Trainee 755
By Jess Flower
“The Spirit said to do this?”
“Yes.
He is close to a fall.”
“Wait…”
Silence.
“Go now.”
The
younger of the two stepped twice then dove off the rock ledge. He banked hard
right and soared over a small grove of oak trees, brushing them with his hand
on the way by.
He
glided to a perfect stop and perched on the roof of the Jeep Grand
Cherokee. He crouched and felt the
earth’s wind against his face. It
smelled very different from home. He
couldn’t explain how.
He
slipped through the roof of the car and sat himself quietly in the leather back
seat; careful not to disturb the Carl’s Jr bag next
to him. He listened to the one-sided
conversation intently.
“Listen….
no…. listen...I know it is frustrating, Dave, but we can’t help it.
We
cannot fix his problem by just paying his bills. He is in this situation because of his own
mistakes, Yeah…You tell him that for sure, but remember our whole goal is to
get him to repent to her for lying to her and going to the club. Now listen, he needs to change. Not just say sorry for getting
caught...Alright man, take care. Bye.”
The
young pastor hit END and threw his phone on the passenger seat. He reached quickly and impulsively across his
seat to the glove compartment. He was different than when we spoke on the
phone. He was nervous, anxious. This was a familiar scene. He was wavering.
The
pastor’s hand held what he reached for: a small vial. Pills.
The
car pulled over. The driver looked at
the vial. This appeared to be the
struggle. He looked for quite some
time. In the past, it had lasted only a
few seconds, then the bottle would go back to its hiding place; unopened.
Today
looked different. A fall was at hand.
The
man struggled briefly with the lid, then opened it.
A
morose Pop.
Three
small pink tablets slid into his hand.
The
pastor quickly tossed them into his mouth.
He reached beside him for the watery soda that remained in the Carl’s
Jr. cup and took a sip from the straw.
Then,
just at the correct instant, the invisible visitor’s hand gave a swift strike
to the back of his head; breaking the thin barrier between natural and
supernatural for a brief nanosecond of earth time.
The
young man’s head snapped forward, and a fountain of Dr. Pepper sprayed over the
inside of the windshield. Three small
and rapidly dissolving pink tablets lay in a puddle of soda underneath his
speedometer.
The
visitor then exploded without sound or apparition through the roof of the Jeep
and soared upward, banked hard right and rejoined his counterpart from earlier.
“Well
done,” the older angel commended, “although...”
“Was
it wrong to hit him?” the trainee asked.
“It’s
usually better to avoid it,” was the answer.
Jess
Flower writes from Harrisburg, Oregon.