Providence: On Angels' Wings

by Lauren Wynn

  “Do you want company?” I stare at the ground, eager to hear her response.

  “Sure. But don’t you have a car here?” She glances around.

  “Umm, car? Uh, no. I jogged here. I don’t live far.” Well, the first part is true. The second part is all relative; for a marathon runner it probably isn’t considered far.

  “Uh, okay. I guess that explains why you aren’t in uniform. Hmmm…” She thinks for a minute, suddenly seeing a mental picture of me standing behind the police cruiser in the Starbucks parking lot facing her. Her memory focuses on my teal-green eyes.

  Now the cop assumption makes sense. I just bow my head slightly.

  “I thought you looked familiar last night…” She turns her eyes to mine.

  I probably would have panicked, except I already know what she’s going to say next.

  “I saw you a couple weeks ago in the ’Bucks parking lot.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I jog past there occasionally”—occasionally being another one of those relative terms.

  “Your eyes are unmistakable, like a teal green. I’ve never seen such a brilliant color before, and shaped like perfect almonds.” She begins to blush, letting out a soft giggle.

  Unsure of what to say next, I gaze at her without minding the silence as we walk side by side. I lower my eyes to her and grin. She bites her bottom lip and then flirtatiously brushes my light-brown hair out of my eyes with her red mitten.

  Her red mitten, another one of her cute displays of childlike innocence. Not many twenty-four-year-olds wear mittens, but I find it endearing.

  “Thanks. I should probably get a trim, huh?” I hope she says “no” since angel hair doesn’t actually grow.

  “Nah, you have great hair. My best friend, Lily, would love it. She’s a hairdresser.” She smiles, excited to share a brighter side of her life with me.

  “Yeah, well, just keep me posted. I wouldn’t want it to get out of control.” I raise my eyebrows and try to determine if she noticed that I was inferring I would be around for awhile, but no such thought surfaces. Instead, her mind drifts in a different direction.

  “Hey, so I’m really sorry about last night and I appreciate everything you did for me. You have no idea. I mean last night probably tops the chart of low points in my life. I’m sorry you were there to witness it.” She looks down at the ground, feeling ashamed.

  I lightly clutch her arm, feeling that it’s still sore from last night. “Hey, it’s not your fault. Happy to be of service.”

  “We both miss her so much and he…” she pauses, staring straight ahead, a fog clouding over her eyes.

  “I’m sure you do.” I place my hand on the small of her back, radiating a bit of light.

  She tilts her chin up and sucks in a deep breath. “So…let’s talk about something more upbeat, shall we?”

  “Done! I’m not much of a coffee drinker. What’s your favorite?”

  “I’m not sure talking about my job is upbeat.” She smiles and narrows her eyes.

  “I apologize. I’m just curious.”

  “Curious, okay…?” She squints in a questioning manner. “Well… I’m more of a floofy coffee drinker…so I like pretty much anything with more milk and sugar than coffee—ooh, or caramel, chocolate, basically any flavored, drizzled topping. Yum!” She laughs and licks her lips.

  I laugh. “Got it! Anything sweet. I’ll make a mental note of that.”

  He’s making a mental note of my sweet indulgence? I sure hope I get to find out his someday.

  I attempt to conceal a laugh and an embarrassing groan escapes instead. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice.

  “Well, here we are. I’m off to the grind.” She laughs. “No pun intended.” Another giggle slips through her lips.

  “Have a great day. And thanks for letting me walk with you.” I smile, not wanting to leave, feeling the positive energy that surrounds her, offering hope of a better day.

  Her hand brushes mine. “You too, Zan. Later.” Turning her head, she smiles and scurries toward the door.

  Hmm…later. I hope “later” is for something more positive than last night’s experience.

  Grant and I meet at the park near the loft to shoot hoops. Cincinnati is cold in February, which explains why we are the only two brave souls out today. There are patches of slowly melting ice on the asphalt of the basketball court, but the frost has disappeared from the surrounding grass.

  “You’ve got leaps, man,” Grant says as I slam the ball through the rim.

