The Belief in Angels by J. Dylan Yates

Author:J. Dylan Yates [Yates, J. Dylan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2014-04-28T05:00:00+00:00

Later, much later, after the joy of this moment and the ones that follow, I realize I have come to believe in angels again, in this moment, despite the new rabbi’s teachings. Only an angel could bring me a woman who could ease a life’s pain in the midst of a funeral.

Sixteen

Jules, 12 years | May 10th, 1974

AWAKE AND ASLEEP

Open.

I walk in the direction of my neighborhood from the elementary school I used to attend. Stillton. It’s sort of like waking up in the middle of a dream, but I don’t think I’m dreaming. I can’t gather any sense of the time, but it seems late in the day. I know this because of where the sun sits in the sky. There’s no traffic and there are no kids out playing. I think it might be dinnertime.

When I step into the yard at our house everything sounds quiet. I see a different car in the driveway. Someone must be visiting. Usually this means a party and loud music, but I don’t see Wendy’s car.

This is the part where I wake up and realize my brother didn’t drown.

As I walk up the porch steps I see schoolbooks stacked on the first step. They seem vaguely familiar. I pick up the one on top, an English textbook. My name is written, in what I recognize as my writing, on the inside of the cover. I pick up the rest of the books and notebooks that lay stacked underneath and bring them in. I can hear the sound of the TV in the den and I walk in that direction.

It still seems like I’ve been sleeping, but now I’ve begun to wake up in my mind and body.

I glance up at the clock when I pass through the kitchen and I can see it’s almost six o’clock. The ending theme song for Lost in Space plays on the TV in the den. David’s hair, longer than I ever remember seeing it, curls around his head. He looks like an overgrown cherub.

David catches me peeking and asks me what’s for dinner. I walk back into the kitchen and open the refrigerator, which contains a plate of broiled chicken and sliced carrots in a saucepan dropped directly into the refrigerator from the stove. I have no idea how it got there, who made it, or where it came from.

I decide to see if Wendy’s upstairs. As I climb, I wonder why, if I’m stuck in a dream, I still feel all of my body and the railing on the stairs?

There are colors. I read that in dreams most people only see black and white. I remember a few where I saw spots of color, but not so many like this. I feel wide awake and everything seems particularly clear now.

At the top of the stairs I knock on Wendy’s closed door.

“What?” Wendy says.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

From inside the doorway her room looks the same, but it seems different. There’s no cigarette or pot stink embedded in the fabric of the room.

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