by Lauren Wynn
Ouch! My own heart collapses. She’s going out with him on Friday.
That was unexpected. So much for slowing things down. I was hoping for a little more time than that.
Friday begins similar to any other day with the exception of dread flowing through me. And this time, I conjured up this feeling on my own. It is not a burden induced by any of my callers. I attempt to occupy my thoughts with visiting callers, including Summer, who is always a breath of fresh air. However, talking with her during lunch recess through the chain-link fence at her school prompts concerned looks from a few teachers, so I leave, not wanting to be the creepy guy talking to a little girl outside the schoolyard.
I take a long jog, careful not to venture too far east for fear I won’t be able to stop myself from running straight to her and begging her not to go with him. But how can I beg her not to go with him when I turned her down myself? I did refuse her, didn’t I? I’m not even an option for her. I should be glad she’s going out with him. He seems to be a genuinely nice and decent guy. I should be thrilled. He just saved me. But I’m not. And I can’t stop thinking about her and remembering the curves of her body nestled against mine the last time I was with her and how she gripped the collar of my T-shirt in her fist, resting her warm thumb on my neck. I run faster toward home.
The warm March sun bakes down on me as I sit on the black roof of the loft with my knees huddled against my chest. Not wanting to be alone with my thoughts any longer, I head to the park. A couple kids ask me to shoot hoops for a while, which proves to be most freeing. Primarily because I spend the entire game concentrating so hard on downplaying my “advantages,” I don’t flaunt my mad jumping skills. I dunk enough that they want to keep playing with me but not enough to cause question.
But no matter how much I try, the dreaded evening is looming. The butterflies in my stomach arrive first, followed by labored breathing, and then she begins quivering similar to when you have chills from the flu. This is terrible. I almost wish it were the flu instead of a first date with Chance. If throwing up were an option for me, I probably would have by now. Ugh! I’m supposed to be stronger than this. What happened?
God…Zan, if you’re still here, will you please help me calm down. I feel so nauseous. I don’t even want to do this. Remind me again why I agreed to this?
My lip curls up in a half-smile, pleased that she is requesting my assistance. And despite my feeling awful, I have to see her, I want to see her. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her, I can’t stay away. She did ask for me. It is still my duty to serve her, after all. Yes, that’s right. I’ll go to her out of duty, obligation.
Who am I kidding?
In her bedroom, I appear in the same corner I stood in the last time I visited her here. She lies on the bed with her feet still touching the floor as she zips and buttons her faded blue jeans. I quickly face the corner when I realize she has yet to put on a shirt only glancing for a second at her black bra. Oops.
“Providence,” I say, making my appearance known and still facing the corner.
“Ah! Holy sh…smokes! You scared the crap out of me, Zan.” She jumps off the bed. Mattress springs screech and a thud hits the floor. “I’m glad you’re here, though. I haven’t … seen you this week.” Her heart races, and I can almost feel the force of blood pumping through her veins.
“I’m sorry for scaring you. I promised you I wouldn’t disappear.”
“Why are you facing the corner?”
“Because when I got here you…umm…didn’t have a shirt on.” I can feel blush rise in her cheeks.
“Oh, right. Huh, I guess I figured you’d seen it all before.”
“Umm, no.” I hear clothes hangers screech across the metal rod in the closet.
“Hmm…I don’t know why I thought you would have. I don’t know, X-ray vision or something. Maybe it’s the eyes or the invisibility thing?”
I laugh. “No, no X-ray vision. I can fly, but I’m no Superman.”
You’re my Superman, she thinks.
I swallow.
“So I guess my call worked?”
I smile. “Yep, you said you wanted me to help calm you before Chance arrives.” My tone sounds short and formal. I bite my tongue. I can be professional.
“So you know about that?”
“Yeah, earlier this week you asked whether you should go out with him or not.” I start to turn around thinking she must have a shirt on by now.