  “I guess it’s in my nature.” We both laugh.

  The ball bounces back to him at the edge of the court. He jumps up, and with a flick of his wrist, swishes the ball through the net. “And that’s how we do it in the big leagues,” he yells from across the court.

  His shots are always precise, straight through the center, never touching the rim, regardless of where he is on the court, or off, as he sometimes likes to boast.

  We take a seat on the hard, mostly-frozen ground and watch another group of guys rule the court. Grant turns his eyes toward me after a few missed shots, thinking, if they only had wings. Unfortunately, our light doesn’t transfer his precision or my jumping skills, only the ability to restore wounded pride, which by the end of this game, they may need.

  “You know what I’ve figured out recently?”

  Grant leans back, bracing himself up with his elbows.

  “There are some very different emotions that feel the same way.”

  “In what sense?”

  “Like butterflies in the stomach can be positive with anticipation of something good, or negative with anxiousness or fear, same general physical feeling but meaning polar opposites.”

  “Huh, yeah, I guess that’s true. Lately, I’ve only been getting the negative ones, though.” He shakes his head and pulls a piece of browned grass out of the ground.

  “Yeah, I’ve had my fair share of that. You should come with us to the diner, though. It’s nice talking to people without feeling the emotional baggage.”

  “I’ll try to make it. I usually attend an AA meeting with Sam. I’m his sponsor, at least for now.”

  Angling our heads toward the ground, we run our hands along the blades of yellowish-green grass that await spring’s promise of growth. Our minds wander, thankful for the short break our nights don’t seem to offer.

  Our typical mid-day callers require minimal intervention. You know, the business woman who needs an ounce more courage for an upcoming presentation, or a construction worker requiring a tad more confidence as he stands on a beam five stories in the air with nothing but the ground underneath him. Each prayer is truly as important as the next, but the intervention simply requires a different method of delivery, a shedding of light that can be done, and should be done, unnoticed from our golden angelic bodies.

  Speaking of... “Duty calls,” I say.

  Grant and I pull each other off the ground, firmly shake hands, and part ways.

  The Rave

  Zan. A familiar voice rings in the back of my mind.

  I close my eyes for a quick trip to the coffee shop where Taylor sits in the corner at a small round table, listening closely as Providence confides in her about last week’s episode with her father. I catch a quick mention of my name, but nothing substantial.

  “Here, you need this more than I do,” Taylor says and hands her a tube of glittery lip gloss.

  “I couldn’t. That’s your favorite.” Providence shakes her head and licks her dry lips.

  “Oh…I have another. Don’t you worry about me. I’ve got like a year’s supply of this stuff.”

  “Well…thanks.” She laughs, somewhat uncomfortably.

  “Seriously, babe, you should have called me. I totally would have picked you up. You’re staying with me tonight. I won’t take no for an answer. Matter of fact, I’m calling Lily as soon as I leave here. We’re going out tonight.”

  “Please, just don’t tell her about my lip. You know how riled up she g
ets about that stuff.”

  “I won’t tell her about your lip. It’s completely healed anyway, she’ll never know.” She waves a finger in a cross over her heart.

  “Thank you. Thanks for listening to all my sob stories.” Providence lowers her eyes to the floor, ashamed.

  “What are best friends for? Now I have to head back to the office. Knox left for lunch just before I came here. I want to get back before he does so I can get a good look at his handsome face.”

  “Later, babe!” She perks up slightly at the excitement of her friend’s new beau.

  “Answer Lily when she calls with the details,” Taylor yells on her way out the door.

  I’m not entirely sure what part of that discussion summoned me here, but it’s apparent my services are not needed. My knowledge of lip gloss is limited, at best, so I carry on with the rest of my usual afternoon duties, looking forward to hanging out at the diner this evening with Leo, and letting Forest fascinate me with his artistic talent.

  “Lord, save me now, this could get crazy.” Providence’s voice echoes in my mind.

  Same drill as earlier today: I close my eyes en route to her, wondering what I’m in for this visit. She scurries around the house wearing a velvety robe and a white towel on her head, no clouds in sight, but lime green frog slippers. I smile. That looks about right.

