Paper Angels

by Billy Coffey

  I smiled at his choice of words, especially considering who was staring at him from the booth by the door.

  Eric reached into his back pocket for his wallet and froze. A look of horror lighted across his face. He patted and felt nothing, and then patted and felt the pocket on the other side. The result was the same.

  “Uh-oh,” I said. My mouth began to stretch into a sinister smile.

  “Dude,” he said to Jabber, “you got any money?”

  Jabber’s eyes bulged in what was the best attempt at emotion I’d seen from him in nearly two years. He returned Eric’s gaze. “Are you kiddin’?”

  “My, my. Now how are my two favorite customers going to get their heads full of wisdom and knowledge without their junk food? And what about their smokes? Oh wow, their smokes. Two junkies going all day without their nicotine fix? Wow, I’m always glad I’m not you two, but today especially.”

  The seriousness of their predicament began to settle into their thick heads. Having to go without brunch was one thing. That would be uncomfortable, but not impossible. But having to go all day without a cigarette? That was inhuman. They even gave prisoners of war cigarettes.

  “Dude,” Eric said, “lend me ten bucks.”

  “You gotta be kidding me,” I said, feigning insult.

  “Come on, Andy. Please? I just forgot my wallet. It’s sitting right on my dresser at home. We’ll miss class if I have to go back home. I’ll pay you back by the end of the week.”

  To be honest, I didn’t know if I wanted to front Eric the money or not. Not because I thought he wouldn’t pay me back. I knew he would. And not because it’s considered bad business. I did that sort of thing on an everyday basis for friends. No, I waffled because this could well be something I could torment those two boys with for months. You couldn’t put a price tag on good material.

  The Old Man looked away from Eric and toward me. “Lend him the money, Andy,” he said. “Be a sport.”

  I was about to whisper something sarcastic to the Old Man, but then I regarded him. His face held a sadness I had never before seen. There was no sparkle in his eyes, no grin on his lips. He had the look of someone who had to do what he felt he could not.

  “Come on, Andy,” Eric said. “You know I’m good for it.”

  I uttered an exasperated sigh. “Okay fine,” I said. “Whatever it takes to get you two losers out of here before I start getting busy. This lack of responsibility is what’s wrong with your generation. And here y’all will be running my country one day.”

  They smiled and reached for their groceries.

  “Now just hang on a minute,” I said, slapping their hands away. “I’ll spring for the soda and the chips, but no smokes.”

  “Dude!” Eric said.

  “God doesn’t want you to smoke,” I told him. “If anyone should know that, it’s the future missionary.”

  “But you smoke, too,” Jabber offered.

  “True, but I’m just a stupid cashier at a gas station, remember? I don’t know any better. Sorry guys, I just don’t want to be an enabler.”

  “‘It has been my experience that folks who have no vices have very few virtues’” Eric said. “Abraham Lincoln.”

  “‘Show me a man I lend ten bucks to, and I’ll show you a man I’ll never see again,’” I answered. “Andy Sommerville. Though now that I think about it, maybe I should give you twenty just to make sure you stay away for good.”

  “Deal,” Jabber said. Then he smiled.

  “I’ll spot you the twenty,” I told them. “But I’m gonna need collateral.”

  “Want my shirt?” Eric said.

  He stretched his T-shirt out and showed me—some sort of rock band, I supposed, with a giant peace symbol that was dripping in blood.

  “For what,” I asked, “so I can wash my truck with it? No way I want those hippie germs all over me. Let’s see.” I looked him over and found nothing of even the remotest value. Then I saw his keys sitting beside his soda. “Give me your key chain.”

  He held it up to me. It was a pewter angel, the sort you would find at any dollar store in the country. Most said something quasi-spiritual like NEVER DRIVE FASTER THAN YOUR ANGEL CAN FLY, but Eric’s said nothing. Probably because of the trumpet in her mouth, positioned at the ready to shout either to or from the heavens.

