Paper Angels

by Billy Coffey

  “That’s not a very good answer to my question,” I said. “I know I got my head bumped, Elizabeth, but I haven’t forgotten who I am.”

  “I don’t think you ever knew who you are, Andy,” she said. “Not really.”

  “I’m not Andy Sommerville?”

  “You’re not the Andy Sommerville you were.”

  “Then who am I?”

  Elizabeth smiled and said, “The person you’re supposed to be.”

  The room was spinning, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the medication Kim had been pumping into my arm all night or the way Elizabeth had begun to talk. Or both.

  “Elizabeth,” I said, “I’ve sat here all night talking to you, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And despite both my better judgment and my introverted nature, I think I’ve been fairly open.”

  “You have.”

  “I’ve told you things I’ve never told another soul. I even told you what brought me here. I’d hate to have to go through all that only to find a bunch of psycho mumbo-jumbo at the end.”

  “Good,” Elizabeth said, “because I don’t have any.”

  “What do you have, then?”

  “Truth, Andy. Your truth.”

  I turned around to look at the clock on the wall above me. “You got that in seven hours? I thought people had to go through years of counseling to get something like that.”

  “I have to work a little faster here,” Elizabeth said. “Time is an issue, and we don’t have much of that left.”

  Her words were nonchalant, but for me they carried a weight of finality I was not prepared to hear. Elizabeth would have to leave. Eventually. But I supposed that to me eventually always meant later, and later would always be a safe distance away.

  “Is it almost time for you to go?” I asked her.

  “Yes,” she said. The smile was still there, but it had lessened. “Like I said earlier, I should have left a while ago. But I wanted to stay here with you. It’s important.”

  “You won’t be here when Jake comes to talk to me.”

  It was a statement rather than a question, but the pleading was still in my eyes. I wanted to be strong for Elizabeth. I wanted to show her the very best part of me. But in the end, I knew I couldn’t. Whatever masks I’d worn to separate my true self from the world could not stand against the gentleness of her presence. It was a hardness borne of understanding and patience, one that exuded a strength that could not only move mountains but convince them they should be moved. Elizabeth could see me for no one else than the man I truly was. I should have feared that notion. I should have seen it and shrunk from its truth. But I knew she would be the one to see that the man behind the parts I played, the man who hurt and struggled, was the very man I should show to the world. That and that alone was the very best part of me.

  “Please,” I said.

  Elizabeth straightened her shirt and cleared her throat. It was a vain attempt at something that could delay her next words just one more second, for her benefit and for mine.

  “I’m leaving soon, Andy. We need to hurry and get this last little bit done, because it’s the most important part. We’re close.”

  “Will I see you again?” I asked.

  “Oh my, yes,” she said. She nodded her head so hard that her ponytail flopped in the air. “You can count on that, Mr. Sommerville. I’d have it no other way. And to prove that to you, I’d like to do something.”

  “What?”

  “Eric’s key chain was the last thing you put into your box. Doesn’t seem right that the last thing should be something that causes you so much sadness. I know the Old Man isn’t around to tell you, but would it be all right if I put something in there? Just to hold for me until we see each other again? It’ll be my promise to you.”

  At that moment, I could think of nothing more I’d rather have. “Yes,” I said. “Please.”

  Elizabeth reached behind her head and wiggled her hand. In the next moment brown hair spilled down over her shoulders like a frame around a masterpiece. She held her hair tie up to me. It glimmered in the rising sun that shone through the window, and I saw that it was not leather after all. It was more a kind of silk. She sat it in the box. “There,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  She smiled like a little girl keeping a secret. “My pleasure.”

  “Then stay with me. At least until Jake leaves.”

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “Why?” I asked. “And don’t say it’s procedure or anything like that. I’ve known Jake since he was a boy. He won’t mind.”

  “It has nothing to do with Jake, Andy. It’s for something else. I won’t be here for the same reason the Old Man wasn’t in the gas station that night.”

  I tried to swallow but couldn’t. I coughed instead, which served to start me breathing again and to hide the water pooling in my eyes.

  “What?” I asked. “What kind of thing is that to say to me? Don’t say that, Elizabeth. Don’t you compare yourself to him.”

  “Why? It’s true.”

  “Why can’t you be here?”

  “Because you won’t need me.”

  “Because…what?”

  I began laughing then—the sort of laughter people use when they’re trying to decide if what they’d just heard was something that should make them amused or angry. I was leaning toward angry. This, I thought, this was why I’d never opened myself up to anyone. Why I never trusted. Because the moment you did, you were left alone again.

  Elizabeth’s smile was gone, replaced by the stone-faced appearance of someone whose only reason for speaking was to convey truth. No minced words and no flowery suppositions. Fact, plain and simple.

  “You’re saying the reason the Old Man wasn’t there that night was because I didn’t need him? That’s what you’re telling me?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you,” she said.

  “Did you not hear anything I’ve said?”

  Elizabeth smiled again. “I’ve heard every word, Andy.”

  This time I didn’t bother to cough and hide my tears. This time I showed them. “How can you say that to me?” I said. “Of all the things you could tell me, why would you tell me that?”

