The Complete Zagzagel Diaries (6 page)

Papa’s warning was lost in the sea of nothingness I often drifted to whenever He started ranting about my lack of judgment or my blatant disregard for protocol. Despite the shifting sands under foot, I couldn’t force myself to listen when His chastising began.

“I understand,” I said, not having a clue what he’d last mentioned. The sooner I got away from His presence, the better. Nothing productive ever came from our one-sided conversations.

Without further distraction, upon my dismissal, I descended the Heavens and veered for Mel’s twenty-four-hour, coin-operated laundromat. Actually, I alit in the alley behind Mel’s, where my charge, Charley, had set up residency for the last couple of years.

Charley’s wall-less accommodations were nothing special, but she liked to call them home. On the other hand, Charley, as Papa had foretold in His
I-am-the-all-knowing
speech, was very special, and in many ways.

With the exception of children, you see, humans are unable to see me unless I divulge my presence. My cloaking ability, however, had no effect on Charley, never had, not even as she’d reached adulthood.

“Morning,” she said, as I kicked a misplaced, half-shredded bag of trash toward the nearest dumpster on my approach.

“How are you today, Charley?”

“Fine. Fine.” Flagging me over, she smiled, but frowned and, with a gasp, covered her eyes as I rounded the dumpster. “Zagzagel! Cover up, for Heaven’s sake! You’re in the presence of a lady.”

How easily I forget these tiny details, but my name from her lips in such a scornful tone refreshed my memory—real quick. Before she had a chance to dress me down again, I made myself presentable, as you humans deem
proper.
Though I’d chosen the finest of silks, admittedly, I was uncomfortable. Hiding my disdain for the confines of the suit and tie I now adorned, I stepped forward. I didn’t need to ask Charley’s approval. Her smile said more than any words could ever say, and for a brief moment, I forgot my woes, my worries, my constant odds with Papa. Charley’s ability to lift my spirits was a gift.

“Got yourself a new chair.” I pointed to a sturdy looking, thigh-tall crate not present on my last visit.

She chuckled, appearing almost embarrassed. “Not fond of sitting on the ground these days.”

Of the many alleyways, overpasses, and bridges Charley had held residency in, under, and around over the years, behind this laundromat had been her wisest decision. High, along the scored brick wall, ran a row of dryer vents. Not only did they provide Charley warmth during cool nights, but she used the fresh laundered aroma of dryer sheets and fabric softener to air out her tattered clothing also.

“What are you up to?”

Standing beneath one of the vents, Charley shook what looked to have once been a crisp, white button-down dress shirt. “Just a bit of laundry. You?”

Now, she knew, I could not answer her, not with any detail.

It had been a while…a long while, but with this assignment, I was compelled to agree with Papa. Sometimes, the truth does more harm than good. Thanks to Charley’s extreme independence, she was good at tossing knowledge around in her head and coming up with a solution or a way to cheat fate. The less time she had to do this, the better.

“Thought I’d drop in, see how things were going on your end.”

She eyed me suspiciously, smoothing out the moth-nibbled shirt. “Seems I haven’t seen you in ages, Zag.”

“Well, you know how it goes.”

Only those in dire need garnered my direct assistance. No, being homeless was not Charley’s need. She’d lived on the streets for the last twenty years—her choice. Having the heart of a lamb, Charley didn’t want to burden her family.

Charley gave the shirt a brisk snap. “Still as talkative as ever, I see.”

She was also as tenacious as a wolverine.

Once she made a decision that was the final word in the matter. From her determined actions, I knew I’d garnered her curiosity. If I were wise, I’d steer the subject in another direction. “Hungry, Charley?”

Without as much as acknowledging I’d spoken, she threw on the blouse with its lacy cuffs and collar, and proceeded to button it from the top down. She motioned with a jerk of her chin for me to come closer, but as I neared, she held up one hand indicating I stop. Only after she’d fastened the final button on her shirt did I realize what she intended. With a muffled grunt, holding one hip, she squatted and picked up one of her stench-filled blankets. She gave it a hearty shake and then proceeded to fold it into quarters before dropping it back to the broken asphalt.