  “Fine,” he said. “But I need to keep the keys. And you need to keep this safe. It means a lot to me.”

  “I have a place it’ll be safe,” I said.

  “Show me.”

  I snorted. “No way. Don’t you trust me?”

  “Yes,” he said, “but I still want you to show me.”

  I considered his request and knew what showing him would mean. I knew, too, that this small conversation had just turned into something very big. This wasn’t just crossing a boundary but erasing it. But it felt right. They’d given me much. It was time I did the same.

  I reached down and grabbed the box from the shelf, then placed it on the counter. “I’ll keep it here,” I said. “And it’ll be safe. No one knows about this box, so no one touches it. You two boys are the only ones who’ve ever seen it, and that’s the way it’s gonna stay. Can’t say why or how or even if, but everything that’s important to my life is supposed to be in here. That key chain means a lot to you? This box is my world.”

  I’ll admit a part of me expected them to laugh and taunt, but they didn’t. The boys stared at it and said nothing.

  “You got yourself a deal, Andy,” Eric said. “I’ll be back Monday with your money.”

  “Oh no,” I said. “You’ll come by tomorrow.”

  “But tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  “Is it? Hadn’t noticed.”

  “You’re going to make us drive all the way out here on a Saturday to pay you back?”

  “Why not?” I told him. “I figure I gotta punish you somehow for not being responsible enough to carry your wallet. Besides, I see you boys during the week, why not the weekend every once in a while?”

  “Oh, fine,” Eric said.

  He and Jabber then gathered their supplies and started for the door. Just before it swung shut, Eric poked his head back in.

  “I’ll bring it to you in pennies,” he said.

  We both laughed.

  I turned to the Old Man, who was still in his booth staring out the window.

  “Idiots,” I told him. “The both of them. But they have a way, don’t they?”

  “They do,” he said.

  The Old Man watched as they pulled away. The pained look on his face was becoming all too familiar. The only comfort he found was in rubbing the bracelet on his wrist.

  “What the heck is wrong with you?” I asked.

  “It’s hard for folks to think in terms of eternity sometimes,” he said. “All that’s around them is either the now or the then. Makes some things seem bad, like God’s not watching. He’s always watching, Andy. You know that, right?”

  “Whatever you say, Boss Man.”

  He turned to face me. “I’m serious, Andy. You know that, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I know that. Happy now?”

  The Old Man looked out the window again. “Clouds are gathering. Storm’s coming.”

  I followed his gaze. A thick layer of gray was descending over the valley.

  I didn’t think he was talking about the weather.

  27

  Eric

  I became conscious of the fact I’d exhaled after that last sentence without bothering to reverse the process. My heartbeat thumped in my chest, pushing it to my throat and then into my eyes and making my skin stretch and burn. For a moment I considered the possibility of never breathing again. It would be a small price to pay for leaving Eric’s story unfinished.

  And yet I knew his story was one that could not be untold. That must not. Not for my sake alone, though Elizabeth would perhaps disagree. But for Eric’s sake and for Jabber’s.

  Maybe, I thought, that was my purpose. Maybe I survived
to carry Eric’s memory to someone beyond his family and friends.

  I took in a deep breath of hard, sterile air.

  “You’re doing good, Andy,” Elizabeth said. She was close to me but not nearly close enough. The scissors and paper in her hand were now an afterthought, there only because she had forgotten them. “Let’s take a break.”

  I nodded but said nothing. Starlight still shone through the open windows, but I could see the faint beginnings of daybreak creeping through the trees. I drew strength from that tinge of orange and yellow mixed in with the black. Light was coming to chase the shadows away. I’d seen enough darkness in those days after it all happened, enough to carry me through a dozen lifetimes. I was ready for light.

  I reached out for Elizabeth’s hand. She met me halfway and smiled into my eyes. “There’s time,” she told me. “Plenty of time.” She raised the paper in her hands. “See? Almost done.”

