He’s coming up behind me…again.
My angel in the teal blue vintage convertible.
I can taste my sweat dripping from my head, because my mouth has opened in a smile, while I race ahead of my angel on my bicycle, Clarence gaining on me fast.
I don’t know his name, but I call him Clarence, after the imperfect angel from the movie “It’s A Wonderful Life”..he is funny..and seems flawed. Every morning at 9 a.m., while I am racing my bike to the angel garden at the convent, he appears seemingly out of the clear blue sky, maneuvers slowly around me, waves and smiles..sometimes heckles..”Shouldn’t you be peddling that thing??”
Clarence is a vision in his very shiny, very old convertible. The morning sun bouncing off his white hair and shiny head. He putt-putts ahead of me to the convent where he stops and parks in the same spot every morning, at the edge of the forest. By the time I catch up to him he is silent, his hands folded in prayer, his head bowed onto his fancy steering wheel, his lips moving in fervent quiet prayer. I so badly want to interrupt and say, “who are you?”..but I can’t bring myself to do it.
I find Clarence highly suspicious for Guardian Angel.
My town is a very small town. When your neighbor moves away it usually means they moved two streets over. The roots have grown roots around here..no one leaves. Everybody knows everyone. I don’t know Clarence…and he is hard to miss in his fancy convertible. I have never seen him anywhere but coming up behind me as we race to the angels.
Yesterday, I stopped and watched Clarence from a distance..”are you real?” I wondered. I realized just a few feet to my left, a sister shrouded in her habit was sitting silently on a garden bench..I was a little startled that she saw me spying on Clarence. The church bells rang at that moment, and she stood up, smiled a greeting, and looked towards Clarence, who was starting to putt..putt on his way.
I think they’re in cohoots.