An Angelic Enterprise

“One week,” Sarah announced. She’d been circling the cloud on which Reina sat. “I have seven days left to go home for my first visit or lose my chance forever.”

Their conversation came from above a verdant meadow where giraffes and zebras grazed, their young ones gamboling between both herds. Sarah had interrupted the peaceful interlude when she brought up the topic of her heavenly future.

“I’m sorry,” Reina replied. “I know you’ve tried everything.”

“I have,”  Sarah said as she made another lap around her friend.

“But you can make the most of the time you have left,” Reina encouraged. “Going home is worth as many more tries as you can give between now and then.”

The sorrows of a thousand pains on Sarah’s face told her one thing: she hadn’t yet come to embrace her new and permanent residence, and it was taking its toll. Oh, she had found some peace and a taste of happiness in Heaven’s realms, but even as an angel, Sarah couldn’t let go of the guilt she carried beneath her wings. Only by setting herself free could she achieve acceptance, gratitude, vocation, and the bonus of earthly visitation rights.

“Sarah, you have to let it go,” Reina blurted. “I know, I know,” she added, holding up her hands in surrender when the glare from her amiga made her wince. “But we’ve been angels for almost a year. I know we died way too early, and though I don’t agree with you about why and don’t remember how, I’m at peace. My family has come to terms with my passing though they miss me terribly and mourn over me yet. But they’ll heal…move forward without me. That’s just the way things are.”

Best friends since second grade, they had met Death together at age 26. Sarah blamed herself for putting them into one of those wrong-time, wrong-place situations. Reina didn’t.

So, they’d dealt with their present by avoiding the past, and it wasn’t working. Mentored by an elder spirit, a matron named Josephine who left them alone much of the time, they had explored their new home, finding new dominions when they ventured farther. While other youth and the newly dead were assigned more diligent mentors, the two were happy to have the freedom to discover Heaven’s surprises by themselves.

“You have until your deathiversary,” Josephine had told them, “to decide your afterlife’s work, each of you.” Left unspoken was the home visitation, an initiation of sorts.

Of course, Reina had received her sign first. Reina had always been first: first to make straight A’s, first to hit puberty, first to date, first to—do everything before Sarah. Which was fine since Sarah didn’t mind following her fierce and fearless over-achieving friend in life or death. Reina had not only found her calling as a caretaker for baby animals a few weeks after they’d arrived, but she’d also gone home for several family visits, too.

To help Sarah, she’d set aside time every afternoon to accompany her around the many territories Heaven offered. They’d found several locations where she would love to work, but none had “spoken” to her with overwhelming effect. Surely, one of the sectors would stand out for Sarah. One week, seven days—which begged the question—did time in Heaven pass differently than on Earth? Seven days could be as long as seven years for all they understood. Josephine had given them a non-answer, whichthey read in her wise eyes and placid smile when they had asked. One more thing to learn on their own. Reina had reported after the first home visit that her family hadn’t changed much since her passing. So, they reasoned that perhaps time on

Earth remained the same.

“I can’t,” Sarah finally responded, “and I don’t know if I’ll make my deadline. But my situation isn’t taking away my happiness now. ” She gazed over the northern territories. They held much of the animal kingdom, domestic and the wild kinds, which they’d only seen in pictures or videos. Sarah didn’t tire of watching them and observing Reina tend to them. Elephant herds and antelope, lions and jaguars, bears and boars—every animal that had ever lived on earth, now roamed freely in the high country.

When they’d first told Josephine about finding the animal domains, they asked about prehistoric beasts and the like, but she’d said those were off limits, much farther into the thicker parts of Heaven to which no lesser angels like themselves could ever hope to reach.

“Have you seen any?” Sarah had asked.

“Oh, yes, dinosaurs and dodos, duendes and dragons, fairies, too. I’ve seen them all,” Josephine had replied with a twinkle in her eyes, rushing off before the girls caught the smirk she couldn’t hide.

Sarah fluffed out her wings and rose a few feet, hovering as she added, “I’m going to ask Josephine what she thinks I should do. I’ll demand an opinion from her this time. No more of her answering questions with questions.”

Reina lay back, shouting a “buena suerte” as Sarah flew down toward their community. A thick cloud opened and then parted like Moses’ Sea, revealing Josephine on her way up. Sarah gasped and leaped aside in time to prevent a collision.

“There you are,” Josephine huffed. “You’ve been summoned forthwith pa’ la casa de Santo Vicente. Número Dos on Cloud Ten. He’s just across the barrio from your place.. Vete pronto. And where’s Reina?” Before Sarah recovered, Josephine disappeared into the mist.

