Up to Scratch

Before you enter the drama department at Daniel Webster Middle, just above the door, there is a beautifully engraved wooden sign from England.  Ms. Hargreaves’ (drama teacher) prize possession reads:

“All the World’s a stage, and All the men and women merely players.” 

I opted out of the drama elective this year, but that quote from Willy Shakes, I read every Tuesday and Thursday morning for two years.  When I asked Ms. Hargreaves about the meaning, she smiled, and then forced us wee-fifth graders to memorize the entire speech and perform it.  Listen, I got no beef with the Bard, he is the first and greatest playwright ever. However, the English language has progressed in the last 500 years (regressed according to Mrs. Depuy).  If I were to start speaking in old English around school, first, no one would understand me, second, I would be sent to the loony bin, and third, the theater geeks would love me (Yikes).

You might be asking, “Josh, why are you rambling about Shakespeare? Aren’t you in like a battle like for your soul and stuff?

Exactly. That overused quote bothered me for years and I didn’t know why.  Until today. 

If the world is a stage and men and women are players, that means several things.  It means someone is watching.  It means there is an audience.  It means there is a cast, director, and a script.  It means we all have a part to play in this cosmic drama before we exit.  It means someone is selling inflated tickets and pushing overpriced popcorn, candy, and soda.  

An actual angel, who was eating ice cream with me, just told me she has been watching me my entire life. Would you be freaking out too?

“Oh no, you dropped your ice cream.” Lyra Seren said, “Let me get that for you.” 

The angel dusted off her black pant suit and adjusted her dark sunglasses. She wiggled her nose and the squashed scoop re-formed and jumped back to my cone.  No hair, no gravel, and no grass bits.  This was better than the five-second rule. 

“Thank you.” I said hoarsely.  “So, you are my guardian…”

“Angel, yes.” Lyra grinned and continued to eat her chocolate ice cream. “Is this really hard for you to believe? You have already faced two nasty demons this morning.  You’ve handled yourself pretty well under the circumstances.  Remember, where there are demons; there are angels.”

“Thanks I think.  Wait, aren’t angels supposed to wear white and make brilliant announcements?  Why The Men in Black vibe?”

“You think that movie was about aliens.  It was about angels secretly protecting the world from demons.” Lyra said, Watch it again, it will blow your mind.” 

“Ok.  So no lightning or thunder or white light?” I asked. 

Lyra munched on her cone. “Most angels attempt to keep a low profile.  I could if you really need it, but I think you believe me.” She pointed to my cone. “It’s starting to drip over your fingers.” 

I had not noticed. “Thanks.”  I licked up the butter pecan.

“So Josh, what kinda warrior are you?” The angel asked.

“I really like the Knicks.  I’m not a Warriors fan.”

“No, not basketball,” She gently corrected me, “spiritual warrior.”

An NBA player in the Globe Theater’s spotlight, reciting Hamlet to a packed house, would be less confused than me. 

Lyra continued, “You don’t seem the Paul type, who had to be knocked off a donkey. You are not like Mary, who believed right away.  Not a Moses, no burning bush.  Definitely not Samson. You don’t sing, so no David.  I got it.” She smirked, “You are a Gideon.”

“Who is Gideon?” I felt like I was in Sunday School.

“Short or long version?” Lyra asked. 

“Short?”

A guitar appeared in her arms. She strummed and sang.

“He was a reluctant warrior chosen by God to free his people from a horrible aggressor.  He had serious trust issues, but in the end, he and 300 soldiers defeated an entire army oppressor.”

“Nice.”

“You think so. Thanks.” She blushed. “I just finished it this morning. The chorus is even better. Wanna hear it?

“No not…”  She sang it anyway. 

“Gideon and the sword of the Lord!  Gideon and the sword of the Lord!  Gideon and the sword of…”

“Thanks Lyra. That was great, but why are you here now?”

The angel apologized and the guitar vanished, “Sorry, I can get a little carried away.” She cleared her throat. “Joshua Carpenter, mighty warrior, you have been chosen to free Daniel Webster Middle from a diabolical plan.”

“Me, a mighty warrior?” 

