My Angel

I search for an element of you in every person I have met, and every person I have yet to meet. If souls could connect, we collided. Your silhouette stains every shadow that reaps beneath my feet. Your scent bewitches my senses and sends me into a certain time. A time before our time ended. A time when all that surrounded us was faultless and sweet. Now, those memories leave a bitter taste on my tongue. That is all that we share anymore: memories. I cannot rid myself of the ever forsaken ache that lurks in my bones and goes rotten every time I think of you. Nothing inside my body can seem to break the ice casing that lines my heart and numbs my mind. If only it would crack slightly, to bestow me with the chance to do more than just think of you. To act and do more than behold your life from the outside, for I am no longer in it.

Two years. It has been two years since she left me. I tried to go on normally at first; attempting to continue my life with some semblance of normalcy. I still went to work at the town hospital as a doctor. My mom always told me that our small town needed a good doctor; one that cared about his patients. So, I went through the rigorous school programs to come back to the town I grew up in and work at the Southport Hospital. By the age of twenty-eight, I was running the place as hospital CEO. After my mom passed at twenty-one, I knew I had to make good on my promise of following the doctoring career path, and I did. Living in an isolated town, with a comparatively small salary, and a tiny home that my mom left me on the coast; was all for her. My father left before I was born, and the pain that followed my mother from it is one that stained her like an unwanted tattoo. As soon as I could understand, I did everything to make her feel happy, even putting aside my own feelings and needs. It was after she passed that I realized, yes, I was successful in making her happy, but it never lasted. She was never content, which to me was the goal in life. Contentedness is being happy over a period of time; and I have deemed this near impossible. I live alone on the outskirts of a bustling city in North Carolina, where not much happens besides Marty, the town crook, having a psychotic episode every two months; he blames them on the rain. Everyone knew each other here. It was a comfortable life. A calm life. 

That was all, of course, before her. She sauntered into the hospital on a brisk October morning with a brown clipboard and a smile. I won’t lie and make things up, I won’t even embellish: it was not love at first sight, and when she touched me, I didn’t feel a spark. For the latter, I believe I would have to not be wearing my thick lab coat; and regarding the former, I would have to not have baby powder in my eyes. 

“Goodmorning.” I felt a tap on my shoulder from behind me. The female voice was foreign.  

“I will be with you in a moment.” I answered, hunched over and frantically rubbing the remnants of baby powder out of my hair and eyes. Melissa, the receptionist, brought her five year old son to work every day. He liked to play around with me, and when I could I played with him as well. I love kids, and Luke, Melissa’s son, was a patient of mine not even a year prior. He fell sick with Pneumonia, and combining that with his asthma did not bode well. He made a slow recovery, and was still weak and underdeveloped, but that kid was a fighter. So when he sped past me this morning with a bottle of baby powder and sprayed it right in my face, all I could do was laugh. 

I heard her heels first, directly following the dimming sound of Luke’s laughter while he ran down the hall. I caught her perfume next: it was like an elegant dance of soft amber and warm lavender playing around with my senses. Afterwards, I heard her voice a greeting. Lastly, I felt a soft touch on my left shoulder. She tapped quickly three times like a child might. 

After getting all the loose powder off of my face, I swiftly turned and smiled, “Sorry for the wait.” 

Her cheery countenance faltered, and replacing it was a look of confusion. She peered down at my white hands, then moved her gaze up to my powdered hair and face. I probably looked like a ghost. She must have caught the familiar scent, because next came a look of understanding, “I see you like to get really hands on at this hospital, Doctor...” she read my name tag, “Dayholt.”

“Yes I do, and please call me Andrew.” I laughed and then motioned for the woman to follow me out of the loud lobby, “Let’s sit down in my office.” 

She fell right in step with me, paralleling me exactly on the opposite side of the hall. Her shoulders were comfortably back, like that was natural, and her chin was tilted upward. I would guess her to be in her mid-to-upper twenties. She had smooth, almond colored skin that shockingly glowed under the unappealing hospital light. Her dark, tightly coiled hair fell down and met her shoulders with a hug.

When I arrived at my office, I opened the door before her and grinned, “Let me just wash my face and hands. I will come back shortly.” I left the door open and hurried to the restroom down the hall. 