  The paper was cut to pieces, barely held together by thin strands around the edges. It reminded me of the old-timers in town who sat in front of the hardware store or on their front porches and whittled pieces of wood. To my knowledge, the end result was never anything artistic or even useful. It was just a nub and a pile of shavings on the ground. And I’d always supposed that was the point. It was a way to keep the hands busy and free the mind up to ponder. That’s what Elizabeth looked to be doing with her paper—whittling. Keeping things busy so she could slow them down and slow me down in the process. Still, the fragile mess she held in her hand puzzled me. I didn’t know how something that had no real purpose could be almost done.

  Elizabeth hinted at an answer when she added, “That means we’re almost done, too.”

  “What will happen then?” I asked her. “Are you gonna pick up and move on to the next patient?”

  It was a childish thing to say. Elizabeth would move on. That was her job. She had much invested in me, but no more than she had invested in anyone else. I knew that. But I also knew that Elizabeth had been in only a small amount of the untold hours of my life, and I didn’t want her removed from a single hour more.

  “I’ll be close, Andy. Promise. This isn’t the last you’ll see of me.” She winked and added, “You couldn’t chase me away with a stick.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.

  We both turned toward the noise at the door. Kim stood there wearing the frazzled look of a nurse struggling through the final hours of a graveyard shift.

  “Sorry to bother you,” she said. “Just checking on my favorite patient.”

  “Still here,” I said, squeezing Elizabeth’s hand as I did. I only thought after that it was perhaps something I shouldn’t have done. But whether it was an infringement of the rules or not, Elizabeth’s hand continued to fold over mine.

  “Good,” Kim said. “The doctor will be here in a little while to give you the once-over. I’ll be back before then to get those bandages off.”

  I said “That’s great news” because it was what I was expected to say.

  “Holler if you need me, okay?”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  Kim smiled and lingered for a bit, studying Elizabeth and me. She finally left when someone called her from the hallway.

  “I didn’t just get you in trouble, did I?” I asked.

  “Nah,” Elizabeth said. “Don’t worry about that. I haven’t broken any rules.”

  “Good.” I squeezed her hand again and felt her return.

  “Eric and Jabber seem like two great boys,” she said, steering our conversation back to the business at hand.

  “I saw in Eric the sort of person I always wanted to be. He was confident and outgoing. He held nothing back from anyone, and I admired him for that. I was always more like Jabber. Poor kid. He’s great, really great. Just needs a little confidence. He needs someone to help him along and give him a little guidance.”

  “Like the Old Man does for you?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, then I smiled. “Maybe Jabber should pray like I did. Then again, maybe not. Never know what you’re gonna get and what it’ll lead to.”

  “Guess God knew what He was doing when He gave him Eric as a brother, huh?”

  “He got that part right,” I said. And it was true. “He screwed up afterwards, though.” That was also true.

  “God doesn’t screw up, Andy.”

  I nodded. “That’s what folks are supposed to say just to make Him look good. ‘God’s got His reasons’ and all that. You know what, though? I bet those folks are the ones who never had their mama taken from them when they were just a kid. I bet those are the ones who’ve never had to see the bitter side of this life. They’re insulated from the bad in the world by what they have or what they do. It’s easy for them to hand out those little nuggets of wisdom. Other folks are just left to toss in the wind, Elizabeth. And it’s a cold, hard wind. You ask Jabber if God screws up. You ask him.”

  “I’m asking you, Andy, not Jabber. You’re the one I’m here for right now. Someone else will tend to him.”

  “Ain’t nobody to tend to him, Elizabeth.” The words came out in anger I didn’t know I had. I took a deep breath. “All he had was Eric. His daddy’s dead and gone, and his mama’s only home long enough to bring her latest boyfriend with her. The only thing he had in this world—”

  “Was Eric,” she finished. “And now he’s dead, isn’t he, Andy? Eric’s gone.”

