Angel's Decree

Monica stayed in her room for the rest of the night and didn’t even answer when Caryn knocked in the morning, letting her know that she’d made coffee, Monica’s favorite drink.

Instead, she stayed seated Indian style on her bed, where she had sat the entire night, and waited until she was sure she was alone. She didn’t like most of Jaime’s friends, but she especially hated when they made her feel bad or treated her like she was one of them. She couldn’t explain it, but she just knew she was different.

It was nearly nine o’clock when she got up and went to the door and peaked out. The apartment was empty and she felt a great sense of relief. The coffee had gone cold, but she just reheated it in the microwave and it almost tasted fresh again.

The night had been spent contemplating everything. She wondered why she got so insulted when people spoke in a suggestive tone to her or when people assumed she was like Jaime. She didn’t participate in drug or alcohol use, and it made her uncomfortable when issues turned to sex because it didn’t seem natural for her. She felt embarrassed by it or frightened of it. Even while she knew she was technically no different than either of her roommates, it just felt different for her. She wondered if she had always been that way. For instance, right now she felt the sudden surge of hunger and exhaustion that always managed to catch her by surprise, as if she wasn’t used to it yet. She occasionally stayed awake all night and stared off the balcony into the stars or went a whole day without eating because she simply forgot to. But she knew she eventually needed to eat and sleep or it would only get worse.

After foraging in the fridge for leftover Chinese noodles and pizza, she stumbled to her bed and slept for four hours, sprawled on top of the comforter, her hair fanned out across her pillow like a great wavy red wing.

The knock at the front door woke her, and she sat up in her bed, groggy and disoriented. She padded in her socks into the living room, imagining who it could be; both roommates would have their keys.

“Who is it?” Monica asked through the door, as Caryn had instructed.

“I’m the plumber, from J.C.’s Plumbing. Here to fix the shower.” His voice sounded pleasant to Monica, and she nodded, although he couldn’t see.

“Yes. Of course - ” She opened the door and was immediately caught off guard. The man was like none she had ever seen before – only something about him seemed vaguely familiar. She must’ve stared for a long time because he smiled, and shrugged.

“Should I come in or…”

“Oh. Forgive me.” Her ears turned hot as she moved out of the way to let him pass. “I’m Monica.” She averted her eyes as he moved into the threshold.

“I’m Andrew.” He smiled, his green eyes lit up as if from within. He seemed so pure; it ached Monica to look at him. Or maybe there was another reason… His sandy blond hair was cut close and he seemed very clean as he stood in the center of the living room. Monica thought he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen and then she chastised herself for the thought. “Have we met before?” He asked, eyebrows knitted. “You seem very familiar.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

He grinned. “I guess not. I would have remembered that accent.”

She thought, but didn’t say aloud, that she could never forget a face like his.

“The shower is that way, last door on the right.” She gestured for him as he tossed her a smile of thanks and went to work.

Monica sat in the kitchen the entire time, afraid to be near him. He seemed too nice to be real and he stirred something within her. She wanted to talk to him or have him talk to her. She wanted to know about him, about where he came from and what he liked to do. She wanted to be his friend, but she didn’t dare ask. She had no idea how she would anyway without sounding desperate or weird, so she decided to just forget about it – even though it was difficult not to think about it when he was so close, just a few doors down, the sound of his tools at work.

Soon, the sound of the door opening let Monica know at least one of her roommates was home and she hoped to God that it was Caryn and not Jaime. At least Caryn was a nice person with a nice demeanor who wouldn’t offend Andrew or make him feel bad.

“Hey Monica.” Thank God, it was Caryn. “I was worried about you this morning.”

“Yes. I had a rough night.” Monica figured she’d let it go at that. “By the way, the plumber is here. He’s workin’ on the shower.”

“Oh yeah?” Caryn peaked around the corner. “It’s about time we got that thing fixed.” To Monica, she whispered. “Is he cute?”

Startled by the question, Monica coughed. “Uh… He’s… um…”

Just then, Andrew poked his head into the room and waved towards Caryn. “Hello, I’m the plumber.”

“So I’ve been told.” Caryn glanced at Monica whose cheeks were slightly pinker than before. “How’s the shower coming?”

“Actually, I’m going to have to come back tomorrow.” Andrew said, his voice apologetic. “I need my other tool box, and I don’t want to keep you ladies awake all night with my pounding.”

Caryn grinned at the double meaning, even while Monica and Andrew were both oblivious. “Oh, that’s no problem. Tomorrow is fine. We’ll be glad to have you.”