Sarah wondered why the venerable saint had asked for her since they’d never met. Her thoughts turned to introspection as she got closer to her destination. We wouldn’t have died that night if I had listened to my gut. Regrets came out of the blue when she forgot to guard against them. That fateful night she’d convinced Reina they had to experience the spirit of the season as they had in their younger years when they had walked the streets between their houses with no qualms. Any apprehension when they were children came more from their imaginations supplied by the boogie monsters of the bedtime stories their parents told. Chicano folklore featured goblins and ghosts, spirits and specters, la Llorona and el Coco the most feared. People they knew had seen them. That was enough for both to suspect and steer clear of waterways and dark neighborhoods, just in case.

It was only a few snow-covered blocks to the plaza and back to Reina’safter all. What could happen? She gave thanks she’d been unconscious from the start of whatever had been done to her. Grateful, too, that Reina remembered even less. They’d talked about it once--the only time Sarah supplied the gruesome details because Reina had demanded the truth. And the one big item—the stranger she’d suspected of following them. She hadn’t had noticed him, but didn’t point him out when they were walking, shrugging it off as paranoia. What a way to learn a final life lesson about listening to one’s instinct. Or not, in her case, which led to the burden of guilt. Her limbo set her on this path to a saint’s house.

She took her time to shake off the dark thoughts about her death before getting to la casa de Saint Vincent de Paul, the saint of charity and kindness. Sobbing in the distance caught her attention. She paused and hovered a bit. It stopped, and she resumed flight. It started again, and she halted in a mid-wing flap. She did a slow 360 studying every white surface and spotted a pink dot far below on a cottony cumulus cloud. Since no one else was close, the crying had to be emanating from that pink dot. She dove, something she’d been wondering if she could do, and almost lost sight of her target. The rush of happy, heartfelt fun—something she hadn’t experienced in so long—filled her and she overshot what looked like a tiny pink caterpillar, the cloud, and even a high-flying flock of Canada geese that scattered mid-flight.

Sarah wheeled into a U-turn and accelerated, retracing her path and coming to a floating stop before the pink—it was a little girl. All dressed in pink with matching pink socks and Mary Janes, she’d been curled into herself on her side earlier. Now, she crab-crawled backward, eyes wide, mouth open, tears stopped for the moment.

“Why were you crying?” Sarah asked. “Are you lost? Can I help you?”

The girl sniffled, rubbed her eyes on her sleeves, and then blurted, “Can you bring me back to life? I didn’t mean to die. I have to tell my mother…”

Sarah’s heart filled with something she didn’t recognize, and she crouched next to the child. “Can we talk?” She asked and settled cross-legged on softness; Saint Vincent’s summons postponed for the moment. “I didn’t mean to either, but here we are. I have to do that too, by the way--tell my mom I’m with her somehow.”

Sarah gathered her thoughts. “Have you been assigned a mentor, someone to explain things to you?” When the child shook her head and whispered that she’d only just arrived, Sarah didn’t think twice about educating her, better sooner than later. Their shared feelings about their death experiences made Sarah want to know more about the girl’s story.

“I’m Sarah. And you are?”

“Luz.”

“Oh, that’s so pretty,” Sarah said. “You were your mother’s light, I’m sure.” Luz’s eyes filled with tears, so Sarah rushed to distract her by explaining the ways of Heaven and the rules about going home.  “So, see why I have seven days to fix my problem? I’m at my wits end. Your time here has just begun. I don’t know what you have to do. Maybe children don’t face this decision until they’re older. But we share the same issue; we caused our own deaths. I need to hear your story,” she interrupted herself, “You need to hear mine.” A Rated G version, anyway, she amended silently.

From there, the solution to both their dilemmas began to form. Sarah admitted to Luz her flaw, the one that kept her in this quandary. She didn’t know what the effect of her admission might be, but she didn’t sugarcoat her predicament. Or the mental anguish nor the tenuous future she feared. The kid needed the truth as young as she was. Or she’d become the next Sarah.

“Come on,” Sarah stood and held a hand out to Luz. “We can talk while we watch something I’ve been waiting to see.”

They flew off to the north country and perched on a low cloud over a zebra herd. Reina saw them and waved from below before bustling off.

“That’s my best friend,” Sarah explained. “She found her calling right away. She works with all the baby animals up here. She’s preparing for a zebra foal arriving any minute. I wanted to watch.”

No answer from Luz.

“We died together.” Her knee jerked.

