by Piper Hannah
I sat on the bar stool in front of the kitchen island and rubbed the band-aid wrapped on my right index finger. I felt it now. It was a painful reminder of my stupidity for looking for Dad’s cell phone in the glove box and almost getting into a major car crash. I should have known better. Dad always carried his cell phone in his back pocket. It wouldn’t have been in the glove box. Duh.
When Mom and Dad finally came home, they came with Chinese take-out and some groceries. Immediately after they walked in, Mom sensed that something was off. She always had a sixth sense when it came to her children, and I could so not use that sixth sense right now. It gets a bit creepy sometimes.
Mom placed the Chinese food on the kitchen island. She ran one hand through her short black hair, and really looked at me.
“Paige, everything okay?” she asked.
My eyes narrowed. Did she know? Did I look guilty? Or did she have a video camera hidden somewhere in the house? I smiled at the thought as I looked around. Question: If the parents did have a video camera hidden somewhere, where would it be?
Actually, that would solve all of my problems. If I only had video footage of an angel watching TV…
“I’m fine.” I opened one of the plastic bags sitting in front of me as I pretended to be really interested in our dinner. Chinese food is very exciting, didn’t you know? I got up and grabbed four plates from the cupboard, utensils from the drawer, and laid it all out by the food.
What was another lie, anyway? The lie was just icing on top of the already growing list of horrors that defined my very horrible day. If my parents found out what I did, that would be beyond horrible. They would kill me, or worse, they might take away my driver’s license. I grimaced as I filled my plate with chicken and rice from little white boxes.
My parents were still putting away groceries when Emma finally came out of hiding. I wasn’t looking at her when she walked in the kitchen, but I was aware of her every move. She picked up a plate and looked at the Chinese food. She started poking the food with a fork … poking... poking... still poking… Annoying, I know, but she said nothing.
I took a bite of chicken and chewed, tapping my fingers on the counter… One one thousand, two one thousand, three… I swallowed forcing the food down my throat and waited for the drama to unfold.
Still nothing.
There were no words about being late to school this morning. No words about the grand theft auto of Dad's new Mercedes. Nothing about the near-death experience.
“How’s the chicken?” Mom asked as she looked over my shoulder.
“Good,” I said, but really, what else could I say? It was chicken. It tasted like chicken.
By now Emma’s plate was packed with food, and I was now openly staring at her. She mumbled something about homework and left the kitchen in a hurry. She headed back to her room with her food to-go. I was left staring at Emma’s retreating back in shock. I was speechless.
That was it? What I have been dreading all evening? I expected a lot more drama - some tears, maybe. After all, I carjacked Dad’s car and placed her in a very scary, life-threatening situation. I never asked her to lie. I was prepared to defend myself, and I had already come up with three good excuses why I did what I did. None of them was the truth, of course, and all of them ended with physics.
I sighed of relief. My panic was over. Thank goodness for sisterhood. Even when I’m wrong, my little sister will back me up. Still. Why do I feel so horrible?
A few minutes later, we moved our food into the dining room. I sat with my parents, and we ate our dinner. I listened politely as they talked about their day.
Their dinner conversation wasn't particularly entertaining, but it was interesting to watch, because after being married for twenty years and working together every single day, they still wanted to talk to each other all of the time. It’s sick, right?
After about ten minutes, I felt that I waited long enough; I asked the one question I have been dying to ask them all day.
"Is Grandma crazy?" I asked, staring at them with what I hoped was my poker face.
Dad coughed several times, and Mom frowned. I watched her watching me. Tick. Tock. I heard the clock. I'm sure I would have heard a pin drop. The moment was that intense. Mom looked away and blinked a few times. The grandmother I was talking about was my mother’s mother, so she had more vested in this conversation. My Dad grew up in an orphanage and never knew his real parents, so we only had one set of grandparents. Mom’s father died when she was a teen, and we never knew him. So, as far as grandparents go, Grandma is it for me. Unfortunately, I just asked if she was crazy. What kind of a person am I?
"Why do you ask? Did anything strange happen today?" Mom asked.
"Not particularly," I said, "but I was just wondering if Grandma is really crazy. You know, with all of the witch talk. How she's a witch, you're a witch, Emma and I will eventually become witches. You know, that kind of stuff."
It wasn't our usual polite dinner conversation, and I've made them both very uncomfortable.
"What happened today?" my mom asked again. She was very concerned, I could tell, and both of them stopped eating. I had their full attention.
I shook my head, trying to come up with a plan B very quickly. Calling Grandma crazy was uncalled for, and it caught them both off-guard.
"I'm flunking a couple of my classes," I said, which is actually true. "I was hoping Grandma really is a witch so she can wave a magic wand and change my grades somehow. Don’t want to go to summer school. That's all."
"Then, that would be cheating, and we do not cheat," Dad said sternly. He picked up his fork and continued eating.
I kept waiting for some sort of denial that Grandma wasn't a witch, but it never came. Mom looked at me strangely and gave me the evil eye. In her case, it could be the witch's eye. If Grandma wasn't crazy, then there is that possibility that she is right - that I come from a long line of powerful witches.