“Well, thanks.” He rubbed his hands on his dungarees and extended one towards Caryn. “Nice meeting you.” And then towards Monica who hesitated only briefly. “Look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” His hand was warm and Monica found it was difficult letting go. “I’ll have your shower up and running tomorrow. That’s a promise.” He said and then he was gone.

Caryn sat at the kitchen table with Monica and drilled her with her stare. “So, what’s the scoop? Do you two know each other?”

Monica shook her head, nervously playing in her long reddish tresses. “I’ve never met him before today.”

“But you like him. That much was obvious.” Caryn’s dreadlocks swayed as she spoke. “I thought you were going to break out in hives, you were so nervous.”

“He seems like a nice man…” Monica’s voice was very quiet. “…but…”

“But nothing! You are so full of it, Monica.” Caryn teased. “You liked him a lot, and you can damn well deny it if you want, but it was plain as the nose on my face – and he liked you too. I could tell. I’m great at reading people.” She got up from the table and went for the fridge, musing to herself. “I wonder if he’s married…”

Monica sat stewing, angry with herself for feeling this strongly towards Andrew. She felt certain that it was the wrong thing to do, to get caught up in someone else. It just seemed too earthy and too close to something resembling attraction. She didn’t want to be like Jaime, spending time caught up in some guy, only to end up taking them to bed. She hated that the thought of being romantic with Andrew stirred something inside her, within the deepest recesses of her mind. She just knew it was wrong – even if it felt so right.

Later, after Caryn had smoked a cigarette (on the balcony, at Monica’s request) and then gone out with friends to a show, Monica cooked rice for dinner with vegetables and some nice butter salt for herself. Caryn had asked Monica to go out with her – in fact, she asked Monica to go out all the time, but Monica always refused. She preferred to stay in if she could help it because she thought the nightlife seemed too bawdy. In the daytimes, she liked to visit parks or museums, but she mostly stayed to herself because although she enjoyed people, she hated the evil they were capable of, and she was terrified to discover that side of herself. Even though, at times, it seemed inevitable…

It was late when Jaime came in, and this time she was alone. She seemed quiet now, but her eyes were glazed like they always were when she snorted coke. Monica was on the couch reading a book and glanced up as Jaime linked eyes with her.

“Are you mad at me?” Jaime half-smirked, but there was no mirth in her face.

“It’s not you that I’m angry at.” Monica said in a soft voice. “It’s you’re lifestyle.”

“Well, I can’t help it, okay?” Jaime dragged a hand across her shock blond hair. “I can’t change who I am.”

Monica put down the book. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jaime. You can change. You just don’t want to.”

“You’re always judging me, Monica.” Jaime’s voice sounded exhausted. “That’s all you do is judge everybody. Like you’re above it all. Anyway, just forget it. I only wanted to apologize for Eric. He’s an asshole.”

“You don’t have to be around people like that.” Monica felt so sad for Jaime, but didn’t know what to do. “You should make friends with good people.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t an episode of Barney the Dinosaur, okay? Do you accept my apology or not?”

Monica nodded. “Yes. I accept.”

“Good.” Jaime’s eyes were clouded. “Then, we’re cool?”

“Yes, we’re cool.”

“Sweet. Goodnight.”

Monica nodded as Jaime stumbled off towards her bedroom. Monica leaned her head back against the couch cushions and had a vision of an angel perched on the balcony, her flowing white robes tangled in its wrought iron bars. Even though the angel was glowing and nearly as bright as the sun, no one on the streets paid much attention to her or even noticed she was there, and the angel began to cry. But the oddest part was that the face of the angel was blurred, so that Monica couldn’t see her or tell what she looked like.

When she opened her eyes, she felt a strong need to capture the image on canvas, so she did. She pulled out her easel, laid a canvas across it and got her paints. She didn’t finish until morning, and when she did, she felt it was a job well done.

“That’s a masterpiece.” Caryn declared when she got up the next morning. “You should really think about trying to sell some of these.”

“I guess that’s not really what its about.” Monica stifled a yawn as she washed paint off her hands.

“Your angel doesn’t have a face.” Jaime said, staring at the canvas. “What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know.” Monica called over her shoulder.

“Hey, what time is that guy coming? That plumber?” Jaime asked.

“I don’t know, but maybe Monica does.” Caryn teased, and Monica shook her head, to show her displeasure.

“I have to work early today.” She said. “Overtime.” She felt a pang at having to tell a small lie, but it was worth it not to commit an even bigger sin by gawking at Andrew all day. She asked Caryn to wait for him instead.

