She Talks to Angels

“She Talks to Angels”, inspired by a creative writing class and a beautiful song…

The first time he saw her, he was sitting at a table in the bar right off of Fifth Avenue, well into his fourth gin and tonic. A warm, dizziness was starting to build in his head, making the lights in the room spin. The room was comfortably warm, and the chatter in the room blended into a vacuum of noise.

A well-dressed group of people entered, dressed for some sort of semi-formal occasion. The men were all wearing suits and shiny black shoes, and the women wore fancy dresses and high heels. The men had their hair slicked back, and the women wore it in various up-dos. They were laughing loudly.

He had turned away from the bar to look at them and was about to turn back when one of the women caught his attention. There was something striking about her smooth features. She was wearing a soft pink draped chiffon dress that seemed to float around her. Her hair, done up in a bun, was black and wavy. Loose strands framed her face. Her skin was pale and smooth, and her lips were red like a strawberry. She wore a silver cross on a chain around her neck.

 Her eyes were painted black as night, contrasting with every other detail about her. The makeup covered up the brilliant green of her eyes. She was detached, different somehow. Floating along, she didn’t belong there. She was smiling at something one of the men had said, but her mind seemed to be somewhere else. Her eyes flashed at some half-thought he could almost see flit through her mind.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice high and airy, “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

She got up and made her way to the exit, taking her purse with her. Her eyes met with his as she walked past him, and he felt a tugging sensation in his stomach. Without understanding what he was doing, he got up and followed her outside.

“Excuse me,” he said, before he could stop himself.

“Yes?” she said, turning to him.

He was stunned. How did he get here? Did he really just follow some woman out of the bar and try to say hi in the alleyway? He hoped beyond hope that he wasn’t coming off as supremely creepy. He saw her take a cigarette out of her purse, so he said earnestly, “Here, let me light that for you.”

She looked at him with her green eyes, cigarette in her mouth, and then said, “Well, okay. Is that the reason you followed me out here?”

He lit her cigarette, fumbling slightly at her straightforward call-out. After a moment, he held out his hand. “My name is Joe,” he said, unsure of what else to say.

“Elena.” She said. And then, smiling, she took a long drag of her cigarette, blew the smoke out in his face, put it out on the wall, and went back into the building.

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The next time he saw her, he was walking down an empty street at some hour way past midnight, making his way home from another night at the bar. She was huddled in a corner between two buildings, leaning her head against a wall. She had an unlit cigarette in her mouth and her eyes were closed. Her hair was loose, falling around her face wildly. She was wearing ripped black jeans and a leather jacket, completely different attire than the first time he saw her. Her face was held in a small, peaceful smile, one hand wrapped around the cross pendant. Before he could stop himself, he stumbled over to her. His legs were moving of their own accord. Then, before he could walk away –

“Elena?” he said. Damn it, what am I doing? He wondered to himself.

Elena opened her eyes slowly, the black makeup contrasting harshly with her pale, almost luminescent face. Her smile grew bigger as she took in his face.

“Well, hello there,” she said, her voice shaking a little, “We’ve met before, haven’t we?” She took the unlit cigarette out of her mouth, tossing it nonchalantly to the ground.

Her voice caught him off guard; it was more melodic than he’d remembered. She sounded like she was half-singing when she talked. “Yes, I’m Joe,” he stuttered.

“That’s right. Joe. Well, Joe, could you help a girl out?” She looked down at her hand that was clutching the cross.

“I… I don’t understand. I’ll help you, but with what?” he asked, looking at her wrist.

She laughed and took her hand off of her necklace, turning it to reveal a gash on the inside of her wrist. There was blood on the leather jacket and cross where she’d been resting it. His head, already fuzzy from the alcohol he’d consumed earlier that night, began to throb. Perhaps he should stop drinking so much. Then again, maybe if he stopped he’d find out that Elena was a figment of his drunken imagination. It would certainly make more sense. He looked back at her face, and saw her green eyes staring right back at him, almost glowing with amusement. Right. She was bleeding. From her wrist.

