Falling From Grace

by SL Naeole

  "For example, love is a very powerful emotion, but rage and jealousy can often times be more so. Mother's wing-bringer was a man whom she thought she was in love with. She thought he loved her too, but unfortunately, he was in love with another woman. When she found out that he had been wed to her in secret, she became incensed, and nearly killed him in a fit of jealousy and rage. Her anger triggered her change."

  After meeting her, and talking to her, it was difficult for me to picture Ameila as anything but serene--despite what I had already seen from Robert--so the idea that she could become so angry that her body suddenly sprouted wings just went beyond the scope of my imagination. I looked down at the darkness below us and asked the one question that begged the loudest for an answer, "What's 'the call'?"

  Lark was silent for the first time since we had started our flight. I didn't know if I had asked the wrong question or not, but remembering how Robert had reacted when I had asked him what he was that second day, I feared I had once again over-stepped my bounds.

  "You did no such thing. Stop being such a ninny," she snapped, annoyance dressing every word. "You're right--I'm annoyed. I'm merely trying to think of a way to explain it. I don't exactly get to reveal these kinds of things to people on an everyday basis, so I'm trying to find a way to do so without using terms that you'd just ask me about immediately afterwards."

  "Oh. Okay then. Sorry."

  She clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Alright, so you wanted to know what 'the call' is. You know now that the change brings an angel's wings...but it also acts like a switch that turns on a sort of internal speaker. It is through that speaker that we hear the call. It is what every angel lives for, it's why we're born. In short, it is our destiny.

  "You probably know about archangels, especially if you've gone to a church-" she felt me shake my head and sighed "-okay, you didn't go to church, but I won't doubt that your knowledge on archangels is fairly limited to what human minds were allowed to remember. The archangels are the quintessential examples of what the call is. They live only for their duty. Their duty is the call. They do not do anything else but answer it. They have all made sacrifices, leaving behind their soul mates, their wing-bringers, their children, in order to fulfill their duty to it. They are the standard that many of us hold ourselves to. They are the angel equivalent to workaholics.

  "Without the call, many of us just wander aimlessly, no objective, no goal; we're all just waiting for the call. To put it simply, it gives us a sense of purpose beyond what this human life offers. There are those who have no problem with their lives on Earth, of course. Those who are content to be farmers, teachers...even politicians, and have no problem waiting for the call, willing and hoping it would take its time even though they know that their destiny involves them receiving it."

  The idea of angels as politicians caused me to bubble up with laughter again. "How can an angel be a politician? They cannot lie, and yet by running as a human being, they are, in fact, lying. It's incredibly ironic."

  Lark nodded her head, understanding the point I was trying to make. "You have to remember that the only boxes any person checks when they run for office usually revolve around whether they're male or female, a citizen or not, what their race and ethnicities are, and how old they happen to be. There are no 'human' and 'inhuman' boxes to check, and any documents that are required can easily be obtained."

  I choked on my laughter. "So how many angels put down born in five hundred A.D.?"

  She grimaced at that. "There is a loophole around lying when it comes to protecting our identities. We can say we're any age we want to be, and give any name we want to give, if it ensures that our secret is kept safe."

  I couldn't help myself. The laughter just kept coming out of me as more and more, I realized that Lark had been right in telling me to throw out all of my preconceived and terribly misinformed notions on what angels were. They were beautiful, but they sure weren't perfect, nor were they honest either. It was all very enlightening.

  "I'm glad you're amused," she remarked with sarcasm, her body stiff, her smile now gone. "It's difficult to do that, you know. Tell a lie, even if we're allowed to. It's physically painful. Robert, for example, has to tell everyone that he's eighteen, when you already know he's not. Every time he says he's eighteen, it's like he's branding a big L on his chest. He's been telling people that his name is Robert for so long, he's used to that sting of a lie, but his real name is N'Uriel."

  I remembered Ameila using that name first, then correcting it when she was speaking to me about him. "I thought N'Uriel was his middle name." I started feeling the stirrings of sadness as that conversation started to come back to me, but quickly shook it off. I was not going to allow myself to take away anything from this moment.

  "He was born N'Uriel. No last name. That came much later, along with the Robert."

  "So why the change?" I asked. "I kind of like it. It's different." Like me.

  "N'Uriel became Robert during the Crusades, when names that sounded too Moorish or too much like a Saracen were an automatic death sentence. It wasn't his life that he and my mother were fearful for, but rather the exposure that trying to kill him would have brought; and, during a time when even the most devout were questioning whether or not God existed, our presence would have been seen as an evil omen, rather than as a blessing. There was also the matter of having to destroy the witnesses.

  "I know you are aware of what happened after Robert's birth, what my mother had to do. You know now that what she did was against the rules. She believed she had just cause, of course. She was, after all, protecting her child. What could warrant more justification than that?

  "The Seraphim, however, were angry. She had killed over a hundred innocents to protect what they thought was an infant that had been ill-conceived. There was a great uproar among them, and they began to gather. It is rare when they all come together to discuss a punishment, and they all wait until each one has arrived before coming to a uniform decision, so when the rumblings started that all who sit above were gathering, everyone knew that it was very, very bad.

