by Lauren Wynn
Grant laughs, “At this rate, we could be in for a very long day. Back to housing ... we have a loft in Over-the-Rhine. Don’t get excited. It’s not much, and I really mean that.” Grant closes his eyes and mentally sends me a picture.
Our “loft” consists of the upper level of an old—and I mean old—three-story, narrow, rusty-red brick building with boarded-up windows and a fire-escape ladder that hangs by a single bolt. Not that it would prove useful, anyway, due to the boarded-up windows. I’m just glad I’ve got wings. The front displays a single door, off-center. It looks as if it was once painted a dark, possibly black, color, but is now extremely faded and chipping.
“Let’s show him the goods,” Leo says.
The three of us close our eyes, fade from our human form, and think home.
When I open my eyes, I’m standing in the middle of the living room, which is complete with one walnut dining-room table and four matching chairs. The flooring appears to be made of a dark pine. The place smells damp and musty. If I had a breath, I would be able to see it. I turn to look and walk around the place. The exterior walls are all brick with old steel radiators under the boarded-up windows. There are a few lights hanging from the ceiling, but no fixtures, just light bulbs. At the edge of the living room is a kitchen with an unplugged, once-white refrigerator—nothing in it (or I’m sure I would have smelled something entirely different upon arrival). There is a matching, once-white stove with one pan on it. It looks clean and unused, at least since Leo and Grant have been here. There are three bedrooms. I peek in the one that Leo points to, telling me it’s mine. No bed, of course, but a solid wood chair with one hunter-green, fleece blanket hanging over the back, and a closet with enough clothes for pretty much any occasion. I never know where I will be called, and sometimes I need to act human. It would be weird if I wore this same, white, linen suit every day, not to mention I understand white linen is a major faux pas for late January. I have to at least wait until May before I can bust this thing back out again. So, it’s good that Grant has some connection with a local organization that provides us with what we need. They think we’re missionaries or something like that, which we are, just not human ones.
Grant and Leo are seated at the dining room table. I join them. Leo gives a round of high fives and says, “Ah yeah, penthouse, baby!”
Grant shakes his head, and continues with “the ropes.” “As you can see, not much in the way of furniture, but we don’t need it, so doesn’t matter.”
I give a nod.
“But…if you have a chance to lie on one of those pillow-top mattresses, you may want to take it—ah, sweet comfort.” Leo closes his eyes as if lost in ecstasy.
“When have you been on a pillow-top mattress?” Grant questions. “Never mind.” He waves his hand. “I don’t want to know. So…on to food. Since we don’t eat, my lesson learned…” Leo and I both hold up our pointer fingers simultaneously and mouth the word “one,” certain that this is the first of many lessons learned that we’ll hear over the next several days and weeks, “we can eat, so if you need to appear human, you physically can eat, but you won’t want to.”
“That won’t stop you from smelling, though.” Leo looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “I’m serious. Next time you are at the mall, walk past the Cinnabon. Trust me, totally worth a whiff.”
After Leo says “whiff,” Grant and Leo instantly look at each with grins that curl up one side of their mouths and eyes with a certain sparkle as they both say “2C.” I look at them both a bit confused. Am I supposed to know what that means? They both laugh.
Grant looks at me. “Across town I had a call from a girl in apartment 2C. Her perfume smelled so clean and fresh, I took Leo with me just to get a whiff. It was like heaven.”
And just as Grant finishes his sentence, he opens his eyes and stiffens up. I can tell he’s uncomfortable. He doesn’t like to show any weakness for earthly things.
“It’s all good, man. No worries. I just got here and I already miss it, but that’s not surprising in this place. It was hard for me to close my eyes and think home and open them up to this.” I raise both of my arms, pointing to the dreary room surrounding me.
“Very humbling,” Leo agrees, “but I wouldn’t change my role in it. I love this place.”
Grant lowers his head and then looks me in the eye and blurts out, “It wasn’t the girl.”
