Date: Fri, 18 May 2001 06:29:46 -0400
From: Tom Cup <tom_cup@hotmail.com>
Subject: Angel -  Chapter 3 G/M Y/A

Angel by Tom Cup

Copyright 2001 by the Paratwa Partnership, A Colorado Corporation. All
rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without
written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive,
Florissant, CO 80816

This is a fictional story involving youth/youth and adult/youth sexual
relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any
further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names,
characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or
locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

To support these and other stories by Tom Cup, visit:
http://tomcup.isCool.net or http://www.boyztown.net


Angel
by Tom Cup

Chapter 3

Father Kennedy had not slept in three days.  He tried, of course, but sleep
just would not come to him.  There was much to do before he could leave his
mission post and he was hoping to rest before beginning his drive westward
into the mountains of Colorado.  But again, sleep would not come. As always,
as he laid his weary body on the bed, and began to drift off into sleep, the
voice came to him.  The voice and the vision of the boy he once named Angel.

He saw Angel in white wind blown robes, arms outstretched, a smile marking
his lips, and eyes that welcomed him.  The voice didn't come from Angel, no,
but from around him but the message was clear: "Come. Now.  I need you." Was
it a voice?  No, that's not right.  Many voices. And did they speak? No,
they didn't speak, they sang.  They sang the song of two old friends meeting
again.  They sang of David's love for Jonathan.  They sang of John laying in
the bosom of Jesus.  Always high above the song, and underneath it like a
strong hand lifting it up, was the whisper of  a melody begging Father
Kennedy to: "Come. Now. I need you."

In his half awakened state Father Kennedy had done what he never expected:
he asked a question.  "Who are you?"  The answer did not surprise the priest
though he knew it was a play on the very name of God.  "I am who you think I
am."  The priest wondered if those might have been the true words spoken to
Moses.  It didn't matter in the end, the words had their effect and Father
Kennedy rose and began the drive westward.

"Are you all right, Father?"

"Oh, Darcy.  As a matter of fact, my son, I must confess that I haven't felt
this good in years."

"I thought you looked a bit different."

"Different?  How so?"

"I'm not quite sure.  How's Angel?

The change of direction in the conversation was not lost on Cornelius.  Of
course, Angel had much to do with the changes that were occurring in his
life.  He had not realize that those changes were noticeable by anyone.
True, Darcy was a remarkable child.  In many ways a great deal like Angel.
It very well may have been that Darcy was simply speaking what was obvious
to himself but not to everyone else.  Nevertheless, Cornelius knew he would
have to be more careful.  Somehow he would have to mask what he was feeling.
But how does one mask contentment, peace, fulfillment, joy and true
happiness?  Cornelius had never experienced these emotions before.  He had
never allowed himself to even dream they were possible.  As surely as he
stood before Darcy, he knew that these feelings came from the time he was
spending with Angel.  He looked into Darcy's eyes and saw that Darcy knew
also.

"Angel?  Oh, yes, well he..."

"It doesn't matter Father,"  Darcy interrupted, "Besides, it's time for
afternoon prayers."

The old woman sat staring from her favorite park bench.  Nothing much
changed in the park.  She watched day after day as the children came and
went.  She watched them grow up and leave.  Where they went she would not
know, did not care.  Occasionally, some tall remembrance of the past would
visit the park and speak to her saying that she was remembered.  She would
smile.  They would leave, hurrying back into a world with no time for parks
and play. She would sit and watch as the children came and went. Nothing
much changed in the park.

The children steered clear of the old woman. Some called her crazy.  Others
said she was a witch. Some sympathetic parents, remembering the woman from
their own childhood, forbid their own children from speaking harshly of her.
  When she began coming to the park, no one could remember.  She was as
stately a part of the landscape as the old Cottonwood that marked the center
of the park.  Both white of hair. Both were expected to be there.

And so she was there when the van stopped in front of the park.  She knew
immediately that this was something different.  There were thirteen heads
that she counted disembarking that day.  None of them mattered but one.  Not
the one who immediately spotted her, and came to her, offering her the hot
dog he purchased from the vendor that never offered her anything.  No, he
was a polite enough boy, a kind boy.  "Darcy," she heard another call him,
"Why did you do that?"  She hadn't heard his response nor cared.  She placed
the hot dog in her shopping bag. It would serve her well as dinner.  No,
Darcy was not the one.  It was the boy that came to her when no one else was
looking.  He came to her when the park had returned to it's own concerns
ignoring even the newcomers, who had themselves forgotten, she was not an
ornament in the park but a living being.  He came then, sat beside her, and
smiled.

"Who are you boy?"

"Angel, they call me."