Oh me. Still no shirt. Close your eyes and turn back around.
“Sorry, I’m still deciding what to wear. A little help? Which of these do you like best? You can turn around now.” In front of her chest, she holds up two, very similar, black, sleeveless shirts.
“Uh, that one.” I point to the silky one without the sparkly things on it before turning back around.
Perfect. I’m picking out clothes for her date. I’m quite sure this isn’t part of my role description.
“So, should I be going out with him tonight?” Her heart rate increases and her stomach clenches.
“I can’t make that decision for you, Prov.”
Oh! He called me Prov…that sounded nice. “You can turn around now, Zan.”
I turn to face her, “You like him, don’t you?”
“I liked him.” Before I met you.
“I’m sorry.” I sit on the edge of her bed and rub my eyes. I wonder if I look as worn as I feel.
“I don’t know what to do, Zan. He’s not you, but I like him. He’s a nice person, gives me nice tips. On a scale of one to ten, he’s an eight and a half on cuteness.”
I force a smile. “Well…that’s something. I wish I knew what else to say here, but I don’t exactly have a history with these types of situations.” I pause and take a deep breath. “So here goes…I think you made the right choice to go out with him. Maybe you will find that he becomes a ten on your scale of cuteness before the night is over.” I sound somewhat convincing. Ugh! Could definitely throw up now.
She mopes over to the bed and sits next to me. “So I can’t just stay here with you?” Her bottom lip pushes out in a pout.
Oh, not the pouty face. “It’s a little late to cancel now. Plus, you’re all dressed up and ready to go.”
“Well…we could go somewhere.” She raises her eyes to mine.
I shudder and turn away from her, unable to answer for fear I’ll give in. I use all of my energy to refocus on the task at hand: being a good, self-controlled angel.
“I know, I know, angel only,” she says mockingly, rolling her eyes. This sucks, stupid rules.
She leaps off the bed and scurries to the dresser.
“Will you put this on me?” A sterling silver necklace that holds a lowercase p charm on it dangles from the tip of her finger, a necklace that I’m certain she’s put on herself a million times before, unassisted.
I nod. She lifts up her long, walnut hair and I clasp the necklace, making sure I avoid touching her smooth, dark olive skin.
“One more thing…” she spins to face me, “will you fix my pant leg? I will totally pop a button if I try to bend over. It took me forever to zip these things.” She pats her flat stomach.
Crouching down I unroll her curled-up pant leg, replacing, flared slightly, around her boot. She slowly runs her fingers through my hair.
The right thing for me to do would be to quickly stand up and back away, but I don’t. I work my way up slower than usual, entranced by her heat and the tingle my soft hair leaves on her fingers. Her hands slide down my shoulders, and by the time I’m fully upright, dizziness washes over my mind and clouds my vision. I blink several times and take a step backward. Providence stands there, arms still stretched out, eyes closed as she bites her bottom lip, filing the memory.
“Fine, I’ll go, but that doesn’t mean I have to have fun.” She clicks her heel and tucks her outstretched leg back under her, now that her pant leg is fixed.
I clear my throat. “I’m sure he’s a good guy, Providence. Give him a c
hance. No pun intended,” I reply, wondering if I said it more for me than her. This whole drawing-the-line thing is harder than I thought it was going to be.
“Can I at least have a hug before you vanish into thin air?”
Like I was saying… “Of course.” Sucker!
I tug her toward me snaking my arms completely around her small waist and squeeze her against my chest, her figure fitting perfectly to mine. The fire rises from her stomach into her chest and she lets out a sigh.
Saved by the bell. Thank you, God!
“Crap, he’s here.”
She backs away and I nod.
“How do I look?” She spins around in a circle.
Her black silk shirt is just tight enough to see her shape without revealing everything and her slender, faded blue jeans and black boots make her look taller than she really is, and sexy, but I shouldn’t be noticing that.