How cool could this be? I could be a real, cauldron stirring, pointy hat wearing, witch… with real powers. Maybe on my next birthday, I'll get my own flying broom or go to witch school instead of college. Maybe I can even wear one of those cool uniforms with a striped scarf, and I can get a pet owl…
"Paige, you are not a witch," Mom said, and she looked very serious.
I sighed. Oh well, there goes the dream, but if I can’t be a witch, then that would mean that Grandma really is crazy, and I come from a long line of crazies.
I think I’d rather be a witch.
CHAPTER 6
It was almost midnight, and Buffy and I were both sitting on the floor in my bedroom. “Sorry for leaving you with the angel earlier,” I said. “I don’t think he would have hurt you, anyway. Besides, I think you were safer in the backyard.” I patted her head and gave her a beef jerky. “The carjacking didn’t go very well.”
If a dog was a man’s best friend, then how could I have left mine alone in the face of danger? How did I not even think about taking Buffy with me in my mad dash out of the house with Emma? Poor dog, left alone with an angel. Okay. It doesn’t sound that bad now, but on panic mode, I couldn’t have known that Buffy would be safe when I left her earlier. I suppose it was just another thing to be guilty about.
I tossed the bag of beef jerky on my night stand. I had just apologized to the dog; now, it’s my sister’s turn. I looked at the clock sitting on the desk facing the window. It was almost midnight. I got up and sat on the bed. I picked up the walkie-talkie on my nightstand and pressed the button.
“Em?”
No response.
I pressed the button again. “Em, are you up?”
I almost gave up, but after a long pause, Emma answered me. Her voice was soft and cute.
“Come on over. I can’t sleep, anyway. Over and out,” she said.
I smiled. Since she was six years-old, Emma always got to say ‘over and out’ because she always wanted the last word; I still let it slide.
I snuck out of my room an
d was in her room across the hall in two seconds flat. I closed the door gently so Mom and Dad wouldn’t wake up. Emma was on her bed. She was tucked in, her head was on a pillow, and a school book was on her chest.
There were several books scattered on the floor, which was so out of place in her very tidy room; it was my only indication of how upset my little sister really was with me. Emma was perfectly organized, just like our Dad, and Mom and I always joked that they both suffered from OCD. Seeing the mess on her floor was like a chip on her perfectly constructed and very shiny armor; it made me feel really awful.
I bit my lower lip as I sat on the edge of her bed.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “When I dragged you out of here, I thought I was protecting you. I did it with the best of intentions, which is why you should forgive me.” My speech sounded rehearsed, even to my ears. I nearly got her killed, so she really needed the apology.
Emma sat up and tossed her book on the floor. It landed with a soft thud on the carpet.
“Why did you drag me out of here?” she asked. “You never said.”
“I thought I saw someone - a stranger - in the house.”
“You thought?”
I nodded.
“What happened today… my brain… um… it’s really fried,” she said.
I nodded again. Unfortunately, I understood what she meant about the fried brains. My brain was in the same exact condition. “Just tell me we’re fine. I need to hear you say it,” I said.
“There’s no smoke,” Emma murmured.
I tried to smile. It was her way of telling me we were fine.
“And there’s no fire,” I responded. It was my way of saying the same thing. I smiled at her and got up. As long as we were fine, nothing else needed to be said.
I walked out of Emma’s room and closed the door behind me. Then, I leaned my head against her door, trying extremely hard not to bang my head on it.
Why am I such an irresponsible nut case? And after acting recklessly and almost getting us killed, how can my little sister forgive me so easily?
***
I would be the first to admit that my dreams are not always pleasant. Sometimes, they were downright frightening. When I was eight, I started having nightmares about being burned alive. Having the nightmares wasn’t much of a concern until Emma started having the same nightmares. It became something we shared. Our parents kept denying that we had endured some sort of trauma when we were younger. Sometimes, we still get the nightmares, and the fear of fire and smoke remained strong. When we were young, it was very difficult to keep things in perspective, and when I was eight, I thought they were real.
Back in my room and finally in bed, I thought about the day in greater detail for the simple pleasure of torturing myself. Then, I waited for the voice in my head to start talking. He usually started talking around this time. Tonight, however, the only voice in my head was my own. Why is that? Come on, friend, talk to me.
I sat up on the bed and punched my pillow three times, fluffing it up. It’s funny. I never thought that my pillow was too hard for my head until tonight. I rested my head on my pillow once again. This time, when I closed my eyes, blessed sleep finally came to me.
In my dream, it was daylight, and I was freezing. I was in the pool in our backyard, and I was drowning. I swallowed a mouthful of heavily chlorinated water, and I immediately kicked both of my legs, pushing myself up until my head surfaced. I gasped for air.
I was wearing extremely heavy, chunky boots in the water. Come to think of it, I was also fully clothed, but in a life or death situation, there’s no time to think about why I wasn’t wearing my yellow, polka dot bikini. I tried kicking the shoes off, and I went down again.
Question: If I died in a dream, would I die in real life? Answer: Only if I see Freddy Krueger. Maybe he was the one pulling me down into the water. Aaargh!!!
