Dream Angel : Heaven Waits (14 page)

“It’s late, I-I better go to bed.” I sniveled, realizing it was best.

While I shifted apprehensively, staling, he leaned in, and his lips lightly brushed over mine in an innocent kiss goodnight.

“Sleep tight, baby girl.” He was so close his words were hot against my lips.

I need only to shift an inch, I thought, but instead I took my cue and turned to exit.

“Oh, uh, honey.” He called out. “You forgot somethin’.”

Turning back, my heart soared over the sight of a blue silk scarf dangling in the air. I had all but forgotten about his promise, and I raced to claim the gift I had always wanted him, and only him, to give me. Reaching out, I grasped a corner, and excitedly gave it a yank. The fabric pulled taut as Elvis had held firm to his end. How sweet of him to play this game with me, I gushed.

Though I knew he would not let go until he was ready, attempting to take it was part of the fun. I pulled again, and as I had predicted, his hold was resolute. His smile beamed. And when I sighed dramatically, he only chuckled. After a few more attempts, he finally let go, and I quickly snatched up my treasure, clutching it to my heart.

“Now get to bed,” he ordered.

Again I considered stealing one more kiss, and then thought twice. I didn’t want to press. I knew if I kissed him, I would want more. And though my heart was breaking, I dramatically whirled the scarf over my head and took my departure like a queen. I could hear Elvis chuckling all the way down the hall.

***

My swift entrance stirred the air, and a light scent of lavender — my mother’s favored scent — surrounded me. The aroma was strong enough to imagine that I need only to turn and I’d find her waiting for me. The mere thought was heavenly, but deceptive. Mother wasn’t here. She’d been gone for years now, yet the loss was still so fresh. Some days, I’d wonder if the pain would ever lessen, and then worry that such a reprieve meant her memory may fade with it. I suppose a daughter always needs her mother, I thought, and before I could stop it the first tear fell.

Weary from this constant emotional rollercoaster, I headed for bed. As I walked, I kicked off my shoes, and unzipped my dress. I was just about to take a seat when a pile of clothes, discarded haphazardly across my bedspread, stopped me. I hadn’t realized I’d left such a mess and I audibly snarled. Whipping away a tear with the back of one hand, I snatched up a hand full the garments with the other and tossed them over my shoulder. Still not relieved, I grabbed another and another. On and on it went until clothes were scattered all about room. Panting now, I fell to my bed like an exhausted pile of human flesh

While I lay there I was visited by a third and final emotion — shame. It snuck up on me like the ghost of Christmas past, and a weary understanding crept right up behind it. I realized much of what was wrong with my life had everything to do with my insistent need to do everything my way. These last few days played out like a flawed plan that I just kept beating, desperate to make it work. Worse, God had expressed to me what he wanted, even sent an angel, and I still wasn’t listening. How hard headed could one woman be? I was like a tornado of disaster blowing through everyone’s life, including my own. Nobody was safe.

When was I going to grow up, and do what I knew was right?

My frustration surged as I grabbed my leather bound journal from the table next to my bed. I hadn’t written a word in weeks and with pen in hand, I waited for that all over warm feeling that meant God was close. But my heart was unsettled, so I prayed while I waited. I don’t know how long I sat there, and it could have been two minutes or two hours, but when that warm rush finally came, I was ready.

Dear God.

I won’t make excuses for my behavior. I only ask for your forgiveness, and take comfort in your compassionate nature.

For 300 miles your angel spoke of your beautiful plan for my life. He told me that great blessings can be found in a single act of obedience.

I believe I finally understand. I’m ready, and I submit to your plan. I pray for the strength to follow through. My angel belongs with you.

Clutching my journal to my breast like a shield of armor, I crawled into bed. I wanted to do as my angel asked me, as God wanted, and move forward. I longed to be worthy of this special gift God had sent to me, and accept what had once been unacceptable. I wanted to let go.

When will you leave
, I heard my own voice ask as I drifted off to sleep. Squeezing my eyes tight, I heard Elvis' own reply:
When you ask me to
.