“Now, I’m ready for you,” she said and, with her palm upward, beckoned me to take a seat. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

“Thank you, Charley. You sure you aren’t hungry?” I asked, still standing.

One brow askew, she glared. “You already asked me that once.”

Yes. Yes, I had. “But you never answered one way or the—”

“For Heaven’s sake, Zaggy. When is this old fool not hungry?”

Another thing about Charley I’d forever cherished, she didn’t have a problem calling a spade a shovel when it fit. As always, she had a point. For me to show up at anyone’s doorstep empty-handed in the first place was inconsiderate. “I’ll be back in a minute. Okay, chief?”

“Yeah. Yeah….” She waved me away as if I was a fly at her picnic.

Charley forever denied she needed help. Estranged from her only family, she claimed to enjoy her solitude.
Claimed
being the operative word. You see, twenty some odd years earlier, like a caterpillar to a butterfly, her transformation happened whether or not Charley felt ready.

Glorious Spring, with its early blossoms and budding trees, bound forth that year. During the time of celebration and rebirth, Charley’s
condition
advanced. Her word for her secret, never mine. In her mind, a part of her died that year. Wasn’t anything wrong with her, as far as I could tell. She simply found facing life too difficult, considering her circumstances—considering Charley was born as Charles.

Hell bent on remaining in society’s comfort zone, Charles had pursued life as many of his male counterparts had, despite his differences. He even met a nice girl, married her. Together, they had a daughter. Life was good to Charles until he could no longer hide behind the wall of lies he’d constructed to protect his secret…to protect himself. The truth hit him smack in the face, once his only child left home. For months, he’d enter his wife’s bed—force himself to perform, most times, to the point of exhaustion. He tried too hard to prove he was something he was not. Though his wife was a brilliant but unassuming human, she did question his sudden, increased sexual interest.

When he could no longer stand to lie to himself or to others, he confessed his secret over breakfast one day. “There’s something wrong with me, Irene,” he said.

She had looked at Charles quizzically when he added, “I think I’m a woman.”

That was some revelation, especially for a married man in his fifties, who, up until then, had barricaded his secrets so deeply in his closeted mind, he wasn’t certain he remembered where he’d left half of them. Surprisingly to Charles, Irene said nothing, not at first.

After washing the breakfast dishes, she joined Charles on the back patio with a cup of warm cocoa. “You’re ready to admit it, then?” she’d asked, patting his back softly. “I’ve known for a while, dear.”

The shock of Irene’s statement sent Charles’s mind reeling. Where he had been certain he’d meet the biggest opposition in his life, he’d been embraced with love and understanding instead.

Charley cried that day, but I think some of her stability escaped on her tears. Over the weeks, talking to herself grew into an everyday event, and one-by-one, she distanced herself from her friends, coworkers, until finally, Charley quit work altogether.

Months passed and she’d yet to come out to Monica, her daughter. Charley, full of uncertainty, wearing her confessions on the sleeve of her dress, met Monica over lunch one day. Sadly, Monica did not welcome the news nor was she understanding in the least. Without finishing the meal, for Monica had stormed away before Charley could stop her, Charley stood from the table, paid the tab at the register, and walked away.

Charley didn’t just walk away from the restaurant that day; she abandoned the life she knew. She put up a good fight, but in the end, her mind couldn’t handle her only child’s rejection. No one noticed Charley missing, for Irene passed away with a smile on her face later that evening, never to realize Charley’s fate.

Mortal life. So fleeting, so unfair, the more I think on it.

I pity you. Despite my fascination or my envy with your
God-given
status, few of you, in comparison, ever seem to “catch a break,” as you say. So, why hadn’t I intervened in Charley’s life sooner, you ask?

It wasn’t time.

