Forgiving Bessie

8. Ravenspond

Jason and Angel Rocco have disembarked from the Holy Rollercoaster after their wild ride from Heaven. When his vision clears, Jason realizes they are standing in a football field. It seems familiar. With a shock, he recognizes it as the one behind Ravenspond High. My old school! This is so weird!

My old school! This is so weird!He shivers in the almost freezing night air, pungent with decaying leaves, having grown so accustomed to the balmy 70°F temperature of Heaven. He looks over at Angel Rocco, unzipping the garment bag. “What’s that for?”

“You’ll see,” the angel replies, pulling out two body suits—the former body shells of souls who have since reincarnated. They kind of look like mystical Halloween costumes. He hands one to his companion. Simultaneously, they yank the shells over their bodies.

Looking down at himself, Jason sees a stocky torso; his legs are encased in scruffy jeans. The skin on his hands, below his flannel shirt, is brown.

Staring over at the stumpy angel, Jason watches in amusement as he transforms into a just-under-five-foot middle-aged man—very much as he always looks, only with dyed platinum hair. He sports a white chef’s apron covered in stains. Over this, he wears an old red plaid jacket.

Angel Rocco pipes up, “Thought I would try out being blonde, ha-ha. Arturo, meet your uncle, your tio, Raul Rodrigues. Buenos días. And you are Arturo Rodrigues. Our family lives in Halifax. Your grandfather Rey owns a small diner here in Ravenspond, but suffered a heart attack a few days ago while on vacation, and is in hospital in Cuba. You and your Uncle Raul, that’s me, have come west from Halifax to temporarily run the restaurant for him. Got it?”

tio, Buenos días.In an unfamiliar Cuban accent that somehow rolls off his tongue, Jason-Arturo stares around in the chilly night air. He pinches his skin, and it stings. He reaches up and tugs at his hair. Stunned, he asks his Tio Raul if they are visible to regular humans.

Tio“Sí, you betcha!” Angel Rocco-Uncle Raul tells him. “In fact, the entire planet can see that stain on your shirt, pal.”

SíJason-Arturo glances down and sure enough, dried tomato sauce splashes the front of his plaid shirt. Startled, he realizes he “knows” all about his immigrant grandfather, who works from dawn till dark in his modest restaurant featuring Cuban food. Sadly, his grandpa had suffered a heart attack while on vacation in Cuba. Being a good grandson, Arturo had offered to travel with his Uncle Raul to Ravenspond to help out during his elderly relative’s health crisis. “Where … where do we live?”

“In an apartment over the diner,” Angel Rocco responds, “in the older part of town.” His voice no longer carries a familiar Bronx accent but growls just the same with a Cuban overtone. “Welcome back to your hometown.”

Jason-Arturo’s dark eyes fill with longing. “May I … see my family? And what about Bessie? Will I be able to see her? Will she know me?”

Angel Rocco turns serious. “I gotta check my instructions.” He takes a crumpled note from his pocket and begins to read out loud. “Here’s how it’s gonna go down. Me, Angel Rocco, am going to put a shield of unknowing around you while you, Jason Wallet, are on your mission. Under the shield, your loved ones will not be able recognize you, blah-blah-blah.” The angel’s eyes dart back and forth across the neat handwriting of Angel Rachel. “Oh, okay, here’s some more. When your work is complete, you’ll have a chance to visit with your family and Bessie before you return to Heaven. You may reveal your true identity to them, should you decide to do so.”

He checks his other pocket and pulls out a tiny vial. “This here is the shield stuff, so close your eyes.”

Jason-Arturo does as he is told while Angel Rocco shakes the shimmery purple flakes that swirl and whirl around him from head to toe, up and down, and back again.

“Okay, you can open ‘em.” Angel Rocco stuffs the vial back into the pocket of his jeans. “Let’s go home and get some rest. It’s 6:10 a.m. already. Remember, you gotta go to school on Monday.”

“How … how are we going to get there? To our … home?” Jason-Arturo looks around.

“In that.” Angel Rocco-Uncle Raul points to a broken-down, green pickup truck, the lone vehicle in the parking lot. “So, move your butt, sobrino, heh-heh. That means nephew, Arturo.”

sobrinoAnd with that, they head towards the old jalopy while the faintest hint of deep pink paints the horizon.