8x10

The angels guide me through a narrow doorway. I’m wearing a smile. My teeth are showing. I cannot remember the last time I brushed them, but they feel gleaming in my clay mouth. It’s so nice here, with the cushioned, upholstered walls a creamy, sandstone yellow, and neon blue mattress. Such colors! The walls used to be white, but they’ve aged into the color of somebody’s heaven-sent skin. Against the blue, they’re absolutely stunning.

The angels leave me standing in the middle of the room, gazing at my new home. There’s hair glued onto the walls, the floor, and clumps in the corner, as if someone had painted the sandstone with their own being. I gaze at the flesh-toned floor, then the flesh-toned walls, and then at the blue mattress. Delight flutters in my chest.

I’m hugging myself. I’m hugging myself tightly, holding the best part of my life across my bosom… my heart, pounding for my son, and pounding for the angels who are giving me life.

Crossing my legs, I slowly lower myself down as to not lose balance. I reside in a beautiful room, a room filled with the silence of my own mind and the tranquility they’ve gifted me. Now sitting on the warm, flesh-toned floor, I gaze around again, still wearing the smile.

I’m lucky. I even have my own bed!

I’ll like it here.

I know I’ll like it here.

I’ll love it here.

I’ll love it here so much, and what’s wonderful if I never have to leave. I can stay here, my new home, surrounded by beauty and what the world, itself, means.

I squeeze myself into a tighter hug.

How beautiful this all is! So, so very beautiful.

Jasper would be so proud of me. Yes, I believe he would. My wonderful boy — he’s training to be a doctor. Pre-med. My boy… a doctor. How lovely.

Jasper wants to be a surgeon. He wants to be a surgeon and take care of his mother. I told him — I told him he had no time for girls. How could he? Between taking care of me and training to be a surgeon?

Focusing on what he needs and wants is most important. Women need too much. They’re needy — clingy. They’re a distraction. They’re too much of a distraction for my boy, who’s pre-med.

I yawn and close my eyes, seeing little, dancing birdies from the light’s glare through my eyelids. Sitting back on my tailbone, I feel the hot, yellow light beat down on my face. It burns my skin, yet feels too good — like laying in the sun.

But, it’s not the sun.

All I can do is pretend.

It feels like a halo of warmth wrapped around my head — a halo of warmth wrapped tightly around my head.

Delight flutters in my chest.

Am I becoming an angel?

Am I becoming an angel like them?

The halo of warmth squeezes tighter around my scalp, needling my eyes. Numbness tingles down my right arm to its digits. The left side of my face slackens. Opening these eyes, I see a blurry double. Everything is spinning, including those little… dancing… birdies.

Delight flutters in my chest.

Am I becoming an angel?

Am I becoming an angel like them?

Isn’t that what I deserve? Isn’t that all I deserve? After they crowned me a saint for saving my only son — saving my only son from that harlot?

The burning sensation burns hotter — brighter.

The halo becomes too hot. It feels though my scalp is framed by the sun. Wincing, I know I’m now getting my wings — no matter how invisible they will be.

Real angels don’t have wings.

God must be happy with what I did to that wh — harlot. He’s always watching — always watching. It’s His job. My job is to protect my son. My son is my family. God made him through me. He used my body to do so — yes, He did!

I believe her name was Catalina.

She appeared on my doorstep one day with light olive skin, freckles, and thick black hair that reached her waist. A smile had crossed her pink-stained lips and eyes such a dark brown, but wide and lively — like caffeinated coffee.

I like to drink tea.

If I remember correctly, her name was Catalina.

She told me she was dating my son, and asked if she could come in. I told her that my son didn’t date women. She laughed an irritating, high-pitched titter, and asked if he normally dated men. I stared blankly, thinking she was joking. She wasn’t. I then added that men didn’t date men. That was against God and His word. My son didn’t date. He didn’t have time, nor did he want to. He was too busy taking care of his mother.

So, I offered again, after her niggling titter, that he didn’t date at all, and that dating was dangerous.

Again, Catalina laughed in that irritating, high-pitched titter. Her laugh was something I despised.

The burning halo begins to dissipate. Still, I know I’m an angel.

My new home looks exactly the same.

I give myself a tighter hug.

There’s a knock on the door behind me. I hear it open, and recognize the footsteps, then the shoes, then the legs, body, and face of Jasper, my greatest treasure. His eyes are red and he’s sucking on the inside of his cheek. 

His body is rigid and his eyes are red — bloodshot. I could tell he’s been crying. 

But why? 

Everything is perfect. Everything is perfect, wonderfully fine. His mother took care of him. His mother did what mothers are supposed to do when someone is confused. Everything is perfect. It’s why I’ve been gifted this beautiful home and am being taken care of by angels.

His body is rigid and his eyes are red — bloodshot. He has caked mud on his boots — the same kind of mud that is in my cellar at my old home.

“My dear boy, what’s wrong?” My voice is odd against the silence of the room.

He closes his eyes.

It’s as if he’s wishing I’d vanish, which is odd. This is my home, after all.

He opens his eyes. “This is the last time I visit you.”

But, what about me? “But, what about me?”

He walks away, leaving mud on my clean floor.