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Wouldn't It Be Great If Angels Had Wings? MAG
The chaos of the modern world began to make me dizzy and light-headed. Puddles crashing into tires, trickling drops on the crowded sidewalk. Like street rats just thrown a chunk of cheese, scrounging to get their own piece, these people run around like chickens with no heads, screaming silly words, such as money, appointments, and hot dogs. I just stood there observing the jammed streets of New York City.
"Momma! ... Mom!"
I desperately tried to shout above the voices, footsteps, and horns. In all of this confusion I had misplaced my mother.
Yearning to find her, I turned my head jerkily in each direction, adding blurs to the world around me. The picture I saw before me was a watercolor of sorrow. My heart beats loudly in my eardrums, and a rainy sweat mixture gathered in each of the tiny crevices of my face. My mind drew a blank.
Last I knew, she was right there behind me and had stopped to use the phone. I stayed next to her, but fixated on this carnival. She must have gone on without me. Unsure of what to do, I sat down on the curb, hoping to remove myself from this game of bumper cars, yet somehow I was still in the way.
I then found myself unable to control my emotions. My face began to wrinkle and my throat was filled with that dry, choking feeling. I blinked my eyes rapidly like a fish pulled out of water, trying to hold back, but I wept like I never had before.
To feel so alone and vulnerable made me sick to my stomach, almost to the point of vomiting. I began to shiver all over and the muscle in the back of my arm clenched tightly, as though someone had taken hold of it. When I awoke from my own world, I realized there was a strange hand grabbing my flesh. My first reaction was to scream, and I did, for fear of being kidnapped. But then I looked up into the face of this man and my vocal box shut off.
His concerned face puzzled me. The whole atmosphere changed in that moment, seeming as though we were the only two people. He was a stocky man, almost chunky with sweet chocolate brown eyes. His nose was pointy, resembling Pinnochio's in his early stage of lying. He had flawless milky fudge skin that looked as though it would ripple if I touched it. His wide smile and full lips returned my body to normal.
His words of kindness helped snap me out of my staring wonder. He asked me if I was all right as I immediately explained how I had lost my mother. I didn't know what to do, and eventually said that I was going to die. He reminded me that it was both a careless and dangerous thing for me to do, yet still understanding how it could happen. His delicate words massaged my ears and I wished that he could speak to me forever. He said that he would help me find her, as he began to hand me every question he could think of.
I tried answering him the best I could as I walked down each street close behind him. It was then that I realized the apparel this man wore. I had so concentrated on his face that I failed to notice from the neck down that he was not a he. He had jewelry, high-heeled pumps, and even miniature breasts. Still, this didn't bothered me and I enjoyed being surrounded by him.
We had come to the police department before I had time to think otherwise. It was a little brick building with huge glass doors. We carefully walked inside and were bombarded with a cold aroma that smelled like glue. He helped me talk to the police and fill out a report, where they asked me even more questions. The policemen occasionally whispered small remarks to one another and then smirked. I feared they were making fun of me, but then noticed they were looking at the man beside me. My nervousness made every minute seem like four. Not even ten minutes later, I lifted my head to see my mother walking in that very same door.
I jumped to my feet and almost tripped over my toes trying to get to her.We both burst into tears as we met and I inhaled her familiar smell as our bodies collided. The man came over to receive his thank you's and to meet my mother. I opened my mouth to thank him, but I was abruptly silenced by my mother.
She told him to stay away from us, calling him rude names and jerking me from his side, straight out the police door, dragging me down the sidewalk. Looking back into his eyes and admiring face, I could only feel sorry for him and wonder why my mother was so thoughtless.
Looking back, I thought of how much better it would be for him to live somewhere else. In a place where he could be recognized and loved for his kind heart, not scorned for his appearance. Thinking how much better it would be if only angels had wings. 1