In The Shoes Of A Ballerina

"I live. I die. I live again, then I die," said Cassiel to the little girl in pigtails beside him. "That's the cycle of life for me here on Earth."

For about an hour now, the little girl wearing a cotton dress with floral prints, just in time for the summer, bombarded Cassiel with questions which he found to be rather amusing than annoying.

Hands tightly holding the chains of the swing which had its paint peeling off, and feet swaying alternately, she asked, "How's that even possible?"

The man who looked like he was in his early twenties pulled his pink lips into a smile that revealed perfect white teeth which matched the color of his clothing. "It's possible, Dea, as the moon rises when the sun sets, as the rainbow appears when the storm ends, and as you can see me when others can't."

"Why is that?" Dea's brow showed tiny creases.

Dea asked that question for a number of times already since they'd introduced themselves to each other, but Cassiel answered, anyway, "Because those who see us are the only ones whom we watch over. You can see me because I'm here to protect you at all cost." He patted her brown wavy hair.

"Then when do you die?"

"That's the figurative way of saying 'I leave', dear." He brushed his flaxen hair off his face as the wind blew.

"Will you also leave me?" Gloom was now evident in the angelic face of the girl.

Cassiel didn't answer. Instead, he gave her a wide smile which didn't show his thassos-white teeth but was joined by his bluish gray eyes.

"Dea, honey, come on in here," called Mrs. Martinez.

Dea looked up and hurried toward her mother, pigtails resembling the swing she rode on earlier. She also noticed the huge man wearing a white robe and a stethoscope in his left pocket standing beside her mother.

Earlier that day, she heard that man with ashen beard speak in a rough but gentle tone, "She's perfectly normal, Mrs. Martinez. Your daughter, and other kids her age experience the same - talking to themselves. It's one way to practice their speaking skills as well as their creative mind. Nothing to worry about."

She wanted to tell her mother about Cassiel but she remembered only she could see him. Dea thought her mom was thinking she made up imaginary friends which was partly true - her friend Anna, was a ragged doll made by her late father. But Cassiel was true; he was, in fact, an angel. She couldn't tell her mother about him now.

"Are we going home now?" Her cheerful tone blended with the rustling of the leaves of the trees.

Mrs. Martinez smiled. "Yes, we are. I have something for you, honey." She took out from her shoulder bag a rectangular wooden box, and opened it. "Isn't this nice?"

A classical tune was released from the box. Attached to the lid of the box were mirrors which were intentionally glued to resemble a ballet studio. At the center of the box was a little ballerina performing a pirouette to the tune of a well-known piece.

"Your music box?" she asked while giggling.

Dea was eyeing the box ever since. She knew her mother's music box was the latter's most cherished possession since she was a kid.

Mrs. Martinez was a frustrated prima ballerina. She gave up ballet when she gave birth to Dea - her life now.

"This is mine now?"

Her mother nodded.

Dea hugged her as tight as she could. "Thank you, Mom."

She felt her mother smile even though she couldn't see her face. Dea loved that music box because of the ballerina in it. She'd been watching and mimicking ballerinas on TV.

The two of them left the hospital with Dea tiptoeing, adoring her music box while following her mother.

Dea's biggest dream by far was to perform Swan Lake with her tutu and pointe shoes onstage, and when she could already acknowledge herself to be in the shoes of a ballerina.