Angel Over My Shoulder

Angel Over My Shoulder

by

Pepper Pace

One day I was talking to a friend and co-worker regarding a story that I had written about a young woman that had fallen in love with a ghost which was haunting her new apartment. Neither of us could figure out what the story was missing but we knew that it just wasn’t hitting what either of us wanted from such a story. I decided that I would just try again and this is the result of our little collaboration. And so, I want to dedicate this story to Leslie for encouraging me to write it and for being enthusiastic about me becoming an author—even though she was completely against me putting my work online for free (smile). Oh and by the way, I need to also thank Leslie for lending me all of those books written by African American authors—both well known and not so well known. I think that was her way of providing me with incentive to publish.

Special thanks go out to Honeybree for editing the Literotica version of this story. She helped to polish it and to make it shine. I would also like to thank my friend Richard who is a retired police officer who provided me with some of the law enforcement terminology and guided me in the right direction concerning identity theft.

And of course I have to thank my blog followers for the feedback they gave when the first version of this story appeared on Literotica.com. For anyone who thinks they have read this story before, you might be surprised to find that it has gone through some big changes.

© 2012 by Pepper Pace. All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Pepper Pace.

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Disclaimer

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental, any references to actual places is used fictitiously. Any reference to music is in no attempt to claim ownership. All rights belong to the musical artists. This book contains child sexual abuse, strong language and graphic depictions of sexual acts and drug use. It is intended for adult readers only.

ANGEL OVER YOUR SHOULDER

Leslie stood before the caskets of her mother and father. Grandmama was holding one of her hands in her own gloved one. Fat tear drops were rolling down her brown cheeks, only to splash from her chin leaving black spots along the collar of her black dress. Leslie wanted to stick out her tongue and catch one of the drops as it fell, the way she used to do when it rained. But even at five years old she knew that she had to be still.

When she fidgeted, people looked at her. Sometimes they frowned, sometimes they gave her a kind smile, sometimes they just cried harder. But she couldn’t sit still, she just had to scratch because Grandma had dressed her in a wool coat that itched. She had also made her wear an ugly black velvet dress with pleats and Mary Jane shoes that squeaked when she walked. Mama had never made her wear clothes like this. But then she had never been to a funeral before…well other than the ones in her dreams.

Uncle Monty kept shooting her strange looks. He swooped down suddenly and lifted her into his arms. “It’s ok to cry, you know.”

Leslie didn’t tell him that she already knew it was ok to cry. She had cried the first time she’d seen the funeral. Even if she did talk, she still would not have told him these things. Grandmama said that it was ok if she didn’t want to talk. Before Mama and Daddy died she talked a lot but not after. She just didn’t have anything to say…and even if she did have something to say, there was no reason to say it.

“Don’t you want to say goodbye to your Mama and Daddy?”

Leslie just stared at Uncle Monty. Sometimes people said that there was something wrong with her and that she needed to see a special doctor. Uncle Monty was one of those people. Grandmama didn’t care and Uncle Monty didn’t matter, so she was ok with staring at him as if he was the crazy one.

She had already been to this funeral. She had already done this before; she’d already said her goodbyes. She assumed that all people saw certain things twice; once in dreams and again when they happened in real life months, maybe years later.

She had seen her first day of kindergarten before it had ever happened. Angel had taken her to school before Mama ever had. At the time, Angel didn’t have a name. She hadn’t given him the name until he first showed her the funeral.

Before that he was the presence that was always in her dreams. He was mostly the backdrop but at times he came to the forefront. She never knew a time when he wasn’t somewhere in her dreams, either watching in the distance, or standing just behind her. He never told her his name because he never spoke. Therefore, in the beginning he didn’t have a name, and that was ok. It was also ok that Leslie didn’t even really know what he looked like. She never looked at him directly, had never needed to. He was a boy, or a teenager, or maybe even an adult.

Before the first day of school had ever happened, he had held her hand and led her into the classroom, wordlessly taking her to the coat bin where she would hang her sweater, and then showed her the desk that the teacher would have her sit. Afterwards he let her play with the toys that were in the basket of the cubby while he sat on top of the teacher’s desk. She knew it was bad to sit on furniture like that but would never think to tell him not to do that. If he did it, then it was right, and that’s just how it had always been.

