A Collection of Stories

Through the Window Came...My Guardian Angel

My son imagines angels to walk in the glory of some ethereal, unforeseen light–like that of the sun. Glorious, purely soft rays touching every inch of darkness that falls into its path. He believes no form of evil can touch the godly good that travels only by light. It's at times like these that I am most thoughtful...

* * *

Most nights she climbed through the chiffon-like curtains with no face to identify her. And yet, I've always known her. She drew me close with tender branches of warm flesh when my mother abused me with curses. Opened the doors for me when mother locked me in the attic or basement if her boyfriends came to the house. Stowed me in the safety of my room when my mother, driven mad with drink, prowled about the house like some foreign beast. Sat with me outside my window at night as I drank the city's icy air whenever the smell of mother's cigarettes threatened to strangle my delicate lungs. And when my stomach chewed on my backbone because my mother forgot to go to the store or served a limp cinnamon roll and cold sausage for dinner right after school, she was there; coming through the window, a backpack slung over her shoulder, and from it pulled out heavy aluminum foil which often leaked the tantalizing smells of smoky barbecue wings and crispy fries, or a bowl of thick, savoury soup and fluffy white rolls that tasted like heaven. And occasionally, there'd be fresh, gooey chocolate chip cookies from the midnight bakery five blocks from where we lived. It was because of her I never went hungry growing up.

With her, things happened mysteriously. Inconsistently... but I think she dreaded my mother. Only tidying the place when mother was absolutely drunk and lay in a heap on the sofa-too senseless to complain about the detergent and bleach that floated through the air trading places with the stale stench of cigars and leftover pizza. There wasn't even strength in her to curse the sunlight whose golden beams blasted through the blinds when she opened them. She never left the room to do the month's worth of laundry unless my mother went to the club on weekends. She only prepared a decent dinner when my mother hurried over to one of her boyfriends' house and wouldn't be home for hours.

And when the sound of my mother's car peeled up the driveway, she'd silently glide upstairs like an idle ghost, never forgetting to lock the door. She wouldn't use it again unless something drew mother away from the house.

She was the one who looked after me and kept me on my feet. The one who gave me encouragement when I was full of ghostly self doubt, who pushed me beyond my limitations, inspiring me to do better. She was everything I needed in my cruel and lonely life.

She was my guardian angel. And here I am twenty years later wondering how long I dreamed the same dream. My son has heard the story. But he has never met her. Nor will he ever.

Because although I've always known her, she's never had an identity; a face. Because I could never separate her from my past....

Because I never had a sister.