"Shut the Hell up," I snap.
Shrugging her shoulder, the dirty white robe slides down skinny, pasty-white skin, as she takes a long draw from a cigarette, blows smoky hallows in the air, quickly slugs a shot of bourbon followed by a slow, loud guzzle from a tall boy Pabst Blue Ribbon.
"I think it's pretty funny that Sarah says you've just had a tummy tuck," she grins flashing yellow teeth.
"What do you want?" I snap before preoccupying myself with a Bic lighter and a brightly colored Rastafarian pipe.
"Never mind," I order, "watch this!" and I blow a puff of smoky grey clouds over her head.
"That smells righteous," she grins.
"Yeah," I grin, suddenly feeling, heavenly.
After endless days of rain, the sun hangs brightly in a pristine, deep blue sky devoid of clouds except for those blown by my Guardian Angel and me.
"Ok, let's get to business," she says, spitting a loogy over the porch rail, "you look like shit."
I hit the pipe again and listen to the quiet of a glorious, fresh, new day, before answering.
"So you're telling me that it's alright for Angel's to lie? You told me I look great which is a lie and now you're telling me the truth that I look awful?"
Grinning, oily black hair parted in the middle frames her skinny white face with large brown eyes and a mouth almost too big for her face. If she smiles, which she never does, even with the dirt around her nose, it hints at the beauty she had once been before being assigned the merciless task of watching over me.
My Angel haven't been seen since Che was born 4 years ago. I've assumed she's been busy watching over Jimmy Cochran, her other plumb assignment, who seems to have lost his mind and taken a job in Government at this late stage of life.
I have no idea how my Guardian Angel feels about Jimmy. He ran a white Church out of business then gave the building away to a black congregation which surely got him on a Southern Baptist hit list.
My Angel loves my wife but doesn't seem care too much for me.
She begged God to assign her to John O'Neill but was told he's got his own special team of tactical interventionists with special training to combat multiple sins simultaneously and wasn't needed.
She exclusively oversaw me for years until Sarah and I married.
"She's as close to an Angel as one can be without dying first," she says of Sarah, "so I can have some time for other things because she takes care of you so well."
"You mean time for Jimmy Cochran?" I grin.
"Shut up!" she snaps.
"Well what-do-ya-want then?"
She shoots the bourbon, clears her throat, spits another loogy, and grins.
"You are so loved," she says.
The deep blue sky suddenly seems bluer.
Che and Sarah are giggling inside the house.
Across the street, our neighbor Ron waves at me with a grin, and it feels like peace on earth for a moment.
"Yeah," I reply, suddenly transcending my scarred stomach, leg and chest to float just outside of my body for a few seconds.
Maybe it was a thousand years.
After putting her through Hell keeping me alive and kicking, my Angel looks terrible, regularly breaks Commandments, drinks constantly and flashes her left breast often because she's lost so much weight that her robe won't stay on her shoulders.
"Yeah," she slowly sighs, "it's been a terrible year."
Snapping her fingers, another tall boy Pabst Blue Ribbon magically appears followed by an unfiltered Camel cigarette.
"Well, where have you been through all of it?" I demand. "I've had two major surgeries, radical reconstruction of multiple internal organs, in the best effort to get rid of the cancer and they almost succeeded, but didn't, and you're nowhere to be found."
"You know Jimmy Cochran took a job with the Government," she meekly replies.
"Oh shut up!"
The world's quiet.
"You don't need me anymore," she smiles and her teeth suddenly seem whiter, "you got this."
Our neighbor Ron waves again from across the street. Kids laugh in the distance. A couple strolls hand in hand. The trees, naked and brown, dance with yellow sunshine bursting through the branches. The aroma of the casserole Sarah's cooking delights my nostrils. For the first time in days, I feel warm.
"Yeah," I say, leaving her alone on the porch.
"Goodbye Micheal," she smiles, fading away with beer dripping down her chin, "see you on the flip side."
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