

“No really, what did they say?”

I smiled, touched by her concern. “If you really must know, I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. Will you be there?”

“Yup, just got home from a trip and I have nothing planned.”

“Good, I’ll see you in a few,” I said and ended the call.

A few weeks ago I’d asked Heather to move in, and I was never more relieved than when she agreed. While my body continued to heal, my dignity remained in shambles. Minus a few bruises, Steve hadn’t hurt me physically but psychologically my scars were deep. He had shattered my personal sense of safety, and before I knew it I'd become "that" woman, racing to switch on every light before entering a room. I would scrutinize every dark corner, checking and rechecking closets. And forget about going outside after dark. If I did, I ran not walked to my intended destination. The doctors told me this type of paranoia was normal, that it would pass, but I was tired of being afraid.

Daddy still didn’t know about Steve. He believed, without any help from me, that I was seeing a grief counselor. So far, my secret was safe. Life wasn’t simple, but it was manageable. The mornings started easily enough, a coffee in one hand and the bible in the other. I would read, always wondering if today was the day God would speak to me. Up till now he’d been quiet, but I was only mildly disappointed. My time would come.

Meanwhile, I stayed busy. My afternoons were spent at church with my father. I loved the way his face lit up whenever I walked through those doors, and it gave my spirit a jolt every time. My life was peaceful, but my heart was lonely. And while I had found uplifting ways to get through my days, the nights needed work.

It had been months since I’d seen my angel, but his memory was “everywhere”. Even strolling through a department store, his voice would suddenly float out in song. There was no escaping him nor did I really want to. Deep down, I guess, I hoped that God had someone for me to love, but if that man was years away, that was fine with me. There was a lot of “me” to work on.

***

February turned to March, March to April, and before I knew it Atlanta was in bloom. I loved spring. And on a warm day in May, I was cruising through my neighborhood unaware my life was about to change, again.

Pink rose buds bloomed and potted flowers hung in full glory from every porch. They were awe-inspiring and the spicy scent in the air lifted my spirits. It had been a good day — scratch that — a great day. I’d spent it driving around town with the convertible top down, enjoying the wind in my hair and the warm afternoon sun on my face.

And at just an hour before dusk, I turned one last corner and headed for home. I was to meet Heather and my father for diner. It seemed they’d planned a big festivity, a celebration of health they’d said, and dinner at my favorite local restaurant — Dalton’s — sounded great to me. Everyone was excited, including my father. He had even called Heather and invited her personally, which shocked us both. This wasn’t my daddy’s normal choice for dining ambiance — a faded brick, weathered old Blues bar — but with the best fried chicken this side of the Mason Dixon Line, I didn’t have to press him too hard.

I was ready in a jiff. Thankfully, the restaurant was only five minutes from my house, and I rolled into the parking lot right on time, leaving a cloud of dust in my wake. I was already thinking about my order as I parked.

The sun was low in an early evening sky, and a hint of humidity lingered, suggesting a storm was on its way. The air felt charged. It was the kind of night where one could easily imagine something exciting might happen.

Wearing a new periwinkle blue sundress, and a recent tan from an afternoon drive without sunscreen, I felt — dare I say it — confident. The feeling had been with me all day and I was steadily growing attached to it. While I waited, I was busily straightening the state of my hair when Heather’s red mustang pulled in. I cringed as I watched her hop the curb. Her freshly cut, spiky, blonde hair kept perfect form as she hit the brakes and slid to an almost instant stop next to me. Dust blew up over my roadster, and I was coughing and swiping at the dirt while Heather was laughing. I considered an unladylike hand gesture, but then thought twice when I noticed my father’s car parked close by. I scowled at her instead.

When Heather stepped out, she looked model-perfect in a slimming crimson dress with three inch heels. I had to hand it to her. She was wild, but she was truly beautiful.

“You should be on a New York runway not here in an old dingy Atlanta bar getting ready to eat something devilishly fattening with a friend and her daddy.” I said, while we hugged.

“Could you share that with my date later?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s already captivated by your charms.” I slipped my arm through Heather’s and we walked together to the front door.

“I’m starting to wonder. He hasn’t even made a move to kiss me,” she said despondently.