Clink-clink-clink! The sound flooded my subconscious. It was obtrusive and uncalled for like a neighbor pounding a tool at 8:00 A.M. There was nothing worse than starting my day with the urge to strangle someone. And now it was going to take me two hours and a pot of coffee before I could find my better disposition.

Clank-Clank-Clank!

It was no use. I rolled over and buried my head under my pillow. I played like a turtle until finally curiosity got the best of me. I peeked at the clock. Was it really 10:00 am? That’s not early that’s late, I thought, and my face heated as I felt foolish for being so cranky.

Outside, rain softly tapped against my window in a constant drizzle. It was another dreary day, perfect for the task that lied ahead.
Letting go
, I snarled and then sighed. I’d been delaying the inevitable for so long, it was unbelievable that tomorrow had actually become today. I wasn’t even sure how this was supposed to work. Do I just tell him, it’s ok to leave? That I understand he can’t stay and hold my hand forever? And what about Steve, was he still out there? The questions were endless, and to stay calm I had to remind myself that Elvis would know what to do. He’d probably be thrilled, happy for me! I frowned.

Turning over, I yawned and stretched but that all over good feeling never came. Might as well get on with it, I thought and jumped out of bed. I slipped on my purple fuzzy bunny slippers and puttered to the bath. I took one look at myself in the mirror and gasped. My hair was sticking not just up, but out on both sides. I looked like a rock groupie — worse — from the 80’s. And I couldn’t help but chuckle at the unsightly mess as it was either that or cry, which was a real option at that point.

Ambidextrous as a child, I wielded a hair brush with one hand while tending to my teeth with the other. Good manners dictated that I should have been up long before my guest, and with one strike already against me, I decided to skip my normal routine. In fact the only makeup I allowed time for was mascara — the one thing mother said never to leave the house without.

Ready in a jiff, I pulled my knee length robe closed with a yank, took a deep breath, and stepped out to greet the day. The aroma of roasted coffee beans drifted down the hall, and the scent wafted around me, so rich and robust. Instantly a series of warm memories sparked, and for a moment, all I wanted was to give myself over to the past and become lost once again. But running from reality had proven futile, and besides, the very thought of Elvis brewing my favored treat, anticipating my morning routine made me smile. It was my first for the day.

Maybe I should just keep him? I smirked. No, I had to follow through. Do as he wanted, what Elvis himself had predicted.
Stick to the plan Samantha
, I was lecturing myself when that blasted noise came again.

Clink-clink. The sound was sharp, and I simultaneously jumped in place. Quickly, I realized the noise was coming from the hall bath — our very first meeting place--and I smiled with the memory.

As I approached, my eyes locked onto the door and my ears primed for the tiniest sound. I could hear the water running as I drew closer, a trickle like from a sink not a steady stream coming from, say, a shower. And I sighed with relief, as I wasn’t sure I could handle the sight of my angel back where it all started, naked and enjoying such a personal moment. I would have surely caved to such a temptation.

The door was cracked. At first I hesitated, but finally, I did what all hot blooded women in my position would have done — I peeked. It was only a reflection, but the sight of a 30 year old Elvis, bare-chested and wearing only a towel, made my whole body instantly flush. And as if the fresh-from-a shower look wasn’t inspiring enough, he was shaving and with a pink razor to boot. He held it awkwardly like a whittled down pencil in an over sized palm. On every downward stroke, he’d pause and tap the sinks basin with the bladed edge.

Clank-clank! I grinned devilishly.

I should have moved on, but my feet simply refused to budge. I was frozen; convinced any sudden movements would alert him to my position. It was better to remain still, I told myself — all day if I must. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make, I thought, and then peeked one more time.

He worked slowly. And judging by the tiny piece of tissue stuck to his chin, he appeared to be out of practice, clumsy, but breathtaking just the same. With his hair slicked back and water droplets still glistening on his skin, he was like a perfect piece of art, and should have been standing in an open aired castle rather than a cramped bathroom in Georgia. But of all his outward qualities nothing outshined his inward beauty. He all but smoldered as he stood there so relaxed and natural, enjoying this alone time for himself. How was I going to let him go? I still didn’t know.

