Birth of an Angel

I once had a friend who was claustrophobic.

He’d been shoved into a closet when he was little and left in there for hours, and after that, he couldn’t even be in a room with the lights off.

Said it was like the darkness was trying to suffocate him.

Now, in this dark world, I understood what he meant.

The shadows seemed to be pressing up against my lungs from the outside, squeezing the breath out of me like giant fingers.

I think that is what panic feels like.

Glowing red eyes loomed over me in the dark, demanding obedience and fear and something else I couldn’t hear.

I admit that I was terrified; terrified of dying and terrified of failing, though I didn’t know what I was failing at.

Just as the panic neared an almost unbearable level, just as my heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest, another presence made itself known.

Another set of glowing eyes came out of the darkness, only blue instead of red.

With them came a rush of love and fear and a wordless beg that I couldn’t decipher.

Then there was a sharp stab of pain in my chest and-

And I woke up.

My heart was still racing, feeling the residual effects of my fright, as I stared up at the ceiling of my bedroom.

The strange symbols I had drawn on the white paint helped soothe my nerves, and I was eventually able to think clearly.

My alarm clock read 1:27 am in bright green, which meant I had another sleepless night ahead of me.

Kicking my legs free of the tangle my nightmare had caused, I kicked my skateboard across the room and stood up.

Yawning wide enough to crack my jaw, I pulled my baggy pajama shirt down and stumbled to my computer.

“Morning, girl.” I cooed, pressing the power button.

“Why don’t you warm up while I get a soda?”

Stretching out my back as the screen lit up bright blue, I rummaged through my mini-fridge for a Dr. Pepper.

No sooner had I popped the cap than Sam burst through the door.

Fumbling with the bottle, I cursed as some spilled onto my hand and onto the floor.

“Someone’s stealing the car!”

Any swear words I was about to say immediately died on my tongue.

“What?”

“Call the police! I’m going after them!”

Sam was down the hall before my brain had fully processed the implications.

“What are you going to do? Scream like a little girl and hope they give him back?” I shouted down the stairs, heart pounding as the door slammed shut.

A part of me knew that calling the police was the best thing I could do for him at the moment, but I couldn’t quite fight down the impulse to grab my skateboard and go out after him.

Upset with my own indecision, I ran back into my room as mom and dad came out into the hallway, asking what was wrong.

Picking up the phone next to my closet door (a left-over from when this room was an office), I dialed 9-1-1 as dad came in after me.

It was gonna be a long night…

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“The one time I trust you not to do something stupid, and you get arrested?”

“Hey, it’s not like I planned this!” Sam protested, disheveled after a night in the precinct.

“Oh, I know you didn’t plan this. Even someone of your talents couldn’t get into this much trouble if you tried.” I replied angrily.

I was upset, but not with Sam; there was an irrational part of me that believed, if I had been there, that he wouldn’t have been in this situation.

Even though I knew that wasn’t true, I couldn’t help being angry with myself and snapping.

Before Sam could say anything to defend himself, dad was pulling me back so the entering police officers could question him.

Then Sam told the story of chasing his unmanned car to the junkyard, of seeing the Camaro stand up and send a signal into the sky, and being chased by the guard dogs before getting caught by the police.

I knew Sam wasn’t lying (he’s a horrible liar, and I know him too well), but I could barely believe the story myself.

“Look, I can’t be any clearer than how crystal clear I am being. It just stood up.” Sam repeated, exasperated.

“It just stood up? Wow. That’s really neat. Okay, chief. Time to fill her up.” The sheriff replied, holding out a container.

“And no drippy-drippy. What are you rolling? Whippets? Goofballs? A little wowwie sauce with the boys?”

…

What?

“No, I’m not on any drugs!”

…

Those were drugs?

God, I got a headache just trying to think of what they were.

“What’s these?” The sheriff demanded, taking out the pill bottle Sam carried around for Mojo.

“Found it in your pocket. ‘Mojo’. Is that what the kids are doing now, a little bit of Mojo?”

“Those are my dog’s pain pills.” Sam answered slowly, like to a highly-reactive child.

“You know, a Chihuahua. A little…” Dad added, holding his hands to show how small Mojo was.

“What was that?”

Are police officers supposed to twitch?

I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to twitch…

“You eyeballing my piece, 50 Cent? You wanna go?”

The sheriff leaned over Sam threateningly, and I stepped forward out of instinct.

“Make something happen. Do it. ‘Cause I promise you I will bust you up.”

“Are you on drugs?”

I’m not sure who the sheriff was more upset with for that, me or Sam…