What I Believe

Life isn’t a straight line, some road you have to travel with potholes and rain. Life is more like a string, so in that aspect the Fates were right. It starts out fine. Sometimes it changes colors. Sometimes, it gets snipped too early. Sometimes, it starts to fray in the middle, and sometimes you can pull it back together, but sometimes it just keeps getting worse no matter what you do.

The last one’s mine.

Ever since I was fourteen, my life has been spiraling downwards. I really didn’t mean to yell at my older sister that night. She drove off to ‘cool down’ and never came back. They never found a crash, the car, or a body. She just disappeared.

When I was sixteen, my parents went on a cruise because the lottery ticket I had gotten them for their birthday won. The boat sank. That is, they have to assume it sank because it stopped responding after only an hour (chalked up to bad weather) and they never found any debris or even have a guess as to where it could have gone.

When I was seventeen, my younger brother got locked in our apartment (I had locked him in his room because he wasn’t cooperating) and the apartment complex burned down. Of course, they never found his body or even any ashy remains of a person in his room, despite the seared skeletons and carcasses decorating the other rooms of the burnt complex.

When I was eighteen, three of the companies I took jobs with went bankrupt within a week and my best friend suddenly went missing without warning.

The list goes on. And on. And on.

Truth is, I’ve been pretty lonely ever since I was fourteen. Slowly, I lost everything. I wish I could even feel the sting of all that tragedy, but it’s been so long that I’ve stopped really feeling. Which is a terrible shame, people tell me, but it’s not like I care about their opinions either. I’ve tried to be good. I’ve made deals, read books, made my own business, forced myself to be nice, I’ve tried everything.

But my small business barely keeps me afloat, I have to move apartments every few months due to some new complication, and I’ve lost any sense of direction. Fortunately for my math teachers growing up, I still remember the Law of Cosines, which would be nice if I was using geometry or calculus to help me. Why is it that I only remember the useless things?

I turn the stove on -- carefully -- and set a small pot of water to boil. I have to watch it or else it’ll cause another calamity. People were right when they came up with that whole ‘a watched pot never boils’ shtick. Watching a pot of water boil is the most boring thing I could do with my evening, but I’d rather eat pasta than another Hot Pocket. I’m pretty sure those things aren’t even food.

When the water is finally boiling, I pour half of a box of penne noodles into the pot with a couple pinches of salt. The noodles look funny, sitting at the bottom of the pot, and I am reminded of the disaster on my twenty-fifth birthday. It involved a horse, three bushels of stale hay, and a lake.

Huh. As I look back over my memories of the past, I realize something. I must be the unluckiest person in the world. That is if unluckiest means ‘lots of misfortune that doesn’t happen to me directly.’ Everything good was slowly taken from my life due to my own errors, whether on purpose or accidentally. My teens took my family. My early twenties took my prosperity. My late twenties took my hope for the future.

I heat up a small bowl of red pasta sauce in the microwave, setting it aside for when the pasta is done cooking. I didn’t use to be this sad, this empty, this dismal. I remember my childhood well -- idyllic days spent feasting on my mother’s cooking, playing with my older sister and eventually my younger brother, reading books with my father, watching movies with my best friend, writing in my journal, and even hanging out with an imaginary friend.

Carefully, I pour the pasta into the colander in the sink, steam rushing up and making my face damp with warm droplets. Those were the days. Now, I’m just a detached shell of a person desperately in need of some company and a spot of money here or there.

The pasta cools and I shake it into a paper bowl, pouring the pasta sauce on top before digging in. It’s not bad, but it’s not fantastic. I’m just glad it isn’t on fire. Speaking of fire--

I hurry to the stove, turning it off. That was close.

I finish my dinner and clean up the dishes dully. Everything has fallen into a state of monotony, of disenchantment. Everything seems grayer and sadder than the day previous. Before I know it, I’ll be seeing in grayscale.

I go to my small bathroom, intending to just wash my hands and maybe check my hair, but as soon as I close the door I realize that something is off. There’s too much light in the room; it’s too bright. I step to the mirror suspiciously, as that’s where the warm light seems to be coming from.

“Hi there!” A cheerful voice sounds, resounding in my bones but somehow still light and sweet. I am unable to move or speak, so shell-shocked I think I black out for a moment. But when I blink the spots away, it’s still there. A figure, right where my reflection should be, glowing like the sun under a lampshade.

The figure glows a hundred different colors, colors I can’t even name, but the main light shines from its pupil-less eyes, a warm white-yellow. Its head is tilted to one side and its wide gaze lends it a childlike appearance. It somewhat mirrors my motions, but not completely, which makes it very, very jarring. A disc of the same yellow-white light hovers above it and I’m pretty sure it’s got huge white wings resting on its back. It’s almost too much for me to look at, like something cursed, or at the very least not made for human eyes.

“Whoa…” is the first -- and only -- thing out of my mouth. It grins back, and as I lift a helpless hand to wave, it waves back enthusiastically. I am revolted to discover that another glowing eye blinks back at me from its palm.