Seriousness draws his eyes down at the corners. I believe him. I’m just not exactly sure what to say now. So I shrug and smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Feeling the heaviness of the room, Leo stands up and says, “Before the next topic, let’s unfurl, boys, wings out, unload the big guns…particularly in my case.” He raises his eyebrows and nods. “We’re in the privacy of our own home. No harm in showin’ some fluffy, white feathers.”
Grant and I follow suit. We stand up, spin our chairs around such that their backs now rest against the tabletop edge and we spread our wings. We each straddle our seats, laying our arms on the squared tops of the chair backs, elbows out, wings resting comfortably, no longer scrunched up, but not fully expanded either. Even relaxed, our wings span around the table, nearly touching each other. White feathers appear in all directions surrounding the table. You’d think it had snowed feathers, though it does brighten up this otherwise dark loft.
Grant goes on to brag about our transportation, so to speak. See, for us, in our angelic form, we just think a place and we can appear there. Our angelic form is never visible to humans, although some can sense our presence. But they can never feel a physical touch from us until we take on flesh.
Mentally, angels receive “calls” from people, regardless of whether “our callers” speak aloud or silently express their call. Their faith allows them to reach us. The lesson learned on this topic: never “transform” in front of someone unless absolutely, positively necessary, and even then it’s frowned upon. Grant said the one time he did it was in front of an elderly woman, moments before she passed, so that he could hold her hand and she would know someone was with her. She never really knew he was an angel who turned to human form. It was justifiable in that instance.
The last topic of the day is the most complex: feeling. This is one that requires hands-on learning. Until you experience it, it’s difficult to comprehend, or so they told me before I came here. How hard can it be?
Grant begins, “While here we can take on the human form with a simple thought, you have to keep in mind that it’s more of a façade than anything else. You will be able to feel this.” Grant gives me a pat on the shoulder several times with varying force. “But it’s more of a sensation, not necessarily a good or bad feeling.”
The texture of his hand was smooth and warm from his internal light, but each pat felt the same regardless of how hard it was. The only reason I know he punched me hard the last time was because it caused me to shift my balance a bit, tipping my chair to the side, a force of gravity. And by the smirk on Leo’s face, I can tell he wishes he could have been the one to punch me. So, I feel touching and squeezing but I don’t experience the good goose bumps or the bad pinches, just that there’s something there.
He continues. “But emotional feeling here is completely different from the way you know it. You will be able to feel everything a person feels both physically and emotionally.” He pauses. “Hang with me here.”
“I’m tracking with you.” I nod, fading a little, having learned all this before.
“You will sense your caller’s physical burdens through their emotions, but they will not debilitate you. You will essentially experience everything they do physically and emotionally. I know you have learned all of this already, but we want you to be prepared.”
“We weren’t prepared for what it would really be like,” Leo adds.
“For example?”
“For example, the sheer torture, breathlessly gasping for air, the gut-wrenching, doubled-over pain a father felt when he lost his son. My chest tightened. It was d
ifficult to breathe air I didn’t even need. I grabbed my stomach to keep from doubling over myself. That was when I first arrived, though. You, uh, build up a tolerance to it.”
“Zan, Leo’s right. You have to take on every human burden in order to remove that darkness and replace it with light. These feelings can be incredibly intense. But we are built for this. Support them, but stay disconnected. It can be tough to leave someone after you’ve experienced something so powerful with them. But it’s simply a part of our duty.”
“Do you see many of them again?” I ask.
“Oh yeah, some of them call on us daily for months until they no longer need us, which is exactly what we are here to do: give them enough hope and confidence to move forward along their path until we are replaced with someone who fills that void or they are able to handle it themselves.”
Leo looks at Grant intently, “And our assigned…” he says to Grant, leadingly.
I look between the two of them. There’s a heaviness that tells me I should probably pay close attention for this one.