This was a new twist. I’d never heard Heather with anything less than a full cup of confidence. She really must care for this man, I mused. Though I hadn’t met him, I did recognize something different in her voice while she was on the phone last week. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was hard not to miss those three special words that ended the call.

“Love looks good on you, friend.” I stopped and turned to her, enjoying the flash of surprise in her deep brown eyes.

“Thank you.” She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry I haven’t brought him around, but it never felt like the right time.”

“I understand. I’m happy for you.”

Her face blushed and then we hugged once more.

“I’d like to be happy for
you
one day.” She pulled back to look me square in the eyes.

“I’m just now comfortable with
me
again. I’m not sure I’m ready for men yet.” I muttered.

“Well, in time maybe that’ll change.”

“Maybe.”

We started walking again, and I could hear the commotion from inside as we approached Dalton’s entrance. As I opened the solid door, the mayhem of a business at full tilt overpowered the gentle spring evening. Dishes clanked and patrons hummed. I moved aside and allowed Heather to enter first.

“I love this place,” she said, and immediately pointed to the oversized slab of mahogany that made up the bar. It stretched the entire south wall of the room.

I chuckled, pulling my friend along.

“There he is.” I spotted my father right off.

He was sitting at a table with an ice tea in front of him and the bible by his side. He looked like a saint sitting amongst the damned. At first, I made a bee-line for him, and then I noticed the stranger sitting next to him. Nobody had mentioned someone “new” would be joining us for diner, I thought as I slowed my gate, understandably leery. But when Heather passed me, and approached the table with such ease, my worries began to fade.

From a safe distance, I watched with growing curiosity as my father, and the man with the sun bleached hair, stood and greeted Heather warmly. In turn, she hugged my father and then shook the stranger’s hand. It was odd, and I don't like odd, I thought, but unless I was going to strap on an apron and get to work, I couldn’t just stand in the middle of the room forever. And when all around me people began to shout out their drink orders, I decided I’d better get a move on.

As I approached the table, daddy's face sparked with happiness, and I quickly returned a wide smile.

“Hello baby girl,” he said, and practically jumped out of his seat to hug me. His embrace was firm, and anyone watching would think we hadn’t seen each other all week rather than just that afternoon.

When he leaned back to take a look at his daughter, his eyes fell disapprovingly to my neck line.

“You look lovely tonight, Samantha.” He said with a fatherly tone I recognized.

“Daddy stop, this is the fashion of today.” I grumbled.

“So you keep telling me,” he shook his head. “Samantha, do you remember Jim Anderson?”

Just the mere mention of his name, and the athletically built man all but leapt my way. His enthusiastic demeanor, and quick draw hand shake, made me flinch but I held my ground. He wasn’t very tall. Even with me wearing a pair of diminutive heeled sandals, I stood eye to eye with the stranger. That made him, 5’8”, maybe, but I guessed shorter. And while I was sizing him up, our eyes met, and a spark of familiarity flashed. His light hair mixed well with his tan face, I thought, but it was the glimmer in his green-brown eyes, like that of a secret, that captivated me. Right away, I felt my cheeks blush.

“It’s been a long time Sammy, high school in fact.” He again extended me his hand.

Sammy? My eyebrows drew together. Jim. The name reached out, tantalizing me before it finally hit me.

“Jimmy!”

His smile widened, and this time when he held out his arms, I eased in. We hugged like distant friends should, firm but quick.

“Hello, Sammy girl.” He chuckled lightly.

Jimmy and I went way back, so far back it was no wonder I couldn’t remember. We had been best pals all through high school, a time so far removed from where I stood now it could have been someone else’s life. We were also an item for awhile, but to say it didn’t work out was an understatement. Jimmy was a wannabe musician with a wild side, and my father was another adult trying to hold him down. Needless to say, they clashed and Daddy won.

“I can’t believe this.” I said while examining a face that I hadn’t seen in more than ten years.

He was as handsome as I remembered, only with a few more years of maturity added in for good measure. In fact, the man standing before me was far more sophisticated than the teen I remembered, who rarely stepped out of his shorts and flip-flops, even in winter. Tonight Jimmy, or Jim as he called himself now, wore a lovely soft pinstriped blue suit with a stark white shirt and pink tie. He was a welcomed sight. And I love a man confident enough to wear pink.