Let me clear this up.
There's nothing going on between matt and me. I just thought it was a good poem that he wrote off the top of his head, it didn't mean anything. So stop talking about it. Have a nice day.
I was going though all my stuff on the computer and I found the short story I wrote last year for fox. It was one of the few things I was actually proud to call mine. But did she say anything? Nooo. I worked my ass off to write it and she never gave it back OR graded it. She's gone now woohooo...why was she there the one year I had sophmore english? Geez. She made me hate english. Nothing I did was good enough for her. Whatever.
I slumped into an empty booth. My feet ache, and I was starving; today was a busy day. I barely
had the strength to pull myself out of my seat to get a grilled cheese with mounds of ketchup.
Again, I slumped back in the spacious faux-leather seat and lit a cigarette. It was so dreary, like
the setting of some Stephen King novel, I thought to myself. I lazily flipped on the jukebox and
play “Hotel California” by The Eagles. As the lyrics began I smiled, probably the first true smile
I’ve had in a week or so.
Times had been better: my father was ill with terminal cancer, and all the money we had was going to hospital bills. My mother died of cancer as well years ago, and my father has been out of work for months now. My job waiting tables can only bring in so much money, and I haven’t found any acting gigs in the recent months. Between dad and school, I was stressing myself into paranoia. If it wasn’t for Amanda, my greatest friend since childhood (who happened to attend Slattsburg College with me) I would be a total emotional wreck. Ever since we were little kids we have done everything together - make mud pies, run away from all the boys on Kentucky Lane because they had cooties, made French Honor Society, and graduated high school together. We both want to become architects; but still have those high-flown ambitions of being actresses and multi-million dollar pop culture icons. I remember how it all started between us; she just moved in with her new foster parents. She was sitting on their steps in a dainty yellow plaid dress, with her hands wrapped around her knees like she was trying to shrink into a ball. As I watched her, she would jolt for a second now and then. She must have been crying. I went over and sat next to her and asked her why she was crying. She answered between sobs that she was scared she wouldn’t make any friends. Mandi (as I affectionately call her) and I have been friends since. I don’t know what I would do without her.
The jukebox moved to the song, “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen. Another classic. I love it. Surprisingly, I was still smiling as I reminisced of the good old days. But finally, Rocky called to me from the kitchen, ranting how it was time to close and he wanted to get home to watch Monday Night Football. I rolled my eyes. What was it with men and football? My dad would probably hand me over for adoption rather than miss the Super Bowl. That reminded me: It was Monday, and visiting hours at the hospital ended early. I cursed under my breath and scrambled to get my things together.
*~*
Dad looked more cheerful than usual. Maybe because he won Bingo five times consecutively in the patient’s lounge today. No matter how much I complain about it, I really do enjoy visiting him. When we start talking about something, time flashes ahead and we don’t know where it goes. In mid-conversation about why Kerry will win the election next month, I glanced at the clock atop my dad’s bed. Visiting hours ended in five minutes. I wrapped up the conversation by reassuring my dad that he’s always right about everything (even politics, which half the time he doesn’t even understand), gave him a kiss, and headed for the door. As I left, I could faintly hear him shout down the white-washed halls for me to make him chicken soup.
Mandi called my cell phone halfway home from the hospital, asking me to come over and watch some movies with her. Unable to decline, I gladly went, stopping at our favorite chocolate store in town, Granny’s Chocolate Shoppe, to buy chocolate-covered pecans, which we both love. We watched that new movie - “50 First Dates”. Mandi and I worship Adam Sandler. We argued about which one of us would marry him first, and as always, I would win. She just gives a “humph” and lectured me about how Orlando Bloom is better for her anyway.
As I laid in bed that night listening to the soft pangs of the rain and my radio, another one of my favorite songs came on, “Angel” by Sarah McLaughlin. I have always been a fan of mythological creatures: god, goddesses, angels, giants. Even though they usually cannot be explained scientifically, I believed in angels (and always will). My mother would always tell me every single person had a guardian angel watching over them. After she died, dad always told me that she was his guardian angel when she was on Earth, and how she watched over both of us. Still, I wanted to believe that somewhere up there I had my very own guardian angel. The image of my smiling mother stayed with me as the rain lulled me to sleep.
*~*
Ack, it was still horribly miserable outside. It began to pour as I drove through the muddy back-roads to Rocky’s Diner for my evening shift. About halfway there, however, I saw something that surprised me. Besides the fact that no one really uses the back roads (one could call them the town’s secret), there was a little boy on the side of the road, standing by a stopped car. He was just standing there, staring. He looked drained, almost like a - I dared to think of it - a ghost. His face was long and pale. His hair (besides being drenched) looked worn. His eyes weren’t very clear, but they were empty, like he was yearning for something. He reminded me of that girl from The Ring, only he was a little boy. Overcome with fear, I pushed the gas pedal. However, I must have lost notice to where I was on the road, and everything went black.
*~*
Now on the contrary, everything was white. In the next moment I gasped as pain rushed to every part of my body. My vision cleared and the place started to look for signs of similarity. It was the hospital - or was I somewhere else? Realization of what happened came to my mind and I began to cry. Whether I cried of fear of that boy, pain of the accident, or both, I’m not even too sure. I slowly picked up my head. My vision blurred again, but I got to see Mandi’s face before I blacked out again.