  "The Seraphim have their own calls that they have to fulfill, and so it took over one thousand years before the verdict was handed down; it came with such great pomp and circumstance, you'd think she were being promoted.

  "Stripped of her wings, they said. She would be banished to the human world, average, normal, powerless. It had been unanimous. The decision would include us, and that made the punishment all the more terrifying. But then the Seraphim discovered what my mother had protected all those centuries ago. They discovered what Robert was. No longer an infant, but a young man; strong, vibrant, and gifted. He was a healer, and his birth was...extraordinary. His destiny was laid out for all eyes to see, and to be the one who banished him and his mother? That was unforgivable.

  "They had no other recourse but to pardon my mother for her crimes. But, the pardon was a one-time deal, and had my mother not changed how we all lived, we'd all be dead. My mother no longer read the humans' minds. She didn't come to aid those she knew were in trouble--she only answered her call. We stopped being farmers, and lived simply as a wealthy widow with two children. It kept her from having servants, employees...anyone whom she might become attached to. She ceased living...she just existed so that we would."

  I tried to figure out what had made Robert so special that his existence was enough to save his mother and sister's lives. I also tried to grasp the concept that an angel could somehow die.

  "Oh, we die, Grace. We're immortal, not invincible. There are a few ways that an angel can die; the most common is by becoming human. We don't choose it...well, most don't anyway. Usually it is a sentence that we're handed when we commit a crime that goes beyond redemption," Lark said softly, her voice hinting at something I was afraid to touch on.

  She sighed, her mood changing. She was displaying a muted orange glow now. I could only assume it expressed sorrow or sadness, just going by the way the lines on her face app
eared out of nowhere, defining her emotions like nothing else could.

  "Angels die...someone I loved very dearly was sentenced to a human life here. He made mistakes, horrible, terrible mistakes, and this was seen by the Seraphim as a complete and total rejection of our way of life. So they sentenced him to a human life on earth.

  "To you humans, it's nothing. You're born and raised for this life. You find what you're good at, or learn the skill sets to be good at it, and then you do it. For an angel who is born with powers that are limitless, no requirement for the things that humans need due to biology, it is a shock to the system. Many of us have no marketable skills without our powers. It's easy to be a farmer when you can change into a swarm of bees and pollinate your own crop, or be a stock market analyst when you can see the future. But when you suddenly lose all of those abilities, you might as well jump into the river with an anvil tied to your leg.

  "And...for an angel to see a former angel grow old and die--there is nothing in this life for me that can compare to that pain."

  For a moment, I realized how similar we were. We both had the knowledge, the experience of seeing someone we loved very dearly die. We both felt the emptiness inside of us, and it hurt us both still, although hers could be centuries old.

  "Who was it--the angel that was turned human?" My voice was very soft and affected...rough with sorrow for the two of us and our losses.

  She remained silent. I had gone too far.

  "I'm sorry for overstepping my bounds, Lark. I didn't mean to offend or hurt you," I told her while looking away, trying not to see the overwhelming sadness on her face that I could feel coming from the chill her body gave off.

  She nodded her head and I knew that my time for questioning was over. I had already learned a great deal from her--much more than I had from Robert--although the information that he had shown me was very personal while hers was more general. It spoke a great deal about the differences between our relationships.

  I had to remind myself, of course, that where Robert had intended on taking our relationship was not running in sync to what I had hoped. He knew he was going to leave me if his wings came. His family knew. That I would most likely be merely a temporary stop on whatever journey he was taking towards his "call" was painful to acknowledge, but also very infuriating. I was merely a distraction on his way to wherever it was he was heading, and I did not like it at all.

  But I also had to admit to myself that I still wanted it. I still wanted that short amount of time with him, even if being with me was merely something to pass the time. As hurt as I was knowing that our lives couldn't be joined forever like he had made me believe, I still wanted it, fake or not, because at least with him, I was more than just Grace. I was someone to trust, to care about.

  I was so lost in my concessions that I did not realize that we were in my bedroom. How had Lark gotten me in without banging my head against the frame or sill?

  Skill.

  She set my feet on the floor and I quickly sat on my bed, the overwhelming need for sleep battling with my desire to apologize to Robert, to tell him I'm okay with whatever he wanted, as long as it included me.

  Silly human. To sell yourself so short--it reeks of desperation. Guys don't like that. Play hard to get. It works a lot better on angels than it does on humans, especially if you have the ability to keep us out of your thoughts.

  I looked at Lark with droopy eyes. "But I don't know how to do that; I don't know how to keep you out of my thoughts."

  Lark shrugged her shoulders. She wasn't going to argue with me about something that she thought was ridiculous to begin with.

  You go to sleep, Grace. Thank you again for the fun. I do have to say that talking to you about all of this was quite cathartic. I might have to do it again. Maybe.

  I nodded my head, vaguely aware of lying down on my bed and pulling the covers up to my chin. I opened my eyes and started to tell her thanks for bringing me home but she was gone. As if she had never been there. As if nothing had even happened that night. I could only hope that someone else would think so, as well.