“It was my fault. I want to know why you think yours was your fault.”

Luz’s silence stretched, and Sarah thought the worst. “No,” she blurted. “You didn’t…”

“Oh, no, I didn’t do it on purpose.” Sarah’s misunderstanding broke Luz’s reticence. “It was an accident. My mom told me I could ride my bike if I stayed on our block, but I didn’t. Four streets up, a cat ran in front of me, and I swerved, but the dog chasing it slammed right into me. And when I fell, I saw the ground getting closer. That’s it. I don’t remember any more. But I know if I’d obeyed Mamá, I’d be alive. Es un castigo de Dios for disobedience.” Bursting into new tears, she made Sarah interject fast and loud.

“You can’t know that for sure,” Sarah tried to poke holes in the girl’s innocent reasoning. “And it’s not a punishment from God either. You weren’t to blame for your accident. It was a fluke. It might’ve happened on your block the next day for all you know. You can’t blame yourself.” She looked down at Luz who blinked back more tears. “Serendipity, destiny, a higher power—something put you in the path of those animals that day. I know it’s trite, but I wonder sometimes if cuando nos toca, nos toca is true, and nothing we could’ve done differently would have changed the outcome. You and I don’t have the answers, and maybe we never will. What if you had to die in that particular moment for something else to happen in life, in history. Like your passing young saved you from a painful disease in the future or your harvested organs ended up saving the next president.”

Luz needed to ponder this new perspective. Now, she wanted to hear Sarah’s story., “Your turn. What happened to you and your friend and how is it your fault?”

Sarah didn’t know every gory little detail. She didn’t want to. Their deaths were far too heinous to tell the child. If aging occurred somehow in Heaven, then perhaps in the future if Luz asked again, Sarah might divulge more of the story. For now, a partial truth would have to suffice.

She explained how they’d walked to their town’s central plaza to watch the Christmas parade. She recounted their activities before walking home. “This guy that night gave me a funny feeling. When we went to a café for a snack, he followed us. He sat across the room and stared. Maybe I reminded him of someone, or maybe he wanted to ask me out, I didn’t know. He never got too close, but I kept seeing him, like across from us at the park, in one of the shops, at a vendor’s booth. I was pretty sure he was following us, but there were so many people. I saw a lot of people more than once,  so I didn’t listen to my gut telling me something about him was off. Something about seemed threatening. We left the plaza together and hurried along. The main streets and the houses were all brightly lit.  We walked quickly through neighborhoods known for being small town Americana. You know the kind—where people still go around singing Christmas carols and have backyard barbecues with vecinos.”

Luz nodded, and Sarah continued, “On our way to Reina’s, we passed an alley, and everything went black. When I woke up in a cave with slimy, wet, rock walls, I knew we were in trouble.” Sarah paused, looked down at Reina in the meadow, took a deep breath, and finished quickly, hoping little white lies were allowed in Heaven to spare innocent children from life’s worst nightmares. "I don’t remember anything after that.”

“But if I had followed my mother’s advice and driven to the park instead of insisting we walk, I wouldn’t have put us in the worst place and the worst time to cross paths with a killer. If I had told Reina about the guy, maybe we would’ve taken a taxi or hitched a ride with friends. Something…” she trailed off.

“So, you know he was the one who did the—the…”

“Well, no, not for sure,” Sarah replied. “Because of his scary? attention, it stands to reason…”

“Okay, I’m kind of with you there, but how could you have known that walking home would put you in danger? You think ‘cuando nos toca nos toca,’ so you coulda been in a friend’s car and wrecked and died that night instead. The explanation you gave me to quit blaming myself applies to you, too.”

Luz was a child, but she wasn’t a stupid one. She had seen right through Sarah’s attempts to make her let her guilt go. And she realized their situations were pretty similar indeed, even if Sarah didn’t. The epiphany hit them at the same time.

“Oh my,” Sarah breathed, eyes closed, her body almost weightless.

Luz reacted differently to the catharsis that struck deep into their hearts and souls. Self-recrimination flew off both their shoulders in a grimy mist and dispersed with a poof, replaced by self-forgiveness. Understanding the mysteries of life and death might come in time, but guilt served no purpose. It had hindered their progress toward heavenly bliss.

Luz burst into laughter—a child’s mirth ringing out and echoing over all the kingdoms.

When she could speak, she said between giggles, “I wanted to prove to Mamá and to myself that I could spread my wings a little farther. Well, I flew a lot higher than I intended.”