When I returned, completely clean, I walked around to my chair on the other side of her. Before sitting, I thought I should introduce myself properly, “Hello, I am Andrew Dayholt, CEO of Southport Hospital. It’s nice to meet you.” I held out my hand to shake hers. She stood from the chair she was seated on and smiled, grasping my palm and shaking. 

“I am Angelina Adair. Interior designer. It’s my pleasure.” She replied, her smile radiant. Upon closer inspection, I realized she had a spatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were the color of whiskey, and her lips the natural shade of a plum. I calmly sat, as it all came back to me. Melissa complained to me a month earlier about how drab our hospital was, and with my permission, she sought out a designer. I didn’t know when they would come, so this was a bit of a shock to me. “I received an email from your receptionist for this job. I was actually supposed to be here yesterday, but the weather in Scotland held me there.” Scotland. She’s Scottish. That’s what the accent was. I don’t think I have ever met anyone from Scotland.

“Scotland? That’s a long way from North Carolina, what brings you here?” 

“I’ve taken jobs around here before. I also have some people I visit and stay with that live about an half an hour from the hospital. It’s a bit of a long story.” Her hand waved through the air, a dismissive gesture, “At any rate, I would love to rework this hospital. It’s lovely, and I think I could help to make it even better.” 

“You don’t have to convince me. A change would be nice. You can start next week, as I’m sure you’re tired from the plane. Enjoy the weekend and we can begin planning later.” 

“You’re very kind. I was going to find somewhere to eat then drive down to the coast.” She batted her eyelashes, so effortlessly beautiful. I thought she looked like a living painting; a work of art. 

“The coast? I live down there.” I raised my eyebrows and rubbed my hands together under the table. I can’t remember the last time I was nervous around a girl. 

“Oh wow! I guess we’ll be neighbors. I suppose you know a good place to eat then?” She smiled suggestively. 

“I could, possibly, escort you to the best diner in our town. It’s also the only diner in our town so I guess it doesn’t have a whole lot of competition, but that’s besides the point.” Angelina laughed as I kept going, “They serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sal’s Diner is what it’s called. Original name, too. I bet there is nothing like it in Scotland, you’ll see.”

“I’m sure of it.” She replied. 

That night I took her out to eat, and she never ended up going to sleep at her pre-arranged house. As the diner was open twenty-four hours, I lost track of time as she told me about her life. I was captivated by her; the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, and the way she talked so passionately. She was quick-witted and smart. I had never met anyone like her. She was like an angel on Earth. She had two brothers and a sister, Angelina being the youngest of the bunch. She filled me in on the people she was staying with. “Friends of the family.” She told me, her eyes alive with affection for these people. They were an old couple named Audrey and Francis. I recalled having short conversations with the reserved people over the years. I had no idea how Angelina or her family would know them, and she didn’t offer any explanation. 

We talked all night and eventually I drove down to the beach so we could look at the stars and eventually the sunrise. The scene was delicate. Hidden crickets were chirping all around us. The only other sounds were our breathing, and the soft shuffle of our feet moving the sand from underneath us. There were a few lights out, but the only other light emanated from fireflies that were all around us, and the stars. I thought at one point the glowing bugs looked like a halo around Angelina’s head. I thought she was so beautiful. My eyes moved over her face, trying to distinguish her features in the night. The moment was as fragile as clouds. I thought this must have been some kind of dream. 

And that was how we met. I would look back months later on this day and the moments leading up to it and think about how it birthed a series of pain, obsession, and love; but then again those things go hand in hand. 

Her work in the hospital took around a month, in which I worked closely with her while juggling my own job responsibilities. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t need to approve every little, insignificant detail of her renovations, but I wanted to. Any time I could pull her away into my office to kiss her, I would jump at the opportunity. She would always be the first to stop, claiming it was “not professional,” with a sly grin and a wink. Then, as a sort of parting gesture, she would straighten my tie, kiss my left cheek, and then my right, and lastly my lips before turning on her heel and walking out. She did it every time, and I adored it. I felt special, having my own thing with her. She made me feel like a teenager again, but over all of it: I felt awake with her. It was as if before I met her, I was just going through the motions. Even my career wasn’t my idea, but with her I started doing things I wanted to do. 

