Page 68 of Eyes Like Angel
Fingertips ran through the fabric, the warmth tingled on my fingertips as I ran it across until the end of the line. I imagined the quilted sheet is supple. With my gloves on, I wouldn’t grasp the theory.
Sister Lucia watching my gloved hands ran through the fabric.
Promptly, my arms folded and pressed against my thumping chest, heart beat racing.
“Why don’t you take your gloves off to feel the blanket? It must’ve feel nice,” Sister Lucia insisted.
Hesitated, I asked, “So what’s our agenda? Do you need something from me?”
“Father Divine has requested us to make an appearance,” she reminded. “He and some man both gathered in counting of two hundred homeless people outside. He already assigned us with specific assignments.”
I stayed still, hushed.
Sister Lucia wistfully sighed. “If you want to know what my assignment is, I’m assigned with helping people with disability—got my first aid kit ready and nurses are coming by soon, but we all know they’re here for the paycheck, it’s so exhausting dealing with those haughty nurses. Oh, poor them, the patients, I mean. They haven’t given the right treatment from their last doctors, nurses and hospitals always take up so many patients and spaces until the rooms are completely occupied, and healthcare is pretty much messy. None of themwanted to take the patients in, especially those with MedicaidandMedicare both—and both exceeded the requirements.”
I shifted in place, lounging with unease as Sister Lucia blabbered.
“Even when some locals bargained—negotiated with the town doctors to do whatever it takes to process a fast recovery, they rejected and told other patients to go elsewhere, but…the thing is, no other hospitals were available. The emergency rooms are packed and fully-booked—first come, first serve. Doesn’t it seem so concerning in our modern society?”
Unknown what those terms meant, I leaned in and focused on her words, her soft spoken words. I never knew much of the outside world, besides the life in the attic and how I delivered the Lord’s messages to the townspeople, left and right, no matter what weather, I walked miles and miles to deliver them from evil and save unclean souls from evil and purify, to deliver and carry myself as God’s faithful messenger. The nuns are the holy messengers, the helpers of the Lord—like angels without wings or halo I saw in the scriptures. Perhaps my wings and halo were born invisible.
That’s the life I knew, and knew well.
“Are they planning on staying at the shelter?” I voiced out.
Sister Lucia smiled. “Possibly. Who knows, right? This is why Mr. Rivers will be here again! They wanted the procession to go smoothly, making sure his money doesn’t go to waste after the preparations he planned and settled and spoke to the priest and other hospital staff. He’ll be here, I’m sure. Along with his sons—Bjorn and….what’s that other guy’s name again?”
The index finger is placed on her chin, tapping each time she mentioned various names she had in mind.
“Was it Aaron? Arthur? Alastair? Angus? Hmm, he doesn’t look like an Angus. I imagine a guy named Angus with alarge, snotty nose, greasy hair and a receding grey hairline, ones that resembled like a pig that oinked. But this guy doesn’t look like one.”
Then she hummed, contemplating, her weary eyes wandering the narrowed and melancholy attic.
I, on the other hand, debated whether I should laugh at her commentary, not knowing the references.
“Do you know how long they’re going to stay here at the Divine Miracles Church?” I wondered.
Sister Lucia hummed. “Not too sure about that. I just overheard the procession are going to take forever. I hope God will help us get throughout the day. Regardless, I feel like the God has answered their calling, their…cries. They’ve suffered too much, like a cross to bear they’ve carried for decades, sickness tend to stay and recovery never arrives. That’s how it feels in a way.”
I watched her dusting off the colored-glass windows; on a cloudy day, the gleamed sun basked onto the dulled-shade floor as I watched the thick dust particles danced. In a town of Fort Heaven, nothing’s impossible, not with God in it.
“But we’re not Jesus or a prophet to cure anyone,” Sister Lucia blabbered. “Oh!”
My shoulders flinched at her loudness. Hands covered over my ears for a second at a blatant noise—sensitive in my hearing.
Though Sister Lucia didn’t notice at the effect she caused.
“Bjorn’s the name I know,” she said, random. “I swear I forgot the other guy’s name. It’s right there on the tip of my tongue. The two of them will be helping their parents. And it seems like Mr. and Mrs. Rivers weren’t going alone. Bjorn is helping, but I’m not so sure about…” Her chin tucked on her palm, thinking. “Ah, that’s it! Adrian! Damn, why did I forget his name? He’s way handsomer than the older dude. Somehow I’mamazed about how younger folks appeared older and the older folks appeared younger—talk about a switcheroo.”
My shoulders flinched at his name, but maintain composure, pinching the quilted blanket in full fist, eyeing on a flying angel.
Sister Lucia noticed. “Oh? Did the young Mr. Rivers say something to cause you freeze on the spot like a squirrel?”
Initially, I counted the rhythm beat in my chest, no sweat found on my brow.
I shrugged it off, remembering the hollowness in his eyes. “Nothing happened,” I said, my eyes averted from her attentive gaze and her slouched back leaning in.
“Sounds like it’s something going on,” she replied with a sympathetic smile. “What did he say to you?”