  “The Old Man told you two things before he left. He said you were going to have to look beyond what you normally see, even if you don’t understand it. That you will have to trust. And he said that everything he’s shown you has come down to this.”

  I sniffled and said nothing.

  “He was right, Andy. Right about everything.”

  “I don’t give a damn if he was right,” I said. “He left us there that night. He could have done something.”

  “No, he couldn’t,” she said. “He couldn’t have done anything, and you couldn’t have either, Andy. It was Eric’s time, pure and simple. But it wasn’t your time. Your time is just beginning, and I’m here to help you do that. I’m here to tell you what it means. But first I have to tell you who you’re supposed to be.”

  “And who am I supposed to be?” I asked.

  “Jabber’s angel,” Elizabeth answered. She held her hands out and up in a curious way, one that reminded me of the way Jordan raised hers that day at our bench so long ago. A way that was meant to show her statement was not nearly as ridiculous as I would think it to be, that instead it made all the sense in the world.

  But it didn’t. There were so many untruths in her answer that my mind couldn’t process them all. And despite the still-fresh regrets I carried of losing my temper with her earlier, I couldn’t help but feel that reservoir of black in my heart filling again. This was what I sat up all night waiting for? This was the wisdom the Old Man said I needed? I didn’t even know what she meant.

  “Only angels get to be angels. Besides, if there’s anyone alive least fit to have a halo and some wings, it’d be me.”

  “Now, I don’t think that’s so.”

  “Which part?” I asked.

  “Both
.”

  Kim knocked at the door again. This time she didn’t bother to wait for our invitation, she just kept going. Behind her was a small cart. Scissors, tape, and gauze were arranged on top in their typical hospital fashion—even and straight and sterile.

  “Okay, Mr. Andy,” she said. “Ready to feel some fresh air?”

  I looked at Elizabeth and tapped a finger on my wrist. “We have time,” she told me.

  “Sure,” I said to Kim. “I could use the break. Let’s see how ugly I am.”

  “Andy!” Elizabeth said.

  “Now don’t be saying that,” Kim echoed. “You’re gonna be just as handsome as you ever were.”

  “What if I was never handsome?” I asked.

  Kim answered, “Andy Sommerville, you could have the pick of any woman in this state if you wanted to.”

  I looked at Elizabeth looking at me.

  “Think so?” I asked, to the both of them.

  “Yes,” they both answered.

  Kim took a pair of surgical scissors in her hand and eased up to me.

  “Now you hold still,” she said. “I don’t want to be lopping off an ear.”

  She snipped at my bandages with the same easy intent and grace that Elizabeth had shown with her paper and then put the scissors back down on the cart. She slowly began unwrapping.

  “Sure ain’t how an angel spends his mornings,” I said to Elizabeth. “Least not that I recall.”

  “Hold still now,” Kim said. “Almost there.”

  The last few layers of bandages sloughed off. My face and head felt lighter, so much so that I thought I would have to hold them in place or everything above my neck would float away.

  “Now let me get these pads off.”

  Kim reached out with her fingernails and eased one pad off, then another, then the rest. The cool air washed over my naked skin and left me tingling.

  I raised my hands to touch my face, but Kim slapped them away.

  “Now don’t go doing that,” she said. Kim stood next to Elizabeth and the two regarded me. I suddenly felt naked again.

  “Well?” I said.

  “Pretty as a June bug.”

  “I’ll second that,” said Elizabeth.

  “I gotta say, Andy,” Kim said, “you look mighty fine minus that big ol’ beard. Maybe if Owen and I don’t work out, I’ll make a run at you.”

  “You get paid to tell lies like that all day?” I teased.

  “Ain’t no lie, sweetie.”

  “Well, I appreciate that. I expect I’ll be growing it back as soon as I’m able, though. When’s Jake coming?”

  Before Kim could answer we were interrupted by a barrage of pitched electronic beeps. The quiet of the hallway erupted in organized chaos. Metal clanged, voices shouted, walks morphed into runs. A mechanical voice called a code I could not decipher.

  “Gotta go,” Kim said, bolting for the door. “I’ll be back, Andy. Stay still, okay?”

  I turned to Elizabeth and said, “What’s going on?”

  “Heart attack,” she said, rising from her seat. “Down the hall.” She reached the door and looked to her left, past where a throng of nurses and orderlies were heading.

  “Sorry,” she said, turning back to me.

  “Who is it?”

  “Mr. Alexander,” she said. “the man down the hall, and Kim’s other priority. He’s put up a good fight, but I think that fight’s over. Poor man.”

  “He didn’t have a counselor?” I asked.

  “No,” Elizabeth said. She returned to the chair beside me. “The higher-ups make that call based on a lot of different criteria.”

  “So I guess since I’m an angel, I get preferential treatment around here.”

  Elizabeth leaned forward and took my hand the same way she had through the night. Had I known it would be the last time I would feel her skin against mine, I would have held on and never let go. But we’re seldom told beforehand which of our times will be the last in this life. That, I suppose, is reason enough to treat them all that way.