The week before she left, she was at my house as I confessed, “I love you.” I had been thinking this for a while and I had to tell her before she left. “Stay here. With me, please. I’ve never met anyone like you and I never will again.” I held her hands as we laid on my couch. She sat up immediately, her curls framing her face gorgeously. 

Her hand slid up to my face and she cupped my cheek, “Oh Andrew, don’t tell me that. Don’t tell me that because I can’t say it back, I have to leave!” Tears pooled in her eyes. I felt terrible, “I have a life to get back to in Scotland. I have things I need to do. I’m not ready for this. I was going to break up with you tonight. I- I may come back and visit, but we can’t be together anymore. It will all be too painful.” Tears slipped out of her eyes. Her voice held a certain pain that was caused by me; I never wanted to be the creator of that. 

She left me that night, and I haven’t felt whole since. I finally understood the term “heartbreak” because if you found the couch that I sold the day after she left, you would see the shattered pieces of my heart sprawled among the cushions. I let myself wonder about her. I let myself believe that she was doing worse than me, but it never made me feel any better. I was foolish to ever think we could last. Angelina Adair became a painful landmark to me, and I began marking events in my life as before and after her. I cried for the first year after her, for the second year I became numb. I would never get used to this feeling; or rather, the absence of it. The worst part was, even after her, everything looked the same. Utterly the same. The town was still small, the beach was still right outside the window on my porch, the sun still rose in the sky, and the moon replaced it every night; almost mocking me. As if the world was content, and laughing at my condition. Laughing with every sunny day, with every flower that bloomed, and with every shell that the ocean washed up on the shore for a lucky person to find and cherish. 

Two years. It had been two years since she left me, and it had been two years when I finally looked at her again. I saw her before she saw me. Her hair was shorter, like it was freshly cut, but everything else was the same. And through all the pain she had caused me, I still looked at her as if she painted the sky and placed the stars in the night one by one. An unwavering, unchallenged mindset. I had been walking home from work as she was heading towards Audrey and Francis’s house. 

“Angelina? What are you doing here?” I gaped at her. I felt that if I looked away, she would disappear. 

She bit her lip nervously, “Francis and Audrey died last week. A lot of their possessions were given to me in their will, including the house.” She smiled fondly at the little home, “I wanted to talk to you while I was here, but I’m afraid I can’t right now. It’s late, but tomorrow morning I’ll stop by your office.” She didn’t let me get another word out, and I don’t think I could’ve said anything anyway. She walked down the street and went into her house. I got no sleep that night, not one blink.

The next day I was met with chaos. A large man with a scared expression pushed through the front door of the hospital with his back, and when he turned I saw her. She was in his arms, with a large gash on her forehead and bruises forming on her skin in different places. In a matter of seconds, my world came crashing down on me, and the ice casing around my heart broke.

A fallen angel.

“Angelina!” I ran up to the man, she was barely conscious, her eyes hooded and tired, “What happened!”

“I ran into her car just outside the- the hospital. We were both turning, she was just going so fast. I’m so sorry!” He talked directly to her. 

Angelina spoke next, as she was being lifted onto a stretcher, “I came to tell you that I wanted to try again.” She spoke just above a whisper, and if it pained her to talk, “I should have stayed. I’m sorry. I should've told you I loved you back. I do. I do by the way, love you. I never stopped.” And through all of it, she smiled. 

I truly don’t know when I started crying, “Okay.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “We’ll try again. I love you, too. Just stay awake for me. You’ll get through this. We will get through this, and anything else.” 

Angelina made a fast recovery, she needed stitches in her forehead and had suffered a minor concussion. She actually got off lucky considering the damage to her car. I asked her to move in with me, and she said yes. I wanted to cherish every moment with her and never let her go again. Angelina wanted to travel with me, and after the accident, I had an urge to see the world with her. She promised that we always come back home, to the place we met. When she came back to me, I realized that I felt awake again. I was content. This time, we were both ready to start a life together. She wasn’t aware, but she saved me from myself, she brought me out of my own darkness and kissed the pain away. She saved me; she was my angel.