“What – how – what,” was all he could manage. Idiot. She’s going to die out here because you’re too busy trying to impress the bleeding girl. Stupid stupid stupid.

“It’s okay, Joe,” she said, still smiling, “Just help me up and walk me home.”

He helped her up, letting her lean on him. She was light as air. She led him down a series of streets, of which he could not remember the names, up to the top floor of a small apartment building. The room was dimly lit, with the shades pulled down. There were beanbags on the floor, and another room with a big, luxurious looking bed. The walls were all plain white, and the floor was carpeted.

“Thanks, Joe,” she said, sinking down to one of the beanbags. She closed her eyes for a moment. He stood there, looking at her. He had the same strange sensation of being tugged by the stomach, towards Elena. She seemed to sense him staring at her, because she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

“Say, are you okay, Joe?” she asked. He had to laugh at that. She was asking if he was okay.

“Am I okay?” he asked her, “am I okay? Yeah, I’m okay… Why don’t you tell me if you’re okay? You’re the one who’s bleeding from your wrist.”

She smiled at that, laughing slightly. She put her hand over the bleeding wrist for a second more, and then dragged it away, showing him a clean, untouched wrist. He kept looking at her. She seemed to glow in the dim light, her pale skin shimmering as if she was covered in fairy dust. She very well could be a fairy, he thought, so light and full of life. And then – wait her wrist?

“You don’t look so well, Joe,” she said, “you look like you’re about to pass out.”

And suddenly, his head felt particularly heavy. “I must be more drunk than I thought,” he said.

“Why don’t you just go ahead and sleep here tonight? It’s the least I can do for you, after you helped me back here. You can go sleep on the bed, I’ll sleep out here on the beanbags.” She got up and led him to the room with the bed.

The last thing he remembered, as his head hit the pillow, was seeing Elena’s smile disappear from her face as she took a lock of short black hair from her pocket. She put in on a dresser and walked out of the room before he could protest, and then he blacked out.

He woke up the next morning to an empty apartment. The shades were still down. The lock of hair was gone from the dresser, but there were some pictures of people who must have been Elena’s family. In one of them, a younger Elena, was smiling, her eyes clean and clear, hugging a boy who looked strikingly like her, only a few years younger.

_____________

The third time he saw her was a few weeks later. He had decided to go to the bar, something he had not done since he’d last seen her. He wandered into a small pub on a random street, and started ordering drinks.

After the fourth gin and tonic, the familiar feeling started to creep into his head. The alcohol was only making thoughts of Elena more focused in his mind. He got up from the bar, and walked out into the street. It was quiet outside. He heard perfectly a sweet, high voice laughing at something. He knew that laugh: Elena. He hurried in the direction of her voice, turning a corner, and almost running into her.

Seeing her face again was like seeing the sun come up on a warm summer morning. She was wearing the same pair of ripped jeans he had seen her in before, but the leather jacket was gone. She had on a soft pink tank top and, as always, her silver cross. Her green eyes were painted black, as usual, and her lips were the same bright red as they had been the first time he had seen her, cigarette in mouth.

“Elena!” he blurted out, and then realized that she was with people. They were older, obviously a married couple. The woman had the same black hair that Elena had, and the man had her eyes.

“Oh! Hey, Joe,” said Elena, smile disappearing from her face.

“I’m so sorry, am I intruding?” he said, confused.

“No, no, you’re fine, Joe,” said Elena, stepping in between him and the couple, “they were just leaving.”

Head too unclear to object, Joe stood there baffled as the couple waved goodbye and disappeared around the corner. Elena turned back around, grabbed him by the hand, and dragged him down the street. Once they’d been walking for about five minutes, she stopped, let go, and turned to face him.

“Where did you come from?” she asked. She seemed unsettled for some reason. She was clutching at the cross around her neck with one hand.