“Sure.” Caryn smirked. “I’d love to hang around - for him.”

Jaime made a face. “What is he, like some Backstreet Boy or something? You two are practically drooling over here.”

“I’m going to go get ready for work.” Monica made a hasty exit, so she wouldn’t have to deal with any more implications.

Once she was out in the bright summer air, Monica felt at peace with everything around her. The sun was shining, and the trees and plants were so green. She didn’t have to be at work for three hours, but she thought she could spend an eternity here in the park. It was lush and lovely and the birds sang so sweetly, she thought she might cry. The duck pond was alive with fish and children nearby playing at its edge and feeding bits of bread to the mallards.

If she could find a shady spot, Monica thought she could maybe sit back against a tree and catch a few minutes of sleep she missed again last night. It was such a warm perfect day, and so peaceful, but something told her to keep walking. She felt drawn to the large old theatre at the edge of the path and headed directly towards it, her feet carrying her almost of their own accord. She knew she needed to go there, if for no other reason than to lean against the cool heavy brick.

When she got to within a few feet, she looked up at the large awnings, her dark eyes roaming over the large white marquis that would later be surrounded with lights to announce its headliner for the night. There was a man on a ladder, putting up the letters with a long metal pole, to spell out the name of the actor or singer or comedienne who would be up and coming, but Monica’s eyes found the posters, finally, announcing her: The Countess.

Something about that photo took Monica’s breath away. She was a large, stately woman in black skin and with rivers of hair, dark and silver, flowing across one shoulder. Her beautiful smile and twinkling eyes seemed so familiar to Monica that she had to rest a hand against the rough brick wall for balance. The Countess was draped in furs above a gown lined in glittering beads, pearls arranged around her neck and dangling from her ears.

With great difficulty, Monica backed away from the poster, turned and headed towards her job. It was early, but she needed to occupy herself somehow, to chase away the sensation that she was going insane. Caryn would say that she needed rest or needed to unwind. Jaime would tell her she was in need of a drink or a hit off her bong – and neither one of them were right. Or maybe they were both right.

At work, Monica began sweeping floors, taking drink orders and washing cups. She went through her shift in a virtual daze, but otherwise remained pleasant as usual. Only her boss noticed she seemed a little out of sorts, but she simply told him she wasn’t really feeling herself, which wasn’t actually a lie. In truth, she didn’t think she knew herself anymore.

After her shift, Monica walked straight back to the apartment, intending to fall right into bed and sleep straight until morning. She liked her life simple, the way it was. She didn’t like pressure or influences threatening to make her into someone she wasn’t, even if sometimes pressure wasn’t so bad, and influences could be okay…

When she got to her building, she stopped for a minute to find the key on the ring and looked back up to find she was staring into green eyes. She immediately lowered hers.

“Hello.” She said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Hi, Monica.” Andrew studied her face. She always looked so nervous. “I just finished the job. It took longer than I thought, but I had hoped I would see you.”

Now Monica forced herself to meet his stare. “I had to work.”

“But now you’re done?”

Monica nodded. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

He contemplated her. “You’re probably going to think I’m being… forward. And believe me, it’s not my intention, I promise, but I wondered,” he sighed, the words getting lost in his throat. “If maybe you’d like to get dinner or something sometime.” He shut his eyes, fearing that she’d say no. In fact, he was sure she’d say no.

“Dinner?” Monica’s fears were realized because she hadn’t wanted to see him and she hadn’t wanted to make this kind of decision – but again, she had forgotten to eat and the thought of doing so now, with him, seemed like a gift from God… “Alright. Sure.”

“Really?” his smile was slow, relieved. “I honestly thought you were going to say no.”

“I almost did.” She said, looking into his soft face, the features so smooth and kind.

“Oh? What made you change your mind?” he thought maybe he was pushing his luck, but he wanted to know.

She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know, but you seem like such a nice man. I thought it might be nice to have dinner with you and talk.”

He nodded. “Good. I thought the same thing about you. So, when do you want to go?”

Monica’s stomach rumbled. “How about right now?”

He chuckled. “Right now? Okay. Sure. But maybe I should go home and change…”

“No.” she stopped him. “You look fine. And there’s something humble about a man with a wee bit of dirt on his hands, in his work clothes having a meal.”

“Your accent,” he said, “is amazing. I know you’ve heard that before.”

“Once or twice.” She said as he opened the passenger’s side door of his truck to let her in, before climbing into the driver’s side and pulling away from the curb and into the dusky night.