As I sent up a silent prayer for guidance and strength, I saw his hand pause from inside the mirror and then his gaze shift. Automatically, I reverted back to my love for arithmetic's.
Five times one is five. Five times two is ten
. He flashed me a big grin.

“Well, don’t just stand there, lurking,” he said with a chuckle, and then pushed the door open wider. I hesitated briefly before heading for the only seat in the room, the commode.

“I, huh, normally prefer an electric razor, but this was all I could find. I hope you don’t mind?” Unmoved by my presence, he continued to inspect the device with repugnance.

There’s nothing sexier than watching a man shave. The sight of him jetting out his lower lip, giving careful consideration to his next move, had me feeling as sultry as the moist bathroom air. Without thinking, I'd press my own tongue against the inside of my lip, as if offering him helpful hints, only to then draw it back again when he'd glance my way.

The urge to wrap my arms around him, and run my hands up that tempting chest swelled. On more than one occasion, I had to remind myself to breathe. I would become distracted with something as simple as his bare feet, seemingly larger than a reported size eleven, and actually forget to draw in a breath. I'd become lost to a visual tour that started at those knees — he believed knobby, but I found enjoyable — and ended at the towel wrapped around his lean waist. By that time, my lungs were so wilted, they all but begged for a breath. And when I finally took one, I gasped so loud, I couldn’t believe he didn’t hear it.

“Damn woman, if you don’t make love to me with your eyes,” he said, and gave a quick shimmer of his shoulder as if to shake off its effect, “gives me Goosebumps every time.”

“I-I don’t mean to stare.” I was giddy and slightly mortified.

“No need to apologize, honey, I like it.” He gave me a wink from inside the mirror.

I tried to laugh away my all-over blushing, but when he suddenly announced, “Heather’s here,” and a second later I heard the knock, I raced from the room.

“I’ll get it!” I had forgotten I’d asked Heather to come by, but I was glad she was here.

In fact, I didn’t even stop for a security peek, I just opened the door.

“I’m so happy you came.” My warm smile widened further over the sight of the morning treats she held in her hand.

“Good morning,” she said, while cradling a tray of bakery goodies and eyeballing my attire. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“No, I just got out of bed.”

“Did you?” She giggled as she passed me, and headed for the kitchen.

“You know it’s not like that,” I said, hot on her heals.

“Well, thank God for small miracles. Besides, I hear sex is better if the person is actually “alive”. Heather said in her typical forward tone.

At first I scowled at her, but then I chuckled. It was sort of funny.

“Where is the hunk this morning anyway?” She sat down at the table and began to pass out the designer coffees.

Mocha, my favorite!
The smell alone had my mouth watering.
Or was my mouth watering before she got here?
I outwardly giggled, and when I looked up, Heather's inquisitive stare all but hushed me.

“He’s in the hall bath, shaving.” I reached for my drink.

“I bet that’s quite a sight.” Heather lifted her cup for a taste.

“It is.” I said mindlessly, and her first sip stalled in mid air as she stared at me over the rim of her steamy brew.

“Tell me you’re not spying on him, Samantha.”

I rolled my eyes. “I was invited to watch, thank you very much. Besides, we were only talking.”

She smiled lightly. “Good.”

The morning felt lighter in the presence of a friend. There was an odd combination of contentment mixed with a bit of silliness, and it felt good.

“We were just catching up since, you know, we didn’t get much time to talk on the drive home.” I said under my breath, enjoying Heather’s scrutinizing expression.

“W-what do you mean? The drive is over 300 miles.”

I nodded while I sipped my coffee.

“Well, if you didn’t talk, what did you do?”

I shrugged. “Stuff.”

“You’re kidding, right?” She laughed hesitantly.

This was too easy. Heather wanted to hear that Elvis was the stud the world had always imagined so badly, it almost took all the fun out of teasing her.

“Well you know,” I looked around, “a man like that can have a lot of pent up energy after thirty years of abstinence.”