“Yes, Josh you. School after school has fallen to Lou Cipher and Demona Lisa in Connecticut.  You were the only one to stand up to his sickly-sweet ad for Scratch Cupcakes.  You were the only one to resist his temptations.  You were the only one to battle wits with a devil and willingly sacrifice his life to save his school.  You are worthy to finish the battle.”

“But I am just a kid.” 

“Your age has nothing to do with your prowess. I am here because you are up to scratch. Due to your fortitude against evil, three gifts have been granted for your mission.”

“Gifts?  My mission?  Lyra wait. This is a bit too much.  What if I don’t want this, this mission?”

“You made your choice when you choose good over evil.  Fear not, I am here to assist you to victory.  Do you want more proof that this is real?”

What would you say to your guardian angel? I jumped up to my feet.

“Sure, do something to calm my fears that I’m the chosen one,” I could not breathe, “and I must win the day to save the school, my mom, and my soul!”  My heart raced.  My vision blurred as the trees became green globs. The park started to spin and I dropped to my knees.  I was drowning on land.

“Josh, listen to me.” Lyra commanded, “You are having a panic attack.  Reach out and touch my hand. Now!”

I reached out my right hand and a white light engulfed me. 

Lyra Seren stood before me in her celestial form. Her white robes flowed around immense golden wings. A symphony of delightful harmonized voices echoed from her lips in incomprehensible lyrics not worthy of this world.  Her black suit transformed into a silver gladiator’s breastplate, arm gauntlets, and a Roman short sword (I love ancient history). Pure radiance poured from her glowing eyes.  The touch of her angelic hand soothed and strengthened me. The sweet aroma of freshly baked brownies encircled us. 

The next instant we were back on the park bench devouring the ice cream. The angel returned to her disguise.

“How do you feel Josh? Better?” Lyra asked.

 I could storm the gates of hell. “Yes, better, thanks.” 

We finished our delicious treats in awkward silence. 

“Is that what you really look like?” I asked. 

“Only when His Glory shines on me.  Listen, Josh, I wish I had more time to explain it all.  Angels are either messengers, warriors, or singers.  I am all three and I am here to help you on this quest.”

“You are a triple threat!” I exclaimed.

“I guess. The first gift is this sword.”

Lyra opened her palm to reveal an Oreo.

“Lyra? That is a cookie.” 

“It is the sword of the Lord. God’s word.”

“You mean the Bible. Thanks, but I have a Bible app on my phone.” I removed my phone from my pocket. “See. I haven’t used it much, but I just type in whatever, oh, I know Gideon.  Boom, all the references to the dude.” I showed the angel. 

“Impressive.” Lyra rolled her eyes. “Just eat the cookie, I promise you it will be an upgrade to this app. Trust me.”

I put the Oreo in my teeth, but did not bite.  “Ok.” I popped it in and chewed.  “I don’t know, this app is pretty….”

Sweetness beyond belief filtered into not only my taste-buds, but throughout my entire body and soul.  It was like your first taste of sugar, no chocolate, no ice cream, but all at the same time.  Yet it was completely satisfying.  I had no hunger, just happiness. When I swallowed the cookie, I felt it tumble into my stomach.  For an instant, I had abdominal pains and a bitterness filled my dry mouth, then it was gone. 

“The truth is often sweet, however it can also be painful and bitter.” Lyra rubbed my back. “Now, I want you to think about flowers, any flower.” 

“Ok.”  Immediately, words came from my mouth and I could not stop them.

“The grass withers and the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.”  I moved my hands to cover my pie hole, instead they cupped around my mouth and I shouted. “Consider the lilies, how they grow, Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”  I scared a few birds. I put my hands down. I stared at my soul keeper.

“It is a powerful weapon and a shield.  With practice, you will be able to wield it properly and promptly.”  She handed me my backpack. “Take out your water and pour it out.”

I dislodged my generic recycled plastic bottle, removed the tiny white cap, and poured it out on the grass. A little puddle formed.  I walked over to the nearest recycling bin. 

Lyra said, “Please, place the cap back on. You don’t want it to spill.”

“Spill what? It’s empty.”  I shook my left hand and refreshing cold water splashed on my face.  I tasted the dribbles. “This is better than the cookie.” 