“So, there is some background to give you. First, you’re assigned to callers. We don’t know how or who assigns them to us, maybe God, maybe the archangels, but they are assigned. So, when someone calls, only you can hear them; Leo and I can’t. Once they’re assigned to you, they are always assigned to you. Second, the first time you receive a call from someone, you know it means business because they’ve reached you. With that said, that may not always be the case the next time they call, and you may end up in some sticky situations with the broken and faithless. We don’t turn our backs on our callers, even if they’ve turned on us. Sometimes we end up talking them off the ledge and replacing their swell of darkness with light. This is sometimes easier said than done, especially when it comes to black-hole kind of darkness. We’re here to help if you need us, but we can’t ‘influence’ your callers. Be extremely careful they do not become too attached to you. Keep an emotional distance, which, again, can be tough after you’ve gone through some extreme situations with them. Remember, be there for them…but disconnected from them.” Grant finishes with a heavy sigh.
“And sometimes you remember their pains after you’ve left, but that’s all part of the job. We’re here for you, man, and don’t forget, meet at the park at sunrise.” Leo stands up and points to the door. “Speaking of which, I’m being paged, so I’m heading out. Take some time to think about what we said. You’ll be in the thick of it tomorrow.” Leo retracts his wings as he heads for his bedroom, flashing a quick wave of his hand.
“Zan, I’m going to have to head out too, but why don’t you come by one of my stops tomorrow? Just watch, you know, from afar.”
“Sure. I’m ready for this, a little freaked, but ready. I know it’s a huge change.”
“Piece of cake, man. You’ll be great. See you at sunrise. Oh, one last thing. Nights are busiest. That’s when the most prayers begin,” Grant adds, tucking his wings in. He gives me a quick salute and vanishes.
I shuffle off to my room and slap my palm on the upper beam of the doorway before walking to the window and peering out a small hole in the wood. It’s late afternoon and already starting to get dark. There are four kids congregated on the sidewalk in front of the neighboring building. A few of them smoking, yet not looking much older than twelve. They are cutting up and laughing. Aside from the smoking, they don’t seem to be causing much trouble. I decide to head up to the roof for a better view of the city that has now become my new home. I close my eyes, change form, and move to the roof.
Circling a full 360 degrees, I slowly take in all the buildings, people, sounds, scents, everything that makes this wondrous city what it is. Most of the buildings around this section of town look exactly like mine: various shades of red brick, two and three stories, flat roofs, a few front windows (although most of them aren’t boarded up like mine), typically no side windows since the buildings sit about a foot apart from each other. None of them have a front yard, simply one or two cracked cement steps leading into each home. I see women sitting on their stoops, chatting. There isn’t much in the way of backyards either. However, there is a park the size of a city block a few streets away. Across from the park, I can make out a church and a castle-like red-brick building that I believe is used for concerts and balls, but you wouldn’t guess that just by looking at it. The residences two blocks to the east and south have been revitalized making hip loft-style condominiums for the young professionals in the area. Though, some of the buildings are framed in the same brick exterior as mine, though through the picture windows the interiors look completely different. They’re nice, and some are even extravagant.
Despite the cold, children ride their bikes down the middle of the street, swerving in and out of alleyways, shouting to each other, “Slow down,” or “Speed up.” The cold air smells like burning wood mixed with oily exhaust from a car that backfired behind the building moments ago.
I turn from the window and pick through the closet. I find a pair of stone-washed jeans, frayed around the ankle, very comfortable and loose-fitting. In the spirit of comfort, I pair them with a long-sleeve, white T-shirt along with a short-sleeve, gray T-shirt over the top. The Nikes are quite comfortable as well, not quite the “air” I’m used to gliding on, but I have to admit, I’m pleased with the coiled springs at the heel. The color isn’t half bad, either. The Nikes are primarily white with four, tubular, grassy-green springs. The black swoosh on the side and top of the toe is outlined with the same grassy-green color. Everything seems to fit nicely. The jeans break right at my ankles and cover most of the shoe laces. Only a few frayed, white threads drag the ground. The shirts are a little snug in the chest, but the arm length makes up for it. I have longer arms than most, monkey arms, as I refer to them, but this shirt reaches perfectly to my wrist.