But the day Angel showed her the funeral marked the day that everything changed—in, as well as outside of her dreams.

Always before, her dreams had just been fun fantasies of cartoons and over indulgences. Rarely did she dream of something scary, like the circus clowns, or the Wolfman. Life was good to her five year old mind. In kindergarten she learned her letters, sat in the reading circle, and then had milk and cookies for snack. Mama would pick her up after school and then she could watch cartoons or go outside and play with Dante and Damita, the twins who lived next door. Daddy would come home from work and he would ask her about her day, just as if she was a big girl. She was especially happy when they got to go to the movies or the zoo or shopping for new clothes.

Then one night she went to sleep and found herself sitting in front of the television screen. She assumed that everyone dreamed of the television screen. The TV was old fashioned; the type that required you to change the channels manually by turning a knob. Sometimes images would flash across the screen at a rapid pace, as if someone was channel surfing.

Always, she would have a few moments to wonder, ‘why am I just sitting here?’ Once the realization hit her she would know that she was dreaming. Leslie understood that once she knew that she was dreaming then she would remember this dream later. Déjà vu is the word that she would learn. And then he would come out from the background and into the forefront.

And that’s when he would take her to see things that would come true.

On this day, he placed his hand on her shoulder and she began walking. People were crowded around her, looking at her with sadness and she didn’t know why. But she kept walking until the two of them were standing alone. The crowd of people had gathered on a hill some yards away and there they stood as if they were waiting for something important to happen.

The two of them watched until Leslie lost interest and then they were suddenly some place different; inside of a church. This time they just stood in the doorway and watched people sitting in pews crying. Immediately she didn’t like it. He reached down and held her hand and she tried to move forward but he stayed rooted to the spot. It meant that he wanted her to just watch. He’d done that before; not allowed her to participate, just to watch.

She suddenly saw her grandmother sitting in one of the pews and she was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue that needed to be thrown away and replaced with a fresh one. Beside her was…her. It was the first time that she’d seen herself in a dream. She stared, amazed; this was like watching a movie.

She looked up for the first time in her life, to meet the eyes of her guide. It was like looking into the eyes of her father, or a teacher, or some other person that she trusted. He didn’t look at her, he was staring at the front of the church and so she did as well. Two coffins were there and Leslie still didn’t connect how significant this was to her. She was five and she looked at the flowers and her other self and her grandmother instead.

After a few more moments of boredom, Leslie released his hand and moved forward. Would the other her be able to see her? But when she reached her other self her guide was suddenly there again. He placed his hand on her shoulder and led her to the coffins. She hadn’t even paid attention to the two coffins...not until she saw the large portrait that set between them. It was of her Mama and Daddy.

Leslie could feel her chest constrict as if it was being squeezed by a large fist. She moved forward to the picture.

“That’s my Mama and Daddy.” She pointed to it, looking back and forth from him and the portrait. A desperate understanding was forming in her mind as she waited for his explanation.

He didn’t even look at her, let alone acknowledge her silent question. He was staring at the caskets, from one to the other. Reluctantly she allowed her eyes to look into one of the boxes. Her mother lay lifelessly within it. Leslie felt as if her entire world was crumbling at her feet. Everything seemed to fade away except for the sight of her mother lying amidst the white satin and ruffles. Her skin was grey and ashy and she didn’t look like herself. Her lips looked funny and so did her eyes. And she was wearing a dress that Leslie had never seen.

“That’s not my mommy!” She backed away from the casket, bumping into him. “Where is MY mommy?!” Hot burning tears were suddenly in her eyes. At first he didn’t look like he would answer. He kept staring at the casket, which meant he wanted her to see. But she didn’t want to see. Finally he knelt down and stared at her.

“Look.” He had never spoken before, not ever. Still, she couldn’t stop crying. He put his hand on her chin so that she would look at him. “Look.” The fact that she’d never before heard his voice finally got through and caused her tears to stop. She paused in order to listen to it. He stood up again and stared at the casket of her dead mother. Reluctantly she turned and she looked too.