winged

The last of the cans in the cupboard were the pears. 8 cans of pears. All 8 lined up in a row. The label on the pear cans each had a pear tree on them. When they were all lined up, they looked like a little row of trees, a little orchard hidden in the cupboard.

Allie would eat them sometimes, but we both preferred the peaches. I hadn’t eaten them since I was a child and I hated them then. They tasted oddly to sweet and bitter at the same time and had a strange gritty dry feeling even though they were juicy. Allie got out two bowls – a white ceramic bowl for me and her favorite small plastic bowl with pink cherry blossoms. I poured half into her bowl, filling it right up to the top. She slurped up the top like a cat. She took the empty can and with care, she peeled off the label at the seam. She rolled the paper in the opposite direction; then smoothed it out flat on the table.

These pears tasted syrupier and metallic. I still hated the taste. But it made me feel like a pouting child again. Upset that mom could never remember I hated them and gave them to me anyways. Upset that I didn’t get a choice. And now our choice was between which of the 8 cans of pears to eat.

“I saw an angel last night.” Allie whispered – though we were alone. We were the only two living in this cabin. Though the real owners could come at any time or the police or worse.

“You saw someone? Outside?”

“An angel.”

“What did they look like?”

“Don’t tease me.”

“It wasn’t dad?”

“Not like dad.” She whispered. “We would’ve known if it were him.” Allie gave me a tight hug. The bruise on my ribs still hurt. I picked her up. “I got you,” she said.

“Did the angel say anything to you?”

“I don’t remember. I think it almost knew my name. It said Ellie!” She giggled then jumped out of my arms to fall on the soft couch.

Dad raised a bunch of money from the church to help get mom into an experimental treatment in the city. Too far for us to see her he said. And even if we were in town. He said: she wasn’t strong enough; we would tire her out; she didn’t want to see us.

Allie took out her pen and went back to the table.

I opened Google maps and searched the hospital. We had walked 4 hours yesterday and we weren’t even halfway to the hospital. It said it would be a seven hour walk along the highway and Allie couldn’t walk any longer at 4 hours yesterday. I could carry her for some of the way, but it would be slow. If we didn’t make it to the city, it would be dangerous to sleep outside. You can always hear the coyotes yelling at night. There were cougars too. I read they could stalk you silently for hours. You wouldn’t know it, until they attacked. We could try to find a barn. But if the owners found us – they could be dangerous too. Hitchhiking would be dangerous and stupid. We had to walk. We get up early and try to get there.

Allie was colouring the pear label. The label was filled with a large, sprawling pear tree, and overtop, in blue pen ink, was a bird with a human head; it looked more like a creature you would find in Greek mythology than the more widely accepted view of an angel as a human with wings. She sensed me and threw her hands and body overtop of her picture.

“You can’t laugh at it.”

“I wasn’t!”

The door knocked. The blinds were open, and at the doorstep was an old lady. These cabins were always so isolated. And this was my friend’s cabin – which his family almost never used. He was the only one who knew we were here, and he swore he wouldn’t tell. We were too careless. We should have closed the blinds.

“Who is it?”

“Not an angel.”

“You can’t be sure.” She went up to the window to look at the lady.

“Allie don’t!”

“If she’s an angel, we have to answer it.”

“That isn’t how that works – get away from the window.”

The old lady saw us – or she saw Allie at least. I opened the door. The lady was panting and leaning against the side of the house. She looked panicked.

“Are you alright? What's wrong?”

The lady collapsed. We need to get her to the hospital.