That’s my answer, clear and simple. Forcing further change on Charley back then would’ve done more harm than good. Charley wasn’t ready, until now.

I rounded the corner into the alley behind Mel’s laundromat and handed Charley the brown paper bag before settling on the offered blanket-seat. “Pastrami on rye.”

“You’re a good man,” Charley said, unfolding the stiff paper wrapping with delicate fingers.

Man? Don’t flatter me. Leave it to Charley, though. Not only did she see
me,
but also she saw me as I longed to be seen—without title, without reverence…without my wings. Quite ironic, given the fact she also saw butterflies when no other human around her was capable of doing so.

“They’re beautiful. You’re going to miss them, Zag. See that yellow one with the fiery orange streaks?”

“Yes. It’s very nice,” I said, and I wasn’t lying or even bending the truth. I saw them also.

“I lost mine.” Charley swallowed a huge bite of pastrami as she told me this, then dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin. “But the other night, I dreamt of her. I know she’s around.”

“Yes. She’s around—somewhere.” I couldn’t help but smile at the innocence in Charley’s wandering gaze. Little did she know, the butterfly she’d claimed as her own was waiting for her, elsewhere. “I know where your butterfly is staying these days, Charley.”

She scrunched up her empty wrapper, placed it and the used napkin inside the paper sack. “You’re going to ask me to follow you, aren’t you?”

My turn came to swallow, as I wondered if Charley had picked up the ability to read minds also.

“No, not really. Not unless you’re interested in finding your butterfly.”
Forgive me Papa, for I had lied.
“I can show you where she is now. She’s found a most lovely garden.”

Charley searched my face, but I could tell she was searching for something deeper—my motive, perhaps.

“You’d like this place. They have benches—the stained wooden and wrought-iron ones you love so well.”

Though I cringed internally at the mere thought of getting within ten paces of nature, I kept up the front, the smile, the plan. After all, Charley deserved happiness more than any human I’d ever known. Not as if among humans I had favorites—okay, yes, of all my charges, Charley was my favorite, and from what I witnessed in your society with each new day, I was certain she would forever remain my favorite.

Her gaze snapped to the trash she’d balled up in her hand. She stood from her crate-seat, tossed the bag into the dumpster at her side. “Fine. But I’m cleaning this place up first. God knows who could stop by. I’d never forgive myself if they saw such a rat’s nest.” She continued muttering about the state of her living area as she moved about her small nook in the alley, straightening discarded crates, folding blankets, and stacking them in a neat pile beneath one of the dryer vents.

“Got a little something I think you’d like.” I interrupted her busyness to present her with a new shirt, a flowery skirt, and a pair of flats without holes in the soles I’d
picked up
while procuring her sandwich.

Clear, from the look she threw, her suspicion had returned. After a minute of study, she snatched the white box from my hands and cracked open the lid. Her eyes widened, but she said nothing until I handed off the shoes.

“What I got on isn’t good enough for you?” Her voice cracked, and I noticed the moisture collecting in her eyes.

“You’re my friend, Charley. I want you to have something extra special and nice.”

Shoving the box back at me, she said, “I can’t take this.”

She couldn’t take it?
I wasn’t sure how much of her stubbornness
I
could take. Here I was, talking to her as if we had all the time in the world. I had a job to do, had to get her moving, convince her to follow me somehow. My insides hurt, a pain I didn’t recall experiencing with any of my charges to-date. In an unexpected move, for I felt awkward the moment I did it, I pulled Charley into my arms, crushing the box of clothing between us. “I love you,” I told her.

With a start, she backed out of my embrace. “T-thank you,” she managed on a whisper but looked away as she continued, “I’m not accepting these, Zag…I can’t.”

Though I knew her like no one else in her life ever had, I was at a loss to her resistance. I could tell her that sometimes it’s all right to let others do things for you, that one small show of gratitude may mean more than…oh hell, I didn’t want to preach.
Think. Think. Think
. “At least let me treat you to a facial.”