“You look breath-taking, Providence.” If I had a breath to take, she would have taken it by now.
“Thanks, Zan.” She runs to me, kisses my cheek, and races for the front door.
“Hello,” she says in her cheerful voice.
“Hey Providence, you look beautiful, as always.”
I bite my tongue again.
I transform and move into the living room, staring out the front door. Despite the fact that I’ve continually told myself this is a good thing, I cringe at the sight of his clean-shaven, smooth, tanned face. His brown hair nearly matches hers in color and texture, sweeping over his forehead, lying the way he styled it, without the unruly natural curl mine seems to enjoy. He is not quite as tall as I am, but has a similar athletic build, like a soccer player. His somewhat casual dress—pressed jeans, black cashmere sweater with a gray T-shirt peeking over the high V-neck, and polished black shoes—doesn’t downplay his professional nature. He looks smart and sophisticated. It may take every ounce of energy I have, but I will be happy about this…for her.
Eight and a half, Zan, eight and a half.
I chuckle to myself. She’s not afraid to take full advantage of the senses I do have. I feel myself slump forward, burdened by the weight of my feelings. I don’t like this, not one bit.
“So, I thought we’d go to Mt. Adams for dinner and well…go from there.”
“Sounds good.”
It doesn’t sound good to me. I cringe.
She turns around on her way out the door and flashes a wave. I’m unsure if she did that just in case, or if she is really getting better at sensing me.
Chance places his arm around her waist and guides her down the stairs on the left side of the front porch. My heart sinks and my breath catches in my throat.
This is a good thing, this is a good thing. I want what’s best for her. She should have a normal life, with a normal boyfriend.
The western red sky invites me in. I move to the old, stone church making my change such that no one will notice. I sit on the top stair, peering down at the hundred or so stairs that fall below it. I watch the sun fall behind the tall buildings downtown in the valley below, glancing occasionally at the stars that peek out of the dark sky behind me. The scent of a warm meal from a nearby restaurant wafts past with every breeze.
I can handle this. I can let her go. I’ll be there when she needs me. This can work. No need for reassignment. I’m strong. I’ve spent my entire existence without her, I can do this.
Moments later my heart begins to flutter. Her voice echoes in my mind.
“And what do you do there?”
“I’m a financial analyst.”
“Wow that sounds impressive. Smarty Pants. Do you enjoy it?”
“For the most part, although viewing spreadsheets is a little friendlier after my morning coffee.”
A picture snaps in my mind, her mind. He winks at her. I quickly stand up and spin around in a full circle. They are in the street walking toward me, fortunately paying no attention to their surroundings. I race in the opposite direction covering my face with my hand as I pass under the street lamp that lights up the landing. My once secluded spot is now the gathering hub for a number of love-struck couples. I leap over a nearby hedge, landing not so gracefully on my backside. I sit up and shake off my daze and brush the mulch off my back. Once the fog has lifted, I peer through the branches and see them standing at the metal guard rail at the back of the church overlooking the city, mere steps from where I was just seated. Chance has his hand placed on her hip and his chin resting on her shoulder. My face twists as I cringe.
Warmth flows throughout her body. A light, tingly sensation plays around her ear, feeling the warmth of his breath.
Why am I doing this? Is this what it has come to? Would I rather endure the pain and remain her angel than not have her in my life at all? Oh my gosh. I can’t sit here and watch this unfold.
My motivational speech feels like a million years ago instead of minutes ago. So much for being able to handle this. Envy closes around me, swallowing me whole.
I wish I were him.
I run in the opposite direction, away from this place where I once felt closer to home. Instead of leisurely curving through the streets, I take the most direct route to the loft.
A dark shadow hovers over me and reaches out, wrapping its tentacles around my wrists and ankles like iron shackles. Shackles of envy, shackles of a human sin grip forcefully my human form, slowing me down. I need to talk to Grant.
