Terra Firma

“This is nice,” she said.

I watched her near the kitchen sink. She was floating.

He tried to laugh, but it was mirthless as she went back to filling the kettle with tap water.

An unfinished painting rested on an easel, and she raised an exquisite brow, “You’re an artist..!"

“Also", I said.

The kettle whistled from the stove, and she poured the boiling water into a pan.

I massaged my shoulder blades to ease the tension.

“What’s perfume are you wearing?

Ignoring him, she rested her chin on her palm.

“Why are you so complicated? I feel it in your drawing”.

I pulled out a rickety chair, once a bright brown, now dull and gray, the flecks of paint the only memory of its former glory. He waved her over to sit, and went around the table and sat on a wooden crate. With caution, she cupped the mug in her hands and sniffed. Steam misted her face and her nose wrinkled. A look of apprehension crossed her face, but she took a tentative sip. She looked up and smiled. “so, I’m your angel. Why dont you call me by name? Now that I dont have any wings”, her voice tingling like tiny bells.

A far away look in her eyes made me uncomfortable. “So, that’s why there were so many feathers,” he thought.

“Yes, they were my wings,” and she twisted around and dropped the back of the overcoat. Two sharp marks, evenly spaced, punctured her shoulder blades. I leaned over the table and touched one of the punctures. The wounds were still fresh.. I wanted to stoke them, make them go away, an alien emotion, this feeling of tenderness towards her.

Angel propped her elbows on the table. She leaned in, and I mimicked her pose, thinking she was going to tell me a secret. Her chin rested in her hands. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t near a place of protection,” she said. “You’ll take me there.”

I never believed in angels or miracles, until I met her. I rubbed the back of my neck to alleviate the headache that was sure to come on. Angels !

Angel paraded around the apartment in a bath-robe. Every so often, she wiped down her arms and legs with a wet washcloth, chunks of dirt hitting the floor. “Nice place you have.” She walked over to a desk and played a few notes on the piano keyboard.

“Shouldn’t you already know this?” Angel sat on a stool at the kitchen counter, her head swimming. She was alone with a lone man in an apartment, wearing a bathrobe, claiming to be an angel !

Why, are you unhappy, Angel?” I stopped in mid-stride and sniffed the air. “Why dont you finish the tea? I could really drink some more.”

I'm sorry, I forgot that angels only drink from the nectar of the Gods?”