The woman laughed and then narrowed her eyes on the boy.  "An Angel by my
side,  by my side, by my side."  she sang.

The boy smiled again at her.  His smile was infectious.  It warmed her. It
made her feel as though she was truly free.  He shrugged.  "I'm glad I make
you happy,"  he said, "Where is your family?"

"Well,"  replied the old woman, "I am alone.  I have no family.  They left
long ago.  I'm not crazy you know?"

"I know, but your not alone just lonely,"  the boy replied

"Why do you say that?"

"You've been coming here a long time now, Margaret.  It is almost time to go
home."

She almost asked the boy how he knew her name or that she had been coming
here for as long as she could remember.  Why this place brought her peace,
she had long forgotten.  Was it here that she had played as a child?  She
couldn't remember.  Maybe, it was that this place reminded her of another
place.  Perhaps.  Didn't she come her during her lunch hour when she was a
typist so long ago? Yes, that was right, she was sure.  Wasn't it in this
park that she met her beloved.  Yes, they were married but he was taken.
Wasn't he?  Yes, he was taken and her beautiful Betsy with him.  Taken home
to be with the Lord.  Yes, she had come here then and wept for the
fatherless child that stirred in her womb. But there was something she was
forgetting.  Something, or someone, from long ago.

"Home?"

"Yes, Margaret.  Your son is coming. It's nearly time to go home."

It was the way that Zachy was practically dragging Elijah along in whispers
that rose Darcy's curiosity.  As Darcy followed, so did one boy after
another. Eleven boys stood staring in disbelief before Brother Lucas, also
drawn by curiosity, joined them.  The boys stood silent and still, with
Brother Lucas towering over them, watching the lips of the old lady, and
then of Angel, move.  They could not hear what was being said but one thing
was clear to all: they were witnessing Angel speaking.

Father Cornelius didn't like unannounced arrivals.  He liked even less
unannounced arrivals carrying letters from the Bishop.  His relationship
with the church was pleasant yet distant.  He had considered it as a black
mark on his abilities at first but now, with Angel, he preferred it remain
that way.  His preference was not of concern.

"Of course,"  the older priest was saying, "all matters of operation are
still under your care.  I am here only as an observer and, in part, on
respite.  You can feel free to use me in anyway you see fit."

"Of course," Father Cornelius answered staring at the letters but not seeing
them.  The church could not possibly know anything of what was happening
with Angel, he knew that. And even if they did, he thought, it would take
months before things went through channels and some one like Father Kennedy
would be sent.  The letters, as Father Kennedy correctly interpreted, gave
no hint of impending doom or suspicion. In fact, one could say they hinted
more at the priest being in transition before retirement.  The Bishop's
concern for the elder priest came through clearly.  Cornelius was to take
care of this priest and give him what he asked. None of this comforted
Father Cornelius.  It was hard enough visiting Angel with the boys and
Brother Lucas about.  Now he would have another set of eyes to worry about.

"How is Angel?"

The question shot through Cornelius like lightening.  It was then that he
realized he had seen the priest's name before with the Mission records that
accompanied Angel .  Seated before him was the priest that had given Angel
his name.  Why was he here?

"Angel?"

"Yes, I am anxious to see him again.  How is he?"

"He is out with the other boys.  A day outing."

"Yes, yes....but how is he Father?  Has he spoken?

"I'm afraid Father, I can not answer that."

Angel recognized the old priest standing beside Father Cornelius
immediately.  He smiled at him as he got out of the van, walked over to him,
took his hand and led him away toward his favorite outcroppings.  He hadn't
so much as acknowledged Father Cornelius' presence causing something within
the man to feel as though it were breaking.  As soon as he disappeared out
of sight, the other boys broke into a litany of excited chatter about the
days events that the priest could bearly follow.  Finally, he raised his
hand for silence and looked to Brother Lucas for an explanation.

"It appears that our Angel was speaking to an old woman in the park."

"He was! I saw him too!  Me too" came a chorus of voices.

Father Cornelius again raised his hand for silence.  "Were you able to
discern what he was saying?"

"I'm afraid not,"  Brother Lucas answered, "I don't think they spoke long.
At any rate,  as soon as we were noticed the conversation ended."

"Thank you.  Thank you all," said Father Cornelius, "I will take the matter
under advisement. I think it would be best if we spoke of this no more."

Darcy was the last of the boys to leave Father Cornelius and Brother Lucas.
He glanced back over his shoulder and witnessed the beginning of Brother
Lucas' objection to silencing the days events.  He then turned his attention
to other concerns: the new priest in their midst.


To support these and other stories by Tom Cup, visit:
http://tomcup.isCool.net or http://www.boyztown.net


Send comments to:  tom_cup@hotmail.com