  BREAK A LEG

  I didn't hear from Robert again after that night in the park. I wish I could have said that I didn't notice his absence. It wouldn't have been hard to believe. Both Stacy and Graham made it their life's mission to spend as much time with me as possible, and whether that was to actually spend time with me or to intentionally get on each other's nerves, I don't think I'll ever know.

  Graham was always there in the morning to see how I was doing, and to grab a plate of breakfast...or three. We still hadn't spoken about what was said in my living room, and I was quite content to let him continue to stew over it if it meant that when the conversations finally did happen, it'd be one that he didn't walk away from.

  Stacy had taken to calling just before she left for school to see how I was doing, and they both always arrived immediately after their practices, leaving way after dinner to head home after spending the evening with me. Dad complained that Graham ate enough for half a basketball team, while Janice complained that Stacy could out eat Graham after a full twelve course meal. I just knew both seemed eager to talk to me alone, but never got the chance to because the other one was there.

  I spent a great deal of the next week putting together Erica's soliloquy. During the afternoons before Graham and Stacy dropped by, I would ask Janice to take me to the library. I attempted to do some research for my poetry essay, but I always wound up looking for anything I could about angels, finding mostly artwork and a few random scriptures. What I did find important, I jotted down in a notebook alongside my essay research, and reminded myself to look at it later.

  I completed the home and class work assignments that Mr. Branke had brought over on that last Thursday night before returning to school, while Stacy and Graham argued about the baseball game that was on television. I never questioned Graham whether Erica knew that he had been spending so much time at my home. If he wasn't willing to bring her up, neither would I. But I knew that come Friday afternoon, something was going to change between Graham and I for good, and it would all be based on a five minute dialogue.

  With all of the distractions, all of the diversions, all of the conversations about sports, politics, school, my postponed Tae Kwon Do lessons, and all of the refereeing between Graham and Stacy, nothing could keep my mind off of my angel and where he was, what he was doing, and if he was listening to my thoughts about him. But mostly, I worried that he wasn't.

  When I woke up on Friday morning I felt extremely conflicted. I wasn't sure if I was ready for what lay ahead. The intense scrutiny would start almost immediately, and I didn't know how to prepare myself for it. In small doses, it was tolerable. I'd dealt with it my entire life. But this was going to be different. This was going to be my first day all over again. I needed to feel confident, but the only thing that did that was an angel, and he wasn't speaking to me.

  After spending an obscene amount of time in the shower trying to see if my entire being could wash down the drain like the soap did, I finally made my way downstairs where breakfast and an anxious Dad would be waiting for me. I saw him look up from his paper when I entered the kitchen and he smiled at me, very pleased that I had made it out of the bathroom with all of my skin intact, albeit far more wrinkled than usual.

  I was seated for no more than thirty seconds when Janice had a plate piled high with scrambled eggs and sausage in front of me, a "you're going to eat everything or else" warning glued to her face. Swallowing whatever remark I was foolish enough to even form in my throat, I reached for the glass of milk she placed next to my right elbow and took a deep gulp. I had already lost one battle to a formidable opponent, and it wasn't even six thirty yet. How was I going to win the war of Friday if I started out with a loss to a pregnant woman?

  I picked up the fork that she handed me and glumly ate the eggs, all the while wondering how I'd be getting to school today. As if he had read my mind, Dad put his paper down. "So, is G
raham picking you up or am I going to have to play chauffer?"

  I put a forkful of eggs into my mouth to give myself some time to think. I hadn't asked Graham if he was going to pick me up because I knew that he'd be picking up Erica and that would just be extremely uncomfortable for all of us. And, if I had to be honest with myself, I was still holding out hope that outside, behind Janice's little SUV, there'd be a monstrous black motorcycle and rider waiting for me.

  The absurdity of the image of me in my casts on the back of the motorcycle quickly killed my hope, however. Dad wasn't going to let me get on the back of some two wheeled death machine when I still looked like the victim of a four wheeled one. I swallowed my eggs and smiled. "I think you'll be playing chauffer, Dad."

  He smiled back, pleased with that idea. I hadn't really thought much about how he had reacted to the accident once we came home from the hospital, but I knew that he'd tried to be a lot more attentive, almost to the point of getting on my nerves. He seemed to be trying very hard to not miss a single thing, and I found that to be very comforting. I reached my hand out to pat his as it rested on his coffee mug.

  He looked over his paper again, his eyes full of warmth and happiness. "Thank you, Grace."

  After I had completed the herculean task of finishing the food that Janice had placed in front of me, I pulled her aside. "Janice, do you think you have anything that might fit me, so that I don't have to go to school in sweat pants?"

  She seemed shocked that I would ask such a thing, but I knew that the perpetual sixteen-year-old girl in her that exists purely for the sake of all things makeover quickly took over, and she was dragging me upstairs, calling out to Dad to "stay downstairs" because it was "girl time". We headed towards the room she shared with Dad, and for a brief moment, I couldn't move. This was the room that my dad had shared with my mom. To go in with Janice seemed like a small betrayal.