Avi Kaplan: A Collection of Short Stories

Angel

When you were younger, people always told you angels were watching over you.

You were five when your grandmother died. You didn't fully understand what was happening—people dressed in fancy black suits and dresses; quiet conversation with muted laughter; and lots of "she's watching over you now".

You remember peering up at the rafters of the church, expecting to find her face floating there, staring down on you with a smile. Nothing but the church lights met your gaze and you blinked against their harsh brightness.

You weren't so much sold on the notion of angels.

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You were sixteen when you got in the car accident.

Your memory remains fuzzy, but you remember the tinkling sound of broken glass and the hard crunch of metal against cement. The EMTs had pulled you from the car, shaking and crying and loaded you in the ambulance next to your mother. She soothed your fears and gripped your hand tight as you drove to the hospital.

The nurse looking after you at the hospital cleaned your scrapes and bruises, stitching up the small cut above your right eye. "You're lucky," she commented, placing the last steri-strip above your brow, "Someone must be looking out for you."

You later learned that had you been sitting in your seat instead of lying down, you legs would have been crushed, leaving you paralyzed.

You shivered at the thought.

+++

Her hair swirled in soft curls around her head and the musical quality of her laugh carried on the breeze. Taking another sip of your drink, you watched her chat with Mitch, her eyes lighting up as he told her a story from tour.

Kevin came up next to you and nudged your shoulder playfully. "Go talk to her, man. Quit staring like a creep."

You narrowed your eyes and frowned at him. "I'm not a creep."

"I didn't say you are a creep, I said you're acting like one. Now, here," he started, handing you a shot of tequila, "drink this and go talk to her."

You eyed him suspiciously, but took the drink anyway, the harsh burn of alcohol stinging a path down your throat. You groaned and let out a cough as you handed the shot glass back to Kevin. He just smiled and clapped an encouraging hand against your shoulder, shoving you forward. You stumbled a bit on your feet and you prayed she didn't notice.

Mitch saw you approach first, his face splitting into a drunken grin. "Avi!" he exclaimed, throwing an arm around your shoulder. "Come meet my friend." He waggled his eyebrows and you frowned at him, attempting to shove his arm off your shoulders.

"Oh, relax, babe," Mitch chided.

She laughed at your banter, watching the both of you through mirthful eyes and extended her hand to introduce herself. Her name fell off her lips and wrapped itself around your brain. Her hand was tiny in yours, but firm and when she let go, your skin tingled at the loss.

"Nice to meet you, Avi," she said, smiling at you.

"You, too."

"Oh, look—cute boys. Mommy's gotta run," Mitch interrupted, finally letting go of your shoulders. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" he called as he skipped off, grabbing Scott and pulling him along.

You felt your cheeks flush in embarrassment and were surprised to find hers pink as well. Coughing nervously, you scratched at your beard and shoved a thumb behind you. "He's, uh...sorry about him."

She just laughed and waved off your comment. "I can handle Mitch. I've known him for a while."

You offered to buy her another drink, which she accepted. Despite being outdoors, the crowd was loud and you were surprised when she led you off to a more secluded part of the park. The music and the din was less there, the river sparkling from the lights of the city. You both walked along the river, drinks in hand, talking of nothing, yet everything.