They shared a subdued laugh and sobered at their new awareness. Sarah said quietly, “Wrong time, wrong place for both of us, and here we are. I’ve never felt more grateful or peaceful.”

“You can go visit your family,” Luz said quietly.

“I will,” Sarah nodded. “I have to find a way to let my mother know I’m at peace.

“Me too,” Luz agreed.

#

Sarah, with Luz in tow, hoped she hadn’t inconvenienced Saint Vincent too much. She had a feeling when she told him about Luz, she’d be forgiven. She looked upon the residences they flew over and descended at last onto an undulating ribbon of cloud road between rows of houses, glancing at their numbers as she glided past.

She had barely introduced herself and her new, young friend before he ushered them along his vaporous walkway and up the street. Rather ominously, he added over his shoulder, “We have a rendezvous with Death.” Two gasps met his announcement, and they slowed.

The girls’ shocked reactions made him smile. He couldn’t wait to observe their upcoming meeting. “Ándale, we do not want to keep la Mera Mera waiting.” They had no idea that his superior had witnessed the encounter between Sarah and Luz. She had seen that all was well and that they were ready for the  next stage of their eternal journey.

The most venerated of the saints, the chief santa, Doña Sebastiana, never failed to bring a shudder to most. Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte, more commonly known as Santa Muerte, appeared as a vision of mortal remains.. She was the Grim Reaper. Sarah had met the impressive saint only once—at the moment of her death. The meeting had been brief, her demise too imminent when she had looked into the black, infinite hollows of la Muerte’s eyes for an instant before her consciousness vanished. But she remembered the empathy, the sincere compassion surrounding her when the saint had carried her away.

So, the trepidation she felt about a face-to-face meeting with Death was groundless. Sarah had glimpsed the shrouded woman on rare occasions from a distance but hadn’t yet had business with her here. She knew she had nothing to fear from her, but Santa Muerte’s formidable stature in Heaven, Earth, Hell, and every space in between made her unapproachable to most, except other saints like the one leading the way.

They floated off to the right, passing the park where human and animal angels, masters and pets, reunited in perpetual play as they wished. Clouds formed hoops for puppies to pass through, puffs flew like snowballs with canines and felines in fast pursuit. Dog bones and cat treats materialized from their owner’s pockets and an occasional bird perched close by watching for crumbs. The food passed through semi-transparent bodies and became absorbed into the ethereal substance of angels.

Santa Muerte’s residence, identifiable by the color, floated at the end of the celestial street. Sarah had never ventured farther than the park on this side of the clouds. Because the saint traveled perpetually between Heaven and Hell, soot clung to her clothing, her carriage, even her steeds. Her routine sweeping turned the dense clouds around her casita gray, and though gentle roils kept them in constant motion, the smoky tint never quite dissipated. As the only house in Heaven that hue, it stood out from the rest. As Sarah drifted beside Saint Vincent de Paul, places she hadn’t seen before held her attention. For Luz, on the other hand, this  was her introduction to her heavenly home. She gawked and gasped throughout the short flight.

The residents’ houses had walls of clouds roiling or undulating within their shapes, which varied in shades of white depending on their age. Recent arrivals’ casas were most noticeable for their bright, white newness. Sarah and Reina’s, for example, a circular, four-room cloud on the west side of Heaven, was still fairly pristine. Josephine had taken them under her very capable wings as each had arrived and led them through their new place like a realtor pointing out unusual features. Then, she’d left them with more freedom than guidance.

Sarah gulped. I wonder what does la Mera—. She mentally slapped herself for even thinking of calling the most revered by the moniker. Not that it was derogatory—far from it—it meant the most high, the leader, the Main One—but it was vernacular, way too familiar. You didn’t address the revered saint by slang or nickname. Sarah exchanged a glance with Santo Vicente, who gave her an encouraging smile and a nod.

“Señora Sebastiana,” he called from behind what looked like a dingy white picket fence of swirling fog. “¿Está aquí?”

Through the nebulous front wall, a wispy entryway formed. In the shadows stood the black-cloaked saint. “Por un momento, sí,” came from the dark. She had but a moment to catch her breath between the countless souls demanding her services. The poor woman was on call 24/7. When she desired a longer break, more to rest her troubled thoughts than her body, la Muerte slowed time. Of course, she quickened it as needed to meet the needs of the thousands of souls she accompanied on their final journeys.

Humans through the centuries felt the effects on those days when minutes passed so slowly

while they engaged in mundane activities. Or time passed too fast when they enjoyed pleasant pastimes, especially for older people. They scratched or shook their heads, the action often accompanied by the reluctant admission that time flies, but none knew Death had intervened.