“Cap, please.” The angel smirked, “This is the Living Water of Gilead; your second gift.  With a single sip, it will heal new or old wounds and strengthen when weary.  It will never run dry.  If you give this bottle away to those in need, you find a new one in your bag.”

I replaced the cap and returned it to my bag. “Thanks.”

 Lyra said, “Listen carefully.  The last gift is this prophecy: 

Three souls in danger;

Two friends and a stranger.

Only two shall survive the dark hour; 

The last one sent to hellfire.  

Wisdom and heart will be the guide;

When all else fails, you must decide.”

It’s not Shakespeare, but creepy enough. The angel lifted her hand to stop any questions which she could not answer.  I repeated it back to her. 

“Josh, I must return you to your classroom.  You are not alone.  Use your gifts wisely.  Godspeed, mighty warrior.” 

“Before I go,”  I asked, “Lyra, could you do me a favor?”

“You want me to pass some weird test?” Lyra laughed.

“Since I know who Gideon is now,” I tapped my forehead, “could you do something for my math class and the teacher?”

She motioned me over and I whispered in her ear.

“No problem,” the angel said, “my pleasure. See ya.” 

Poof!

Lyra Seren and the park vanished from sight and I returned to R.M.7, holding a frozen box in my arms. 

“Joshua, what do you have there?” Mrs. Bogel asked.

“I brought ice cream for the whole class, including you.” I said and opened the box.

“Thank you, Josh.  Class, isn’t this wonderful.”  She announced and the students cheered.  She whispered to me. “I can’t; I have a dairy allergy.”

“Yes, you can.  It’s dairy-free and it's your favorite, rum raisin.” I handed her the treat. 

“Really?” Mrs. Bogel acted like a kid. “You remembered from our lesson on exponents.”

What’s an exponent? 

“Enjoy.” 

Each cone had a name and a flavor attached.  From Rocky Road to pistachio gelato and orange sherbert to everything in between, each student had their favorite.  I distributed them to my overjoyed classmates. 

“We were going to,” Mrs. Bogel licked her ice cream, “finish our lesson on the laws of exponents, before the assembly, but this is more productive.  Josh, where is your cone?”

“I already had some.”  Thanks Lyra.  I found a folded piece of paper in the box. I opened it. 

‘Joshua and the sword of the Lord. LS.’

The PA system blared and made the entire class jump.  Mrs. Fenton's annoying voice made us all cringe.

“Joshua Carpenter, please report to the auditorium immediately.  Joshua Carpenter, report to the auditorium.  Joshua Carpenter, please report to the auditorium.  Thank you.” 

Mrs. Bogel said, “You better get going.  Only five minutes to the assembly.  Thanks for the treat.”

The students cheered and thanked me as I grabbed my bag and opened the door.

10:55.

When I stepped into the trash-filled hallway, I felt different.  It was like the first time I visited the school in the fifth grade.  It was so exciting, fresh, and filled with unlimited possibilities.  The lights were brighter, the lockers shinier, and the floor less gummier (Man, I just stepped on a fresh wad).   

As I stopped to remove the orange Hubba Bubba from my favorite sneaks, a strong arm grabbed me and shoved me into a dark empty classroom. I stumbled over to the shade covered windows. The door closed wicked slow and then ominously locked.  My assailant hid in the shadows near the front, beside the chalkboards. 

Chalkboards? Who still uses chalkboards? Whose room is this? 

A hideous screech echoed throughout the class, as scarlet manicured nails etched across the slate.  I covered my ears, but my eyes beheld a woman in a short white dress strolling across the front in dangerous ivory high heels.  She sat on top of the teacher’s desk and crossed her long muscular legs.  My hands dropped limp.  Long obsidian hair tumbled over her left shoulder.  Her black eyes burned into my soul.  Her intoxicating perfume slithered through the air and invaded my cerebral cortex. 

“Hello Joshy.” Her low sultry voice purred from perfect lips, “We haven’t been properly introduced.”  She conjured a come hither smile.  “I’m Demona.”

 ‘Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble.’ 

Oh crap.