Guardian Angel

The world spun, as if in a fishbowl; the clouds raced across vast cerulean waves. A man’s striped shirt warped into a hotel towel, stretched with sweat seeping through the fibers. His crown receded into the sky, flying white follicles that resembled a seagull’s wing. The sun rose beneath, overtaking the aberrant trees: pines and conifers, oaks and mulberries, sprouting from her eyelids.

For once, Addy thought, “s’pose this’s what it’s like—huh—to have eyelashes.”

She craned her neck back on the plush, verdant grass. The edges of each blade curled like springs, wrapping around her locs like a newborn’s grip. Cars honked and screeched like condors on the street. Pigeons fluttered above her before landing on scraps of hot dogs in crumpled foil from a garbage can: free waste pick up. Feathers fell from the corner of her eye.

A woman’s curves were flush against her preened dress just in view. “How long have you been staring at the sun?” Her friend’s hair draped over the lip of the lens, like skyscrapers caught in the sun’s reflection.

“Couldn’t tell you—though I mustn’t be coming down. You’re more of a swan waiting to strike her next meal, Tran.” Addy’s voice trailed off, her mouth somewhat agape.

“Try me—I will.” Her eyes danced across her face before turning out toward the verdant park; its litany of oaks and spruces clustered in groups, dancing with the breeze, like dancers in a cabaret. “Melodie’s run off to the restroom?”

“Yeah. I told her she could go—that I’d be fine—shit’s a good trip.” Addy rolled her arms against the ground, as if the crushed blades of grass might leave the impression of an angel in each wake.

“That doesn’t make it right—you’re lucky nobody called the cops.”

Addy blew a raspberry. “Hey, we ate, but I’m no pro.”

“So then…what does that make me?”

“My guardian angel—duh.” Addy’s face was crooked, her mouth lightly drooping, as if saliva might trail out. She was smitten; her cheeks grew a faint rouge.

Tran’s face contorted, scoffing at the insistence. “Maybe in your dreams.”

“I’m already dreaming,” she insisted. She grasped the surrounding air, as though they were bulbous, pillowy clouds that just might slip away if she only let go a little. It was as if she were regressing into a child.

From a slip in the wavering crowds of pedestrians, the flowing panic of a chestnut woman came running through waves of runners, just past the public restroom nestled behind a fruit stand parked in front. Melodie started up from the base of the hill.

Tran scoffed, watching the worry dressed on her face like makeup, not blotted with tears, but well-worn. Faint halfmoons clung beneath her arms as she marched. It was evident that she, too, had indulged at one point in the tantalizing, gorgeous berries. Tran rose, keeping her friend just within reach.

“Don’t tell me—”

Melodie gasped for air at the peak. “—Tell what?”

Tran crossed her arms just as her parents did when she came home late at night; the buzz of her parents’ television ceased, but the flies around the yellowing, onion door light persisted. That distinct clunk of the door sealed the cool air inside. The air was always thick with tension when her head was bowed in shame. She thought that perhaps this disappointment was exclusive to her family, to her culture, but instead, it was universal.

Addy saw the waves of signals that were unfamiliar to Melodie, but did not intervene—her own high was more disruptive. It was like looking into a portal, a looking glass that resembled a microcosm, as if from a fisheye lens. She almost wanted to take a picture of it, but could not even feel where her fingers lay in the manicured park grass.

“She just needed to pee—Tran—please.”

But her face did not contort. Her sober stomach elevated as if she might swell with anger; it boiled inside like a perpetual stew, hot enough to scald pale flesh.

Melodie stooped down to the grass, almost grasping for Addy’s compatriotism in their high. When her mouth was agape, the putrid smell of breakfast came in waves.

Addy’s face grew pale, as though she might faint or fall ill from consumption. She thought:

“She’s too far in now…poor girl’s trip going to come up from her stomach any minute—any second.”

Melodie shook just as the leaves clung to the coarse branches of the oaks and mulberries. “I wasn’t feeling well, Tran. I couldn’t hold it down.”

“So you threw up?”

She shook her head before falling backward; her arms caught her from lying on her back. It was as if she had double-dipped on tabs and molly.

Tran heaved a deep sigh before collapsing to the ground, folding her legs over. She was defeated and deflated like a child’s birthday party balloon. It appeared that she might become caught in the whirling wind and fly away, only to be punctured by a thorn on a branch.

Addy mustered the courage to reach out to her guardian angel.

“Are you mad at us?” Her voice cracked like glass. “Shit’s okay if so.” Addy caressed Tran’s leg as she lay on the grass. Her lens was warped by the dark earth in the corner of her eye; the cerulean sky wavered at the opposite end.

“Not mad enough to shun—just disappointed. You’re both like hapless birds, unadulterated in your escapades and trivial pursuits.”

“Can we—” Melodie ceased, as if she were holding back something, but Tran finished for her.

“No—that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Addy and Melodie relaxed, sinking into the park grass as the birds fluttered like butterflies in search of mates. Their worlds were spinning ever so slowly, but everybody moved on so quickly.

Had their friendship run its course in the search for a high? Addy thought. The world would continue to turn, for the birds and for the pedestrians whose figures warped and contorted into surrealist paintings, melting onto canvas. Addy imagined she could poke out the sky and tear away at the frames that confined her eyes to her eyelids. Maybe then, she added, she might escape from the mortal confines of this earth.