Santa Muerte moved backward deeper into her home while beckoning the trio forward with one skeletal hand. Luz exchanged a side-eye with Sarah who then looked at Saint Vincent. He waved them ahead of him through the doorway. Saint Death wore the shroud of the grave perpetually to cover herself. Fleshless, her skeleton showed signs of timelessness in the grayish tint of the huesos. She knew she inspired fear in those mortals who lived in sin. She was a reminder of what is left behind when the soul leaves the body. Since she dealt with every living being at one time or another, she clothed herself in black to conceal herself from the good, the naïve, and the innocent—at least until the day they needed her.

“Have a seat,” Santa Muerte motioned toward a couch covered in iridescent, albeit somewhat grimy, feathers. She lowered herself into an extra plump armchair which swallowed her into its comfort. “Ah,” she sighed. “My bones crave such softness cradling my ancient frame at the end of a long day’s work.”

Her visitors sat and promptly sank into the downy sofa. Sarah had never experienced such supple furnishings. She worked her fingers into the feathers and leaned back so the couch could wrap around her in a soft hug. Luz disappeared into the plumes for a moment before Saint Vincent on one side and Sarah on the other hooked their arms in hers and kept her afloat.

“Heh, heh, heh,” the woman cackled. “Les gustan me sofás, ¿eh?”

Sarah couldn’t answer as she was busy coughing out a fluff of down, so Luz spoke up. “Señora, when can I go home?”

#

On the twelfth day of Christmas, which was also the day before Sarah’s deathiversary, the two saints sat on Santa Muerte’s porch swing and watched Josephine escort the girls to the long lineof angels waiting to leave for earthly visitations.

“How serendipitous that Sarah came across Luz at the most opportune time,” Saint Vincent smirked.

His companion turned her skeleton face toward him and attempted to glare though her expression didn’t—couldn’t—change notably. With no brows to furrow, no lips to turn downward, no eyes to narrow, she relied instead on her raspy voice to convey her sarcasm. “At least we did not have to perform an intervention like you suggested.”

“It would have been the first in eons. The first double ever,” he said. “But you took that away by leaving the child alone, mentor-less when she arrived at the Pearly Gates and then placed her in Sarah’s path.”

Santa Muerte attempted to express herself through body language, straightening her spine and raising her jaw in self-congratulation. “We were running out of time. My way was faster. And since it worked, the issue is resolved. Now, sit back and enjoy the show.” She gave the swing a hard push for emphasis.

Josephine was bidding goodbye to Sarah and Luz as the other visitors advancedalong a celestial path of small clouds. One by one the angels ahead stepped into the fog.

“Now, remember,” she instructed before she rushed off, “you can make yourselves known to your loved ones, but indirectly, discreetly, not blatantly.”

“I’m going back to visit my Gerald,” an older woman in front interjected over her shoulder. “I light one of his cigars and let it burn until the aroma gets his attention. He knows it’s me.”

A man behind them admitted, “I hide things. From my children and my ex, my brother—anyone I visit loses something for a while. A knitting needle or a camera, a watch or something they’ll notice gets misplaced where they don’t remember leaving it. They think it’s memory issues, especially the aging ex; it cracks me up.”

“I don’t want to go back to play pranks,” Luz whispered to Sarah. “I just want to see my mom, and I want her to know I’m with her.”

“Me too,” Sarah whispered back.

Luz, in line ahead of Sarah, watched as a cloud before her opened into a spinning vortex that sucked her in with a whoosh, and she plummeted downward. Her “See yaaaaaaaa,” echoed as another cloud opened and Sarah disappeared.

On her way down through the whirlwind, Luz saw her death. Her family’s bereavement and  the result of her absence all became clear. Her journey ended with an abrupt stop in the middle of her family home. From her vantage point, she knew she’d remained in angel form though she felt something not quite right in her perspective. Her silk gown and gold sash sparkled with the lights twinkling around her. She smoothed her skirt with her palms and looked up.

Her mother’s eyes opened wide, and a look of wonder and thankfulness came upon her. Mother and child’s eyes brimmed over. They knew.

Sarah made her earthly presence known in her own way. She left one of her feathers in her mother’s house that first visit and every time thereafter—in places only her mother would find. Luz had wished for something more and the saints watching the first visitation had made it real. She became the angel her mother placed at the top of her Christmas trees every year on the twelfth day—her holiday decoration day. It was a tradition on Christmas Eve for many years until her mother joined her.