Now where was I? Oh, yeah. I was still drowning in my dream. The next time I surfaced from the water, I quickly swam towards the edge of the pool. My feet kicked; they were sloppy kicks making outrageously loud splashes. It was so unlike me because I was a very good swimmer. Seriously. I could have been in the swim team if I wanted to, but the practice schedule was just too brutal. It would have cut away on my other interests.
After four strokes, my hand finally touched the edge of the pool. I pulled myself towards the edge as my head surfaced. I breathed in great big chunks of air, and I heard him speak. I knew it was him because I know his voice. It was deep and beautiful.
“Come to me,” the angel said.
Still breathing hard, I lifted myself a little until only my eyes peeked out from the edge of the pool. It was definitely him. He was standing under the tree, partly hidden in its shadow. He was standing so still, like a solid angel statue, that I had to blink away the water from my eyes to make sure that he was real.
“Hurry,” he said. I heard the urgency in his voice, and somehow, I wanted to make him happy. I don't know why.
I pulled myself up and got out of the pool. Immediately, I felt the cold wind blast my body. My body started shaking. When I was finally standing upright, my shoulders automatically hunched from the cold, my arms wrapping around me. This is why I shouldn’t be swimming in winter. Even in California, swimming in winter is a no-no unless you have a heated pool. I looked up and noticed that the sky was a deep purple. I stopped in my tracks at the sight.
“Hurry,” the angel said again. I didn’t know what he meant or what he wanted, but I was fearless in my dream. I walked towards him. When I was finally before him, he smiled. I felt as if I passed a test somehow.
“Why didn’t you help me?” I asked. My body continued to shake because of the cold. “I was drowning.” Somehow, I felt wounded because my angel didn’t help me.
His smile quickly disappeared, and his expression became brooding. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“Of course. I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
He frowned. Apparently, the angel didn’t think that my joke was funny at all. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I say really weird things sometimes.
“Are you cold?” he asked. “This is just a dream. There’s no reason for you to be cold.”
As soon as he said the words, I felt warmth on my skin. It was like the heat of the sun touching me on a warm summer day. Suddenly, the purple sky became brighter.
I looked at him again. I was still in awe, and I couldn’t believe that I was talking face to face with an angel. Even in my dream, I knew that we were crossing barriers by talking this way.
“I’m glad I can see you. It’s nice to put a face to the voice,” I said, and it was the truth; I was really glad that I can see him.
“Meaning?” he asked.
“Before I saw you in school yesterday, I used to hear your voice in my head… at night… in my room… at school. You talk all of the time in a language I don’t understand. That’s why I ran. I recognized your voice, and I thought I was crazy.”
“Oh, I thought I scared you.”
“You’re not that scary looking,” I mumbled. Stunningly gorgeous, maybe, but never scary.
“That’s comforting to know since you ran away from me twice when you saw me.” He lifted two fingers.
“I didn’t know,” I said. I looked up and noticed that the sky was changing colors from a deep purple to a dark blue.
The angel said, “We don’t have a lot of time.” The angel lifted his right hand and moved it towards me. His fingers were closed in a tight fist.
“It’s a gift,” he explained. “I want you to have it.” I stared intently at his hand as he opened it slowly. Confused, I looked deep into his beautiful purple eyes.
“What is it?” I asked in awe.
“What else could it possibly be? It’s the only thing I could ever give you,” he said. “A miracle.”
CHAPTER 7
“What was in his hand?” my psychiatrist asked. She leaned forward in her chair, looking very
interested in what I had to say. Maybe I was more entertaining than her usual patients… or maybe I sounded crazier.
“Nothing.” I said. “He wasn’t holding anything in his hand. It was all very confusing to me. I should have asked him when I had the chance.” I sighed.
“What is it supposed to mean?” I asked. If anyone should know, it would be my psychiatrist, right?
“I don’t know,” Dr. McKenna said.
“Have you ever had a dream so real that you wondered that maybe it was real?” I asked.
Dr. McKenna remained silent. She looked away quickly, and her body immediately tensed. Maybe I was asking too many questions for a patient. Maybe the questions were only supposed to go one way, and asking Dr. McKenna personal questions were not allowed. I shrugged. No one told me the rules. Since this was the very first time I have ever seen a psychiatrist in my life, I think I should be allowed some leeway.
“The thing is, before I met my angel, I never believed that angels even existed,” I said. “Funny, right?”
I looked out the window and saw a sole pigeon flying in the air. Los Angeles was full of pigeons, and they blend in quite well with the city; they were on the curb, on top of a pole, sitting inside the traffic signal. They remained silent - almost invisible, really - unless you actually looked for them. I’ve heard people say that pigeons were just rats with wings. I think they’re wrong. Pigeons have wings, and they could fly, so they must have a higher purpose.
Dr. McKenna cleared her throat, reminding me of where we were. I looked at her. Where were we? Ah, yes… back to my story…
“It was the day after I had my dream…
CHAPTER 8
“Mom, I’m walking the dog,” I yelled over my shoulder before closing the front door. Buffy was restrained in a leash, and I pulled her behind me as I headed towards the sidewalk.
