Jennifer Murgia: Angel Star

As I finished setting the napkins on the table, I heard my mother letting herself in the front door, her footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor of the hall. Without seeing her, I could tell she was tired and I couldn’t help feeling relieved that my invitation to Claire hadn’t worked out.

“Hi, honey. Mmm. Smells good in here.” My mother kicked off her shoes and settled herself into her chair at the small kitchen table. She looked weary. My fun-loving mom, my pillar of strength, appeared as though she had aged significantly since I left for school that morning.

“Do you feel okay, Mom?” I kept my eyes on the steaming colander I was now balancing over the sink.

“You sound pooped.”

“Just a long day, sweetie. How was your afternoon?”

I shuddered involuntarily. I wasn’t very good at keeping secrets from her and I worried that this one could be classified as an outright lie. I knew the time would come around soon enough for her to ask how I had actually spent the remainder of my day, the day I started off so excited about. Surely she would want to know about that. I decided to be somewhat truthful. To a degree.

“I got a coffee after school then spent some time at a park. It was too beautiful to be cooped up here at home.”

“Hmmm. That sounds nice. Dinner looks great, by the way.”

I was hoping she wouldn’t expect me to elaborate anymore on my seemingly ordinary afternoon. I felt guilty about leaving out the more important details, but being completely truthful right now would only open Pandora’s box and I wasn’t ready to share my can of worms yet.

We ate in silence, which was more the norm for us than the conversation we had shared at breakfast. The time flew by, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts.

“I’ll clean up, Mom.” I scooped my plate off the table and walked over to the sauce-splattered counter. I wasn’t exactly the most organized person when it came to cooking. I felt a twinge of embarrassment as I began restacking the little seasoning jars that had fallen into the dusting of Italian bread crumbs around the cutting board.

“Thanks, hon. Dinner was great.” My mother stood up stiffly and laughed a bit as she took in the mess I had created. She shook her head with a smile. “You have your work cut out for you. Are you sure you don’t want my help?”

“Nah, I’m sure. I don’t have anything better to do.”

The truth was, I still felt guilty. The only way I thought I could redeem myself was to make dinner and clean up.

I straightened up the kitchen in record time. After one last inspection, and feeling my efforts were worthy of Mom’s blue ribbon of approval, I dashed quietly up the steps to my room, wanting nothing more than to relive the hours I had spent with Garreth.

It was Friday night. A girl my age should be getting ready to go out, but the only thing I wanted to do was put on my comfiest jammies, set my iPod to shuffle, and zone out, thinking about the blue-eyed boy I had spent the afternoon with.

My intentions of reliving my afternoon with Garreth were but a memory now. I woke to find my room blanketed in darkness, my body slumped over my desk and drenched with sweat. I wrapped my arms around myself, a futile attempt to hold myself together. Hours must have passed since I came upstairs.

Shuffling to my bed, I threw myself on top of my still-tucked covers to think, forcing myself to remember.

Since meeting Garreth, my strange, recurring dreams had slipped away from me. I had hoped they were gone for good, but tonight proved me wrong. I couldn’t remember the dream but I could still feel the terror beneath my skin. I could still feel eyes watching me, eyes that I had always looked for, knowing they existed…but, still, they eluded me.

This dream was nearly the same as the others, something lurking, keeping a close watch…but this time, I wasn’t the only one being watched. Garreth was in my dream, protecting me from an unseen force of…

Oh… If I could only remember!

I sat up, pushing my hair out of my face and felt overwhelmingly tired. The dream seemed more of a memory to me than anything else, though that was impossible. The edges of it were still hazy in my groggy head.

Though my covers were ice cold, I had the sense of feeling warm, as though someone had held me all night, cradling me. The warmth was familiar. Like the soothing comfort of being safe and reassured as a child when I woke up from a bad dream. I used to check my mother’s hands over and over after dreams like this, feeling for the warmth I had felt in the night. I had been so sure that she was the one to come into my room to soothe me. Who else could it have been?

My mother was amused by my insistence but her hands were habitually cold, and she claimed another theory. That it was a guardian angel who came in to be with me when she could not.

Her theory worked for a while, helping me sleep at night when I was little and afraid. But the day came when I grew too old for such stories, even though the dreams never left me.

It wasn’t until lately that I had begun to feel afraid all over again. And I felt silly and inadequate, which is why I read so many books on paranormal creatures and myths. I was stretching my boundaries. I had run out of theories.

So now, sweating and in a panic, I resorted to my old method of comfort. I imagined a beautiful angel with outstretched wings sweeping into my room, chasing away the darkness from the corners, from the shadows. As hard as I tried, I could never picture a face on the angel from long ago. That is, until tonight. I gave it the identity that I knew would comfort me all through the night.

I gave it Garreth’s face.

I pictured warm hands, warmer than my own or even my mother’s for that matter. Hands warmer than anyone’s…save one.

As I tried to concentrate on the hands in my dream-memory, a sudden flood of other near-horrific incidents swelled up from my subconscious, revealing themselves in swift order like an unstoppable slideshow. Glimpses. Accidents I had suppressed deeply into my brain’s storage box. Choking. Warm hands. Slipping on ice and whacking my head until black splotches swirled. A voice like velvet, soothing, reassuring, keeping me in the here and now. A voice…not just any voice. One voice I would recognize over anyone else’s.

And eyes…the most perfect heavenly blue…aqua…pure and mesmerizing. Something inside me clicked just then. A switch of recognition flipped to the “on” position. Then something fluttered in the corner behind me and I turned around. There was nothing there. The sound was familiar to me — and this time I realized I wasn’t scared, not like earlier.

My eyes strained through the darkness of my room, waiting, and then I saw him. I rubbed my eyes, sure I was still dreaming. He walked toward me as though he had every right to be in my room. He stopped at my chair and I looked up at him as he stood in all his glory.

He was illuminated by a soft, pale light that surrounded him. It seemed to emanate from within him, centering around his chest and flowing down his arms and out his long, beautiful fingers that had held mine. I felt my hand ache to return there.

“I believe we had a date.” He smiled, waiting for me to grasp what was really happening here.

“ I a m dreaming, aren’t I?” I blinked my sleep-filled eyes.

How did he get in here? And the light…no matter how hard I thought, I simply couldn’t come up with a logical explanation for the fact that Garreth Adams was standing in my bedroom, smiling at me, glowing. So I took the only explanation possible. I was still dreaming.

This was too wonderfully surreal and he stood before me as if he were truly there. The incense was much stronger now, as though I were burning a stick right now in my room. But it came from his skin and I reached out hesitantly to touch the arm that glowed before me.