“I’m H̶̰͌̅̿̊͑̽͋͐̔͝a̷͉͇͍͑́͋̃̄́̀̕͘r̸̻͍̼̬̃͜͠á̵̡̱̗̩̲̪̞́̔ͅḧ̷͍́̆́̂̈́͒͝͝ẽ̸̛̺̀͒̔̏̏͘l̷̢̨̧̡̬̣̞̭͙̑̎̐͑̆̈́̕͜͝͝! I’m your guardian angel!” It extends a hand to shake mine, and I pretend I know what the heck it said its name was. Apparently my mortal brain can’t comprehend that. I take its hand (trying to ignore the eyeball IN ITS HAND), and only after I pull away am I able to register that it reached through the mirror to do so. I’m pretty sure I’m either dying or that pasta sauce had something really, really weird in it.

“Is there something I can call you for short?” I ask, simultaneously wondering what the heck I am thinking. It’s an otherwordly thing, and here I am asking for its nickname.

“Harry!” It’s excessively cheerful, and starting to grate on my nerves.

“So, Harry, you’re my guardian angel?”

Harry nods and beams. “I just noticed you were looking down in the dumps, so I figured I’d pay you a little visit!”

“Well, great job with that,” I find myself snapping, “because it’s your fault.” I realize that I am growing absolutely furious. This ‘guardian angel’ did a terrible job, and I can’t feel anything because of it. I’m empty, lonely, and poor, and this thing could have helped me! It’s Harry’s JOB! So why didn’t it?

“What?” Harry looked confused and maybe a little hurt, glowing eyes shining pathetically.

“This -- all of this -- is your fault! My life is in shambles and has been since I was a teen! I can’t get a proper job, the only source of income I have is barely enough for me to live, and you just expect me to thank you and give you a little smile when you pop by to ‘cheer me up?!?’” Indignation brings a hot flush to my face and ears, and my hands are balled into fists so tight I can feel my nails starting to break the skin of my palm.

“I protected you.” Harry looks bemused and definitively wounded. “I made sure everything went right. I made sure your sister made it to Salvation before she got too angry and crashed. I made sure your parents got to Salvation when their boat got caught in the storm, too. I saved your brother from the fire, and your best friend from her abusive boyfriend, and I got you out of bad jobs before they could exploit you. I also pegged you a job that’ll take off with a little patience. I thought I was doing good!”

I pause for a moment. If what it’s saying is true...

“So where is Salvation? And how did you know those companies exploit people, and how do you know that my company will take off? Also, do you know how humans work? Is this your first time being a guardian angel? Do you come from God?”

“Salvation is the heaven you believe in. It correlates with your last question: everyone’s guardian angel is different depending on what you believe.” Harry’s expression is full of determination and concentration; it even bites its lip as it thinks like I do. “I know those things because I have access to infinite knowledge -- I have to, as a guardian angel. That, unfortunately, doesn’t translate to infinite wisdom…” Harry paused, a sheepish smile cracking its innocent face. “I’m a first-time angel, like you said. I’m still getting to know how humans work.”

“Can you bring all those people back from Salvation since you put them there?” I squint at the strange creature.

“No. It’s irrevocable. But when you die, I’ll be the one to take you there with them,” Harry shrugged, enormous wings fluttering slightly and loosing a few feathers into the air.

“You killed everyone I love for nothing?”

“Weren’t you listening? I saved them from the fates they were headed towards.”

I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. “I mourned for them! They died! And I’m not getting them back! I’m lonely! Not that you know what that feels like…”

Harry looks… like me. And by that, I mean its face resembles something very familiar. 

Fear.

They are afraid, although of what, I do not know.

“I remember being alone,” Harry whispers. “I remember spending an eternity by myself, trying to find someone to guard. I did not mean to hurt you so. But you will get them back! In Salvation! Do not worry!”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“You will never be alone again, I promise.”

I stare at Harry uncomprehendingly.

“I’m always gonna be here when you need me. Always. From now on. I’ll protect you better this time.”

“Really?”

In the mirror, Harry nods gently, having dropped the sickly cheerfulness. Whatever has been clenching my chest loosens just the tiniest bit, just enough for tears to well in my eyes. It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this. It’s been so long since I felt hope again.

I blink and the bathroom seems dark now. My eyes land on my own reflection, eyes rimmed with red and on the brink of tears. I glance down at my hands, gripping the sides of the sink, and the tears begin to fall, streaking down my cheeks like salty rain. My legs waver and I have a horrifying thought: if it was all a hallucination, I’m alone.

I sink to the ground, my hands finding the tile. One hand touches something soft and I look down to see a pure, white feather, so white it practically glows. Relief floods my body. It was real. I have a guardian angel, and while it may not be the brightest lightbulb in the ceiling, it’s like me. 

It’s afraid of being lonely.

How fitting that it appeared as my reflection.