by Jess Earl
Mama told me that thunder is just the sound of angels bowling. The angel outside my window doesn’t have hands but maybe it just can’t bowl, like how Katie can’t eat peanut butter.
The angel doesn’t look like the ones in Mama’s paintings; it looks like a bunch of hula hoops around a giant eye. There’re all these small eyes on the hoops like the diamonds in Mama’s rings. It also has a bunch of wings. They don’t flap like a bird’s though; they stay still and spread out everywhere. I can count the feathers. They remind me of the sleeping chickens in the henhouse. Maybe they’re friends. Mama always says, “Birds of a feather flock together.”
All of the corn under the angel fell down. Mr. Henshaw isn’t going to be happy about a big circle in the middle of his crops, but I’m sure he’ll understand. The angel didn’t mean to do it on purpose; angels are nice. Mama says they watch over me. This one won’t miss anything with all of its eyes on me. It must be easy to watch when you don’t blink. I wish I couldn’t blink so I could win a staring contest against it.
“Lisa May Taylor, what in the world do you think—” Mama’s angry that I’m out of bed. She bursts into my bedroom with her finger held up, already lecturing me, before she looks at my window and gasps.
“Look, Mama!” I say, “An angel!”
Mama’s face is easy to see in the dark from the light of the angel; it’s brighter than the sun. Her mouth hangs open like a catfish. She freezes and gets real quiet, then her hands shake and she clutches her cross necklace from Granny.
“Please,” she sounds scared. “Don’t hurt her.” She has big eyes like the cat in the barn gets when you run at it.
“It’s ok, Mama. It’s an angel,” I say. She can’t be mad that I’m talking to an angel; that’s what they teach us at Sunday School.
She doesn’t look at me, just the window. “Please.” Her eyes are watery like how mine got after I fell off my bike. Maybe she got hurt opening the door. I know just what will fix it.
I take a step toward Mama and the light disappears. I turn back to the window and the angel is gone. It’s harder to see now but the moon shines enough that I can see the circle of broken corn. Thunder claps in the distance. It must have gone bowling.
Mama runs to me and squeezes me into a hug, tighter than I’ve ever had. It’s so tight that I can’t move my arms to give her one back. My hair gets wet as tears run down her face. She’s still in pain, but I can help. I kiss her on the cheek, just like she did for me. “It’s ok Mama. Everything’s going to be ok.”
Category: Featured, Short Story, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU Student