  “Crap, Lily’s going to be here in five minutes. Gotta hurry,” she whispers as she blow-dries her long, dark hair, the scent of strawberry wafting out of the room.

  Minutes later, the doorbell rings about six times in a row before Lily barges in and runs up the stairs to Providence’s room.

  “Babe!” Lily squeezes her in a hug. “I’ve seen you like four times this week. Why didn’t you tell me about your d-a-d?” She glances around making sure he’s not home, as if spelling it would have helped her had he been here.

  “I just wasn’t ready to talk about it. It’s fine now anyway.” She waves a hand as if to say, ‘‘It was nothing.” I remember every detail as if it had happened seconds ago. It wasn’t “nothing.”

  “Well, we’re staying at Taylor’s tonight, so pack you bag. Never mind. I’ll do it for you. You get dressed,” she demands.

  Providence sits on the edge of her bed, wearing a skin-tight, black, sparkly, sleeveless blouse. She leans back and shimmies black, argyle-patterned pantyhose from the tips of her toes up her thighs, which I take as my cue to exit the bedroom. Whether she can see me or not, I refuse to be a peeping Tom.

  “All righty, babe. Your bag is packed. Don’t worry. I packed something comfy and something sexy, just in case.” Lily winks.

  “Just in case what exactly? Please don’t tell me dudes are showing up for this little sleepover.”

  “Just in case you run into, I don’t know…Chance, maybe?” She winks again. “Or…Taylor mentioned your little Friday-night savior.” Another wink follows.

  Friday-night savior? Maybe I missed more of her conversation with Taylor than I thought.

  “Just saying, better be safe than sorry. Never know when you’re gonna get lucky.” Lily swings her hips from side to side.

  The doorbell rings, just once this time. Taylor quietly walks in. “Hello,” she sings, making her way upstairs.

  “Be ready in one sec,” Providence yells from the bedroom.

  “My hair is all wonky.” Lily pulls a misbehaving blond curl out and glances at it, rolling her eyes, fixing it with one twirl of her finger.

  “Are you kidding? You look awesome. Nice fishnets, by the way,” Taylor says, waving her hand up and down, representing Lily’s ultra-long legs.

  Lily hugs Taylor and then lugs the overnight bag down to the front door with Providence and Taylor not far behind.

  “Prov, you look hot. Dang, girl, you’re gonna melt Taylor’s leather seats,” Lily hollers, gawking like a teenage boy.

  “I think you always look hot, Prov,” Taylor says convincingly.

  A smile stretches across Providence’s face. In line of sight again, I see she completed her outfit: a black leather miniskirt and black knee-high stiletto boots.

  She’ll be melting more than leather seats in that outfit. Poor Chance won’t have a chance.

  The anxiety about her rather snug attire subsides after receiving affirmation from her friends. An envelope of schoolgirl giddiness causes her heart to pound with the excitement and anticipation of the evening. The glow displayed on her face shows no sign of the distress she felt last Friday night. Thankfully!

  Back at home, just in case, I change into something more suitable for a rave. Unsure of exactly what a rave entails, but based on what Taylor, Lily, and Providence were wearing, my Nikes and worn t-shirt with the holes in the armpits weren’t going to cut it. I grab the usual loose fitting jeans, but go a little dressier with a charcoal gray V-neck sweater and black tee, switching out the Nikes for my black leather slip-ons. Good enough. Plus she won’t even know I’m there.

  Grant and Leo are playing cards at the dining room table when I stroll into the living room. They both look me over, so I spin once and strut toward the table. Grant claps.

  “Where are you headed off to, handsome?” Leo remarks sarcastically.

  “One of my callers is headed to a rave. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but it sounds sketchy, so I’m headin’ over just in case.”

  “Yeah, those things can get out of control. Where is it?” Grant asks.

  “In a warehouse just west of here.” I throw my thumb over my shoulder pointing west.

  “Well…I don’t know about you…” Leo points to Grant, “but I’m going with.” He moonwalks off to his room to change.