  I clenched my hand tighter around hers. “He’s not just gone, he was taken. By God.”

  “You told me the Old Man killed him.”

  “The Old Man didn’t do anything to prevent it.”

  28

  The Weight of the World

  I had come up with no fewer than four lectures to give Eric that covered everything from his lack of financial responsibility to the waste of valuable space that was the younger generation. I practiced them on the Old Man, who’d hung around most of the night before. We laughed a lot that night; things seemed better. Whatever it was that had been bothering him had settled itself. He was the Old Man again, and I was glad to have him back.

  “Angels aren’t all-powerful, you know,” he told me. We were out on the front porch enjoying the crickets and the frogs before I turned in. That part of the night, the quiet time, was when he often would settle into something serious. “Some of us struggle. And we all cry. Folks will say that the best way to tell an angel is the wings and the halo. That’s bull. You can tell an angel by his tears.”

  “What’s an angel got to cry about?” I asked. “Seems to me that y’all have it pretty easy, what with gallivanting all over the galaxy and whatnot.”

  He rocked in his chair—he liked doing that, but only when he knew no one was looking—and smiled. “You’re not too bright for a human being, are you?”

  I smiled back. “And you’re not too comforting for an angel.”

  “Well, there’s a time for comforting and there’s a time for teaching. I guess you could say there’s been a lot of teaching.”

  “Then maybe I’m brighter than you think,” I said.

  “No, Andy. I know better. But you’re brighter than you think.”

  I waved him off and finished my glass of mint tea. “Let’s head inside. What’s it gonna be, ball game or cop show?”

  “Don’t matter,” he said.

  “Ball game it is.”

  I opened the screen door and he was already on the couch. We found the Yankees on ESPN and settled into our normal routine of talking at rather than to each other through the first few innings.

  I’d just gotten up to grab another glass of tea when he said, “Thank you, Andy.”

  “For what?” I called from the kitchen.

  “For saying that prayer,” he said. “The one you said to the star when you were a kid.”

  I walked back to see Mariano Rivera jogging in from the bullpen. Game over, I thought. I sat back down on the sofa next to him and laughed.

  “What are you thanking me for? Feels to m
e like this has been a one-person job. You show me stuff, and that’s it. Can’t see that you get much out of it.”

  “But I do, Andy. More than you know. This has been just as much for me as it has you.”

  “Oh yeah?” I asked. “What’d you do, screw up the first time around and get me as a second chance?”

  “Something like that,” he said. “I’d explain it, but I don’t know how.”

  Rivera had gotten the first man to break his bat on a weak ground ball. I turned to comment to the Old Man that the Yankees closer was responsible for more dead trees than a Brazilian timber company, but he had that serious look in his eyes again. And what could have well been tears.

  “You ain’t looking for a hug or anything like that right now, are you?” I asked.

  He snorted. “No, I don’t want a hug. I just wanted you to know. You’ve come a long way.”

  “I suppose,” I said. “I’m gettin’ darn near as old and ugly as you.”

  “I guess.”

  And that was all he said.

  *

  Saturdays were never that busy at the gas station. I always had a few loafers in the morning—farmers hanging out between milkings, retirees. But by nine or so they were off to tend to their cows and yards, leaving me to putter around and wait for the occasional car to pull up to the gas pumps. The Old Man showed up just after dinner.

  “About time you got here,” I told him. “Don’t worry, you haven’t missed anything. Eric hasn’t shown up yet. I swear, if he skips out I’m gonna—”

  “—he won’t skip out.” He walked past me and took a seat in his usual booth. “He’ll be here.”

  “I gotta be honest, I kind of hope he doesn’t.”

  “Because him showing up will prove he’s a good kid?”

  “No. I already know that. But if he doesn’t show, I’ll have enough ammunition to use on him from now until I’m old and gone.”

  “You really do like him, don’t you? Jabber too.”