The Voice of an Angel

Sara listened to her last, pure note as it sailed past the stained glass windows and reverberated through the church. She sighed happily. 

“That was wonderful!” Emily Clapman, who was 85 and deaf in one ear, said enthusiastically. “You are so talented!”

“Thank you, Emily,” Sara responded warmly. Now to get out of here and head home.

“Good night, Sara.”

“Good night,” Sara replied to the conductor as he gathered his music. “Drive safely.” Her inner voice added, “And it’s Sah-rah, not Sair-ra for the upteenth time.”

Sara gathered her tote bag, stuffing her music and pencil and water bottle inside and headed to the door, the first to leave the nave of the church. She pushed her right arm into her coat and reached out to open the door to the hallway.

“Let me get that.” John Martin, the elderly sexton of the church, held the door open for her. 

“Thank you, Mr. Martin,” Sara smiled sweetly and brushed her long, dark hair away from her face.

“You know, I always say that you have the voice of an angel,” he said earnestly.

“Mr. Martin, that is so kind of you,” Sara replied as she laid a hand on his arm. “I appreciate that so much, but I’m just using the gift God gave me.”

Sara stepped out into the cold, winter night. The wind was brisk and snow swept across the parking lot. She hurried to her car, slamming her door and starting her engine as quickly as she could. God she could use a cigarette. Of course that could wreck her voice and kill her before she was 30, but she still craved one. As the car interior warmed up around her, Sara hummed “Panis Angelicus”. When they had rehearsed tonight, stupid Sheila Watson had asked for the solo. Imagine? That silly cow trying to sing Panis Angelicus and sounding like someone going into labor? Sara chuckled to herself. No one - truly no one - could sing like Sara, and people like Sheila Watson just needed to remember that. Clearly the choir had no tenors that could come even close to hitting those notes correctly either. Sara smiled smugly.

Sara drove the six miles to her apartment, passing small houses within islands of snow, some with their ever-present holiday lights still twinkling. Idiots, thought Sara. Who keeps the lights up when it’s February? Move on, people. 

Sara slid the key into her door lock and opened her door to her lit, warm apartment. Smaug, her little gray cat, appeared, meowing loudly and wrapping around her legs. “And what did you do today?” Sara asked him, picking him up. “I’m sure you had a better day than I did.”

A quick scan of her phone showed her that she’d received 23 new emails in the last two hours. “I guess Lana is popular today!” she said with a smile. 

Suddenly her cell phone buzzed. “Sam Johnson” showed on the screen. Sara sighed. She barely tolerated her choral conductor.  What a tiresome, bumbling old man and clearly far past his prime. Certainly he couldn’t find a job elsewhere.

“Hi, Sam,” Sara answered with just the right amount of perkiness.

“Sara, it’s Sam,” Sam replied needlessly. “I need to speak with you for a moment.  It’s about the Panis.”

“Yes, Sam. What about it? Would you like me to attend an additional rehearsal?” Sara asked brightly.

“Actually, Sara, it’s Sheila. She spoke to me after rehearsal tonight. You know she and her husband do a lot for the parish. She’s been a member for over 25 years. I think it may be a good idea to let her have a  chance to shine. I think she should take the Panis. You can sing it another time.”

Sara froze, tightening her grip on her phone. “Sure, Sam. Whatever you think is best.” Sheila the stupid cow was going to have her solo. Unbelievable.

“Ah, there’s a good girl. I knew you would understand,” Sam murmured happily.

“Sam, I need to run, but I’ll see you at church,” Sara quickly said.

“Of course. Of course. Thank you!”

Sara punched the icon to end the phone call before Sam’s “you” had ended.

Closing her eyes, she steadied her breathing. Sheila Watson? Sheila the mooing cow Watson?? It was overwhelming how she had to put up with this crap.

Sara walked down the hallway to her spare room, pulling off her chunky knit sweater. Leather or lace tonight? Leather sounded right. She opened the bureau drawer and selected a black eye mask. That will help cover the bags under my eyes, she thought, then chuckled aloud. Sara held her breath as she squeezed into the bustier. Honestly, she had to lay off the frozen coffee drinks. Running a few vocal trills, she ended with a slightly raspy “hello there” and set about getting things in the right mood. Lighting dimmed. Music on low. A little Gregorian chant sounded perfect for today. Make up on. She set the scene. She’d work up close to the monitor tonight. That way she could keep on her pajama pants. Sara chuckled again. Why was her life filled with suckers and losers? It was 9:58. Almost showtime.

Suddenly her cell lit up. MOM glared at her in green. 

“Mom!” Sara answered with a note of surprise. Her mother rarely called her this late. “What’s up?”

“Oh hi, honey, I just wanted to check in. I know it’s late for a school night.”

“Gosh, Mom,” Sara said innocently. “I was just heading to bed. It’s 10:00”.

“I’m so sorry!” her mom replied. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay and you didn’t need anything.”

“Nope. I’m all set. Working hard!” Sara gave a bright little laugh.

“Well, you get to sleep. Call me on the weekend. Remember, Grandma’s coming over for dinner after church on Sunday. Love you!”

“Okay. Love you, Mom!” Sara disconnected. 10:00. That was close.

She opened up her website and started her camera. The lights, music, and filters all came together to create an intoxicating, sexy atmosphere.

“Lana, your fallen angel, is here with my favorite dragon kitty. Let’s see who’s with us tonight?”