  “Did you know he had those moves?” I ask Grant.

  “Oh, that was the tip of the iceberg. Let me change.” He rolls his eyes and heads to his room, hitting his hand on the top of the doorway as he enters.

  My big plan of going incognito was quickly dispelled by Leo’s need for a dance fix. He hasn’t stopped shuffling his feet since I mentioned the rave. And apparently, you have to be human to properly “bust a move.”

  We arrive at the warehouse, which appears dark and sketchy from the outside with the exception of one street lamp shining a dim yellow glare on the line of twenty-somethings that curves out the door. Aside from this building and the parking lot next door, the street is vacant. An occasional taxi cab is the only other traffic. The one door into the warehouse is roped off. A bouncer, wearing all black, checks licenses one at a time, and the blare of music escapes through the door. Identification presents a bit of a challenge for us, so we make a quick “change” and become invisible in our old-fashioned way, reverting moments later in the deep shadows by the restrooms in the back.

  The crowd is hundreds deep with people dancing or drinking or both. The entire warehouse looks like a mosh pit. Colored lights flash, revealing speakers throughout the rafters, flickering on the dancers below. A disco ball spins over the center of the dance floor, casting off silvery spots throughout. A black wooden bar spans the entire width of one wall, accented by a mirror that runs from the floor to the ceiling. Bright neon signs advertise every beer and liquor available. A few empty stools are available in spurts between drink orders. The DJ is propped up in a raised booth in the corner opposite the bar, playing the music so loud that the metal siding of the warehouse shakes.

  Over the thumping bass and screaming dancers, the song mentions something about a DJ and falling in love. Instinctively, I glance up at the DJ, and by the look of things the song is right. Groupies are swarming his elevated booth, shoving song requests, money, and random undergarments at him, including Lily who appears to have just handed him a song request (or her phone number), along with a twenty.

  They made it here safely. Step one complete.

  I nudge Grant, “That’s one of her friends, Lily.” I yell over the music.

  I turn to tell Leo, but he’s already off, taking over the dance floor. I stand tall to see over the crowd that encircles him. He move
s from side to side with the music, flaunting his fancy footwork. Every movement of his body is smooth, flawlessly in sync, and I wonder how much of his gracefulness has to do with practice and how much is his angelic nature.

  “Impressive, isn’t he?” Grant says, peering over my shoulder.

  “Remarkable. Who knew? I’m taken aback.”

  “When you got here, you took up running. He chose dancing. Paying off now, isn’t it?”

  “Moves like that, he’s bound to attract some female attention. He better be careful.” I raise my eyebrow, not believing what I’m seeing.

  “So, where’s your charge?” Grant asks.

  “I haven’t seen her yet,” I yell over the thumping bass.

  I mentally send him a picture of her just as a tall blond walks past, hands him a beer, and winks.

  “Nice! Clearly you don’t need any fancy dance moves.” I shake my head, yet again surprised tonight.

  “Not when you’ve got guns like these,” he says with a grin, flexing his bicep. “Just playing the part...” Grant fakes a drink and tips the bottle to the blond and mouths a thank-you before returning to search the crowd for Providence.

  “There she is.” I point toward the bar where she and Taylor are getting drinks—bright pink drinks with umbrellas, and based on our conversation about coffee, I’m not surprised to see this.

  “Woohoo! Floofy drink comin’ right up, babe,” Providence says as they make their way over to Lily.

  From this distance it’s like watching a silent movie. I see their mouths move, but I can only hear them in my mind, through Providence. And I’m totally satisfied with being the wallflower. Grant seems to be as well.

  “Cheers, to all the hotties here,” Lily shouts.

  They toast and tip back the long-stemmed martini glasses sucking out every last drop, each tucking an umbrella behind her ear.

  “Girls’ night out, so put on your dancin’ shoes, Prov,” Taylor says, holding out her hand and curtseying.

  A new song begins, easing into the same bass-thumping force.

  “Our song, our song,” Providence says as she and Lily jump up and down and give each other a high five. I’m a tad surprised she can jump in heels the diameter of a pencil.