Heather choked on her coffee. Quickly she grabbed a napkin and pressed it firm to her mouth. She was coughing and gagging, while my smile remained strategically hidden behind the lid of my drink. After awhile, I began to worry she couldn’t breathe. And I was just about to get up and swat her on the back when she gasped a breath. She’s alive! My laughter exploded.

“You, you, witch!” She hissed.

Call the newspapers she’s watching her language!

“Bitch.”

So much for that!

I slapped the table as I laughed. It truly was a rare moment of giving Heather some of her own medicine. And while we were laughing, enjoying the easy banter that came with our special kind of friendship, the man of the hour entered the room. We sat up straighter as Elvis stood before us, dressed all in black, with the sleeves of his shirt flipped up at the cuffs and his eyes wide with curiosity.

“Well, hello there big boy,” Heather said in her best Mae West impression.

Elvis’ I-don’t-get-it smile fluttered, and we both busted up again. When it became obvious we weren’t going to calm until one of use left the room, it was Heather who excused herself. She passed Elvis so fast, he practically spun in place. I could hear her giggling all the way down the hall and a second later, the slamming of the bathroom door.

“Is she sick?” Elvis pointed in the direction that she fled.

“Most definitely,” I said, still chuckling while also dabbing the tears from my eyes.

Nothing was more prefect than sharing in a moment of silliness with the two people I cared for most. Granted, it didn’t help to lessen the pain of what lied ahead, but it was none-the-less a perfect moment in time. One I will relive forever.

“W-what’d I miss?” His eyes twinkled as he took a seat at the table.

I knew he hated being left out of anything, especially if it was a secret, but there was just no lady-like way to share the details with him.

“We were, uh, talking about a private matter that,” I paused to rethink.

“Hold it.” Elvis held up his hands. “The rooster doesn’t always need to know what the hens have been up to.”

“Well, you didn’t miss anything, just girl talk.” I stood up and walked to the edge of the kitchen. Looking down the hallway, the bathroom door was shut but I could hear the water running on the other side.

Any minute now, life as I know it was about to change. But not before Heather returned. No, she needed to hear what I had to say, I told myself. And while Elvis was busy looking over the treats, considering the coffee left for us on the table, I stepped into the hall and began to pace. I needed Heather with me. Only with her by my side could I broach the subject that weighed down my heart.

“I don’t know how y’all drink this. It’s not coffee.” Elvis said from the kitchen, and when I turned back, I found him standing with a cup of modern day brew in his hand and a look of disgust on his face.

Our eyes met, and I forced a smile, but he didn’t smile back.

“It’s an acquired taste.” I averted my gaze.

There was no avoiding “the talk”, I knew, but the irony that I was now waiting on it so ardently didn’t escape me either. My life was just crazy enough for this moment to appear normal, I thought, and then after taking another look down the hall, I went back to pacing.

What was taking Heather so long?

With my heart pounding like a jack hammer against my chest, I resigned to start without her. And I managed two steps towards the kitchen when that red flashing light from the night before stopped me. Now, stalled by the phone station, my attention flickered. When had I last checked my messages? Was it before Memphis — no — before my accident? Again the answer was, no. In fact, I realized, I couldn’t remember ever checking it. And I can’t say why — possibly to stall the inevitable — but it seemed important that I do so now.

“Honey, are you alright—” Elvis’ words drifted off when he stepped into the room.

I looked up to him, and I’m not sure what perplexed me more, the look of dread on his face or how quickly he curbed it.

“A-are you ok?” He asked nervously.

I didn’t answer.

“I think I broke your toilet, no joke, because it just keeps running, and I’ve been jiggling the handle for,” Heather cut her rambling short when she too entered the room.

Why was everyone looking at me as if I had my hand over the key to World War III?

With a shaky hand, I pushed the button. The answering machine clicked on with a hum. The first few messages were from my father. They echoed loudly, and I quickly hit the forward button. I skipped through doctor reminders and rescheduling requests, desperate for answers. I had no idea what I was looking for, and yet my heart raced. On the fourth message, I understood why.

“Hello love, I was calling to see if you had made it home from Boston.” Steve’s voice blared. “Guess not. Well, ring me when you do.”