When I finally arrive, the weight of the shadowy shackles is gone, but Leo and Grant aren’t home. So, I choose the next best thing, pacing back and forth in the living room, no doubt wearing down my path in the hardwood flooring. I repeat my mantra in hopes that it sticks this time: “I can do this. I can let her go. I don’t need a reassignment. I’m strong. I can handle this.” I say this to myself as much as I say it to Him. It’s a constant dialogue between us. The conversation I’ve been having with Him since this relationship with Providence started. At some point, it’s going to take. It has to.
The vision of Chance with his arm around Providence is eating at me, piece by piece. Forget the mantra. I need to keep myself busy. I run into my bedroom and begin rearranging the closet. I fold shirts into piles by color, and organize the clothes hanging in the closet by color, reds, greens, whites, blacks. I change my shirt three times. I polish my black slip-on dress shoes. I polish my brown dress shoes. I fold and refold the fleece blanket lying across my chair before peering out the window. And that’s when it occurs to me Grant was right.
Oh my gosh, I don’t think I can do this. She deserves a normal life. I’ll just go there and tell her this isn’t working out. I’ll tell her I’m requesting a reassignment.
* * * *
Logic waits until I’m in front of her house to finally set in. The only ounce of good judgment that remains tells me to wait outside until she gets home. Thank goodness I at least have an ounce left, but believe me, it’s only an ounce.
Finally, a recently washed, shiny, black Range Rover with chromed-out wheels pulls into the driveway. Chance walks around the car and opens the door for her. He escorts her around the side yard and up the side steps of the covered front porch to the front door.
“Thank you,” she says nervously.
“I had a great time with you.” Chance responds, brushing a wisp of hair out of her eye.
Her stomach does a somersault. If mine could, it would have too.
“I’ll call you…and I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.” He smiles and grabs her hand. She chokes back a breath. He leans forward and lightly kisses her on the mouth. When he steps back, she opens her eyes and runs her fingers across her lips.
“Hey Chance…” He turns back to her. “Thanks again.”
Her lip curls into a half-smile. It’s not a smile that tells me he’s reached a ten on the cuteness scale, but possibly a nine.
He reaches back and gives her hand a squeeze and nods. He’s sincere, which should make this easier for me, but it doesn’t.
Providence clo
ses the door behind her. She is still warm and tingly.
Oh God, he is really great. Smart, kind, funny, cute, an absolute gentleman.
I appear in the hallway as she slides down the front door, landing on the floor with a sigh. I have to say I am in total agreement with her. He really seems to be a great guy, which makes me feel absolutely horrible.
But he doesn’t make me feel like Zan does. Ah! This is crazy. Chance is well…like perfect, and available.
She covers her face with her hands and comes to her feet. She shuffles up to her room, sucking in her belly and unbuttoning her jeans. I take the opportunity to transform before following her.
“Then you should be with him,” I say calmly.
Her heart skips a beat. She spins around in the doorway of her bedroom. “Oh snap, Zan.”
“I’m sorry…again.”
“It’s okay. At some point I’ll get used to you appearing out of thin air.” She waves me into the bedroom shutting the door behind me to avoid waking her father up.
“This is so frustrating, Zan. Chance is totally great.”
“That does sound frustrating.” I force a laugh. “Glad you said ‘yes’ huh?” I’m attempting to sound optimistic.
“You don’t understand. He is great, but he’s not you.” She stomps her foot just as she had that morning in the loft after the rave. “You sense me. You know. He doesn’t make me feel like you do.” She sits on the edge of the bed and removes her boots. “The touch of your hand ignites a fire in me.” She holds her hand to her chest. “The brush of your finger sends a chill down my spine.” She unzips her jeans and begins to pull them down. I turn to face the wall. “Zan, I feel so comfortable with you, like I’ve known you for a million years, and yet the sound of your voice still takes my breath away.”
“Maybe that’s because I keep sneaking up on you.” My tone sounds anything but funny.