With little else to do, I sit in the hard wooden chair in my bedroom and slowly look around, taking it all in. I close my eyes. I don’t hear the angels singing anymore, or breathe in the fresh scent of cotton and pine, but I’m filled with a light that could warm a thousand men. I have a purpose, and it’s to be here, to help these people, to remove the darkness that swallows them. So, let the healing begin.
The Hospital
Just before dawn, I meet Leo and Grant at the park. They each talk about their evenings and their various callers. Grant mentions another lesson learned. I tune out to observe two bright red cardinals as they fight over a piece of bread, meters from where we stand.
Situated in a “V” with me in the back, Grant and Leo an arm’s length in front of me to my left and right, we stand in silence and watch the sun rise slowly over the hillside. Gradually, rays of sunlight illuminate the bare trees, townhouses, and brick apartment-style condominiums that settle on the hillside. Pixels of sunlight glisten on the frosted, green grass in the park and creep toward where we stand. We remain firmly planted, gazing up until the sun shines brightly, warming our faces.
It’s almost noon. I watch Leo play basketball with a few kids in Washington Park. If not for his teal-green eyes, you’d almost think he was related to them, all dark-skinned and round-faced with wide noses and plump bottom lips. He gives me a nod, acknowledging my presence. He mentally sends me a picture explaining the story behind this assignment.
Three of the four African American boys are brothers, sharing one bedroom with nothing more than a mattress on the floor. They live with their mother, a devoted believer, who walks her children four blocks to church every Sunday. She also works three jobs, which translates into very little time spent with her sons. She regrets the time away but wants so much more for them. She never dreamed she’d be in this position. A series of life-changing mistakes led her to this. But she’s making the most of her situation and loves her boys more than life itself. She met Leo several months ago, and he asked for her permission to act as a big brother to her boys. He’s been playing ball and building into them ever since.
Glancing around the park, I notice
the empty, fenced-in pool filled with last fall’s leaves. I wave a golden hand to Leo, and stroll around the block. It’s cold out today. A few snowflakes fall, but they don’t amount to much.
Grant places his golden hand on the shoulder of a soldier who is being welcomed home by his wife just as I appear. Unaware of our presence, the soldier is hugging his wife so tightly that if it weren’t for the camouflage gear you wouldn’t be able to tell where she begins and he ends. Grant closes his eyes and sends me a glimpse of their story.
This soldier has missed much time with his wife and feels lost, ashamed, and regretful. He’s worried that he made the wrong decision about going off to war, and he’s afraid his wife won’t love him the same as she did before he left.
Grant emits his internal light, casting out the pocket of darkness that was the soldier’s insecurity—insecurity of his own creation— in exchange for the golden light of courage to be that same loving husband. The soldier slowly begins to stand taller. He pulls his head back, grins, eyes his wife, and lifts her off the ground, holding her so they are forehead to forehead, smiling.
So often fear gets in the way of doing and being what and who we are meant to be. A little courage is sometimes all it takes to remove that perceived “elephant in the room.”
A young, female voice plays, similar to a tape recording. I quickly realize it is in my head, the sign of my first call. I rub my hands together quickly, as if I’m warming up, and close my eyes, moving to her.
She’s in the hospital, praying, not for herself, but for her mother. Before appearing in her room, I decide to walk around the hospital, a tad nervous. A distinctive medicinal odor is present throughout each hallway. And I’m glad no one can see me since I can’t help but hold my nose. I wander past the neonatal ward, the emergency room, and the infant cardiac wing, all of which are fascinating but at the same time depressing. It never ceases to amaze me how far medicine has come. So while I’m saddened to see the small children who are patients here, I am also incredibly encouraged by the number of patients that will be sent home from here, healthy as a result of technology and dedicated staff.