  “Listen to me, Andy,” she said. “You are special. More than you know. The story of your life hasn’t been finished yet. You’re getting there, but then again everyone else is getting there, too. These past days? They’re not a period, they’re a comma. They’re a pause and the continuation of a thought greater than your own. And you already have every answer to every question you’ve ever asked.”

  “Then where are they?” I asked her.

  Elizabeth pointed to the box on my lap. “Right there,” she said.

  The box sat closed on my lap, and for the first time I felt afraid to open it. It didn’t repulse me as it had before I had thrown both it and its contents across the room, but neither did it bring me the sort of confused comfort it had always brought. My box was simply a thing, not unlike the bed I was in or the clock on the wall behind me or the morning sun outside. And perhaps, I thought, it was even less than a thing. At least the bed and the clock and the sun were useful.

  “Stop it,” Elizabeth said.

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking. You have to trust what you don’t understand, right? That’s what the Old Man told you.”

  “First of all,” I said, “I’m not even convinced he knew what he was talking about.” I paused and then added, as gently as I could, “Or you, for that matter. And second of all, I’m not sure I want to listen to someone who wasn’t around when I needed him most.”

  “And now you’re not sure you want to listen to me either, right? Because I said I was leaving. Leaving just like everyone else has left. You wear your loneliness as a badge, Andy. You think you’ve suffered for your faith. I don’t think that’s true. I think it’s just easier for you to see your isolation as God’s will than it is to see it as your fear.”

  Her words crushed me with the weight of their truth, a weight that no amount of denial or reasoning could balance. It was true. All of it. It was a truth born the day my parents died and reinforced when my grandfather passed on years later. Then my grandmother. By then I had been made aware of this one great truth—nothing lasted in this world. People came and people went like tides, and every time they were snatched away a bit of my shore went with them. I could not bear that hurt. Would not. And for that, I had suffered far worse.

  I left Elizabeth’s question unanswered and instead pointed to the box. “My answers are in here?”

  “Yes.”

  “All of them?”

  “No,” she said, “I don’t think so. You’ll never have all the answers, Andy. You know that. God only gives you the ones you need. The Old Man said you’d need what’s in that box one day. He was right. And you were right when you said that day is today. But you’re not supposed to sit there and stare at them. You’re supposed to put them together to see what they become.”

  “Don’t tell me that,” I said. “There’s no puzzle here, Elizabeth. I based my everything on the assumption that I had someone…something…concrete in my life. I thought I could put my weight on the Old Man when I needed to. But when I did, I fell through. I’m still falling.”

  “And you’re afraid no one’s going to catch you?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “Or maybe this has left you feeling like you’re not worth catching. You’re a smart guy, Andy Sommerville. Seems to me you should have put most of this together by now.”

  “What’s that mean?” I said.

  “It means you’re angry and you’re hurt, and I can’t blame you for that. But those are two things that can keep people from seeing the truths of their lives. I’m not belittling what happened to you, Andy. I’m just saying that sometimes you can focus so much on the noise that you miss what’s being said.”

  “I need to know why Eric and I were left to die that night,” I said. “And I need to know what I’m supposed to do now.”

  “Once you understand the what, the why won’t matter. And you already know the what.”

 
; “I’m supposed to be Jabber’s angel.”

  Elizabeth smiled and said, “Yes.”

  “Elizabeth, I want to understand what you’re saying, I really do. But I just don’t.”

  “You’re thinking in parts, Andy. You think everything’s separate, and it isn’t. Everything is connected. You, the Old Man, your box, Eric, Jabber. Even me. We’re all spokes on a wheel.”

  “And where’s that wheel going?” I asked her.

  “Somewhere wonderful,” she said. “I promise. You just have to hang on a bit longer. The ride gets a little bumpy before it smoothes out.”

  I opened the box and peered inside. All of my—souvenirs? I thought, then, Trinkets? Pieces? I settled on pieces—pieces were inside. Her hair tie sat on top like a crown.

  “There are no answers here, Elizabeth,” I said. “They’re just things. Ordinary things.”

  “I think the magic lies in the ordinary, Andy. For everyone, but especially for you. You kept those for a reason.”

  “I kept them because he told me to,” I said.

  “There was a reason.”

  “Then tell me. Tell me that reason. No more talk, and no more stories. No more questions. Just tell me, please. If this is a puzzle, then help me put it together.”

  Elizabeth pulled her hair behind her shoulders and took a deep breath. I had the image of someone who was about to jump into deep waters.

  “Okay, Andy. I think you’ve earned some answers. Let’s start with the Old Man.”

  32

  Heisme

  Elizabeth rose from her chair and began walking around the room. Slowly at first, folding her arms in front of her as she watched her feet take first one step and then another, to the window and the clear spring day, and then back to my bed. She seemed nervous, which made me wonder how difficult it was going to be to hear was she was about to say. It was enough to tempt me to change my mind. I could tell her I didn’t really want to know after all, that perhaps she had been right all along and I didn’t need the answers I thought I did. I was injured. A victim, no less than Eric. And when you are a victim, you lash out and say things you don’t really mean.