“I… what? Where have you been? Were those your parents?” asked Joe, fighting the dizziness of his mind, trying to get his thoughts straight.

“I’m an orphan.” She said bitterly, and turned to walk away. Because he could do nothing else, he followed her. She led him back to the street her apartment was on. As she went inside he followed her upstairs to her bedroom.

He looked over to the photographs on the dresser, and recognized the people in them as the people he had just met. “Who are they, if they aren’t your parents?” he asked her, pointing to the pictures.

She was sitting on her bed clutching the cross and, he noticed, the lock of hair. He felt that tugging sensation again as he looked at her. He went over to the bed and sat down next to her, putting an arm around her. Her lightness shocked him again: she felt paper thin, as if she was barely even there.

“You can tell me, you can trust me,” he whispered to her.

“The sun is coming up,” she whispered back, shuddering. “I won’t see you again. Please go open the shades. And then just stay here with me until I go. Please.”

None of what she was saying made any sense. Nonetheless, he got up and opened the shades, and then went back to her. She leaned into him, with one hand still wrapped around the cross. She lay the other across his cheek, and let him rest his forehead against hers. Their noses touched, their lips almost touching. But he didn’t give in to the lingering desire. She was important, and something important was happening.

As the sun started to creep up, he felt her body stiffen, as if bracing herself. She winced as the light poured in, and then drew in a deep, relieved breath. Where the sunlight touched Elena, she seemed to disappear. He didn’t understand what was happening. He tried to shield her from the sun, but she pushed him away. Getting up and going over to the window, she turned back to look at him for the last time, her face radiant, the black makeup disappearing from her eyes. Suddenly, she was the girl from the photo on the dresser, young and innocent. She pointed to the dresser, smiling, and then was gone.

Slowly, he walked over and noticed a piece of paper lying on the dresser.

_____________

Dear Joe,

My name is Elena Sparks. My family and I were murdered when I was 19. After killing my parents, the killer tried to take my little brother. My arms were cut as I tried to shield him. I died soon after, in a hospital bed. I was not able to save him either. His is the hair I carry around with me in my pocket.

When I died, I saw a warm light around me, and I saw my parents and brother in the distance, smiling and waving at me. But behind me, I could feel the pain and suffering of so many like myself and my family, and I turned away. That was about 10 years ago. I was told that my actions on Earth proved me a pure soul, and I had a chance to become a guardian to those still on Earth who might otherwise meet horrible deaths like my family.

During my time on Earth, I was only seen and heard by those whom I was to protect, until I met you. Until that moment, when you reached your hand out to me, I hadn’t been able to touch a single alive human being, only the souls of those whose lives I couldn’t save. After that night, things started to change. I could feel the warm breeze at night, and I could feel myself disappearing a little more every time the sun rose. The second night when you found me, I had just saved one of my charges, quite in a similar manner to how I tried to save my brother. Then, last night, my parents came to me. They said I could leave, I could come be with them again. I was overwhelmed, because I was so excited, but then there was you. Until I met you, I was still a child, lost in anger and hurt, trying to make up for not saving my brother, angry at being separated from my family.

I know you might not believe in me, in this. But I believe in you. I was a guardian angel to so many. You were mine. I think I was sent to you as much as you were sent to me. But now, it’s finally time for me to rejoin my family. Thank you for helping me move on. Don’t let the world shut your light down. You have so much to offer.

Love,

Elena.

_____________

Joe let the paper slide slowly from his hands, down to the floor. He turned and looked towards where Elena had just disappeared. Could he believe it? Life had been a strange, muddled dream of drinks and hangovers and anxiety for so long until that first night. If he didn’t believe in Elena, what could he believe in? Himself, certainly, and himself was telling him it was real.

Slowly, Joe picked up the paper, folded it and put it in his pocket. Then, he walked out of the small apartment, now flooded with light, and closed the door behind him, smiling vaguely.