~Unexpected/Delightful~
~water splashing from the hose~
~filling the dog’s dish~
~I sensed a pleasant sound~
~lifted my head up~
~through the yard gate I saw~
~a young boy in the driveway~
~wandering aimlessly~
~staring down at his shoes~
~singing~
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~Momma’s Rain~ (excerpt – chapter seven)
It is 1960, autumn in Denver, Colorado. Ten-year-old Timmy hopes to spend a day at home with his mother & siblings before school begins for the semester but his father, hung over & behind schedule because of his drinking, forces the boy to come with him to clean up scraps in the yard while he finishes roofing the house.
~listen to the wind she said~
~let it speak to your eyes~
~no one will steal your horses~
~all your children will be wise~
Chapter Seven
~Children and Angels Alike~
Daddy came down for a smoke break and mentioned some spots in the yard the lady of the house said he had missed while cleaning. He had decided they would work through lunch (hurray!) and just get the damned job done. They didn’t have a rake and Timmy couldn’t see the spots he mentioned, so he crawled around the outside of the house on his hands and knees. He used his fingers as rakes, pulling them through the grass, and depositing every nail and minuscule scrap onto a shingle wrapper he dragged along behind himself. He usually liked the people in the houses where they worked. This lady, he decided, must be evil. How could she dare pile one more indignity upon one such as himself who had spent the day suffering one after an-unbelievable-other?
As has happened many times in his life since, he was forced to eat a tender-bit of self-ingested crow. It was hot and he was sweating, feeling lowly and put upon. He was sure he had never been so awfully sorry for his poor, miserable self and completely justified in his feelings. An angelic female voice from nowhere and everywhere said, “Timmy.” He squinted his eyes and raised himself up into a kneeling position. Just as he gave up searching for the sound and got back to his hand raking, the voice said his name again. This time it was accompanied by the tin tinkle wink of metal on glass.
He moved toward the house and stood up.
“Come on in the back door, Timmy,” the voice said from what appeared to be the kitchen window, cleanser and a metal sponge holder on the sill. He still didn’t see a person. “Come on,” the voice urged, “I have something special for you.”
Timmy broke a bunch of Momma and Daddy rules when he went in that back door. “Don’t talk to strangers,” etc. etc. If Daddy caught him ... but he was busy ridging the house. Timmy could hear the singing rhythm of his axe. If it ceased its working song, he would have plenty of lead time to run outside and get back to work.
So in he went and up the six steps to the kitchen. He expected the usual matronly old lady who would offer him a glass of water or milk, maybe even a Coke. Instead he stepped into the kitchen and found himself in the company of a real live angel. Her body was twisted, braced into and supported by a chrome walker gadget with rubber brake/wheel attachments. She wasn’t old at all and whatever evil chord pulled her body down extended to the left side of her face. The horrifying rictus of her countenance was overcome absolute by some angelic aura emanating from her bluer than white eyes. She smiled from the side of her face that was hers. Timmy was owned and blessed of the moment.
“This is yours,” she said, her eyes stealing his and leading them to her crippled fallen hand. It clutched the walker and a ten-dollar bill between angel skin and steel. “Take it,” she insisted as if she could hear the whispers of a thousand refusals echoing through his brain.
He stepped forward and reached for the money. She surprised him by pressing it into his hand.
“You are a hard worker,” she said. “You keep this money all for yourself.” Her twisted hand felt like heaven’s breath.
Timmy didn’t know what to say ... so he didn’t.
“Come have tea,” she offered. “It has been the longest time since I had a handsome young man over for tea.”
There was a gleaming ornate silver tray and serving set on the table across from the window. Timmy reached for the server and she said, “That won’t do. You’re my guest; please be seated.”
He sat in a chair and watched in awe as she transferred her broken body laboriously from the walker into a chair of sorts with canvas back and seat. Once she was seated, she extended her hand to him again.
“How rude of me. My name is Jude. Do you take sugar in your tea?”
Timmy spoke for the first time to her and barely, “I.. uh.. I think so.”
He had never seen one so afflicted and not overcome in the least. She poured two cups of tea.
“Two sugars?” she asked sweetly, a tiny silver tong come to her hand. Timmy was tongue-tied. “I think three,” she laughed, “and two for me.”
He felt all giddy inside. He wanted to hug her and run away. Daddy’s roofing axe pounded its ridge rhythm and sugar cubes dissolved before his eyes.
“Our imperfections can be used to define us,” Jude said softly. “Rather would I drink to them.” She lifted her glass cup and clinked it against his.
He felt stupid as soon as he said it, “Cheers,” and sipped a bit of tea. He had never had hot tea and sure hadn’t lived a life where toasts were offered. Social graces didn’t amount to much where he came from.
“One day your sight will be repaired,” she advised him. “Don’t forget what you saw before.”
Timmy didn’t know what to say but felt all at once as if something was very wrong. Then he realized what it was. Daddy’s axe had stopped singing. He gulped his tea down.
“Thank-you, Ma'am, I gotta go.”
“Jude,” she said, placing her hand on his. “I know you have to go, Timmy, but you’ll see me again.”
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