*~*
This time, I felt better. I could raise my self up. Mandi was gone; but my dad was there. A tear ran down his cheek as I sat up. He had good news. The doctors said I was going to be fine, but I should stay in the hospital for a week or so to recuperate. Then he looked at me with a gleam in his eye that I haven’t seen in a long time. The doctors told him that his cancer was in the primary stages of recession, and he may be able to come home in a month or so. We cried together for hours. Things were finally turning up. Dad began to lecture me for taking better care of myself, and stop worrying about money for his hospital bills and school. He told me the meds found my car slammed against a tree, and that I fell asleep against the wheel. What was he talking about? I saw the boy and scared myself. I’m sure of it. Unless, maybe I was dreaming? I have been tired lately. Maybe that boy was just part of some bad dream…
I asked where Mandi was. Dad said she stopped by earlier, but I was sleeping. He also said tried to call her since then, but she didn’t pick up.
*~*
A day or so later, while napping in my hospital room, I awoke from a sound in the room. I first glanced at the right side of the room to a clock - it was three, so dad was playing Bingo. Then I turned to the left side and turned to stone. The boy was sitting in the chair next to my bed. My stone complexion shattered and I screamed. He remained still. He looked different. He had more color to his face, and his hair was dry and combed. He even had somewhat of a smile on his face.
“Do you believe in angels?” he asked with more innocence than a newborn.
“Wha…what?” I stammered. Could he be my…
“Do you believe in angels? Because my mommy said that your guardian angel must have been riding with you in the car.”
Maybe he was a normal little boy. “Why would you mommy say that?”
“Well, out car broke down and we didn’t have a spare. While my mom called the car-fixer guy, I watched the cars go by. I love cars. I was watching for five minutes or so and then a car smashed into a tree. We called the ambulance people. My mommy said you must have fallen asleep behind the wheel. She said it was a good thing our car did break where it did, or else you would have died, and that your guardian angel was looking out for and riding with you. That’s why I’m asking you if you believe in guardian angels. Because you should say a special prayer and thank your guardian angel for riding with you.”
This was too much. “How did you get here?”
“Mommy thought it would be nice to come visit you.”
We sat in silence for a few moments. Tears slowly dripped from my eyes. “Are…are you my guardian angel?”
“No, silly lady,” he giggled. “I’m Danny who likes cars. He didn’t understand what I meant. Laughing at his innocence through my tears, I reached out my arms and asked for a hug. His smile broadened into a toothy grin (with one front tooth missing) and ran to my arms. I hugged him and I cried. As I let him go and I reached for a tissue I heard a woman’s voice out in the hall:
“Daniel!?”
The boy answered, “In here, mommy!”
Daniel’s mother walked in. She asked me if I was feeling better, and I thanked her for calling the hospital. She smiled and told me to thank my guardian angel. I smiled, saying that I did, and gave a look at her son. With that she laughed commenting on his ‘angelic’ ways, and left me her number, saying Danny would love to see me again. I agreed. I could hear Danny from down the corridor telling me to get better.
After they left, I noticed a beautiful bouquet of flowers on the table. They looked almost too divine to be from Earth. Why didn’t I see them before? I didn’t see any card with it. It was probably just from the hospital. My dad walked in minutes later. He must have won a few more rounds of Bingo, because he was cheery. I asked him where the flowers came from. He smiled and answered they were delivered from the florist under Amanda’s name. I tried calling her cell phone to thank her, but it said the number was not in service.
*~*
A week later, I still didn’t get to see Mandi face to face. Dad didn’t see her either, but assured me she must have come whenever I was sleeping. But that didn’t matter; I was finally ready to go home, so I could just drive to her house. I nervously stepped up the reception desk. When I asked for my hospital bill, the receptionist gave me a perplexed smile and said it had already been paid. She brought up my account on her computer; saying was paid by Mr. and Mrs. K. Cohen. That Mandi. I couldn’t wait until I saw her. Now I really owe her.
Before going home I stopped at her parent’s house first to thank them (It was their money, after all). They said it was no problem for a neighbor in need. I asked if they knew where Mandi was. I’ll never forget that look they gave me - the look one would give a lunatic as the asylum. They didn’t know what I was talking about. They only paid because my father asked them to do him this favor. They didn’t know an Amanda Cohen. They invited me inside for something to eat, saying I didn’t fully recuperate from the accident. I ran into the house. Nothing of hers was there. I ran to her room - it was storage. What was going on? She wasn’t even in pictures of the Cohen’s on the mantle anymore.
I drove home in a daze, and looked at my pictures. She was in all of our pictures at my house. I didn’t understand. How could they forget her? She was their daughter! Distraught, I went turned on my computer. My friends would tell me I’m not crazy, but they did quite the opposite. None of them remembered Mandi. I was getting scared. It wasn’t funny anymore. She is real. Our whole relationship was not a lie. I began to cry of frustration. Where was Amanda Cohen? I wanted to see her. To try and ease my spirits and calm down, I turned on my sound system.
“Angel” began to play on the radio.