Short Stories

Angel's Eye's

by Tino Barrera
06/22/06
For Sale
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Angel's Eyes
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"You want an egg?" He
asked the boy. "I'll roast you one in the ashes." The boy
had

not heard of this. He thought of
roasted hot dogs and smiled at the picture of an ashy egg,

sunny side up on a stick. He was a
curious four year old. Small passing notions often

paused to linger with him, transfixing
his attention, filling him with wonder, or with

dread. This was an especially
entertaining thought.

"How ya gonna do it
grandpa?" He was giggling and wiggling, waving his little rake.

"Careful there. Go get one
from grandma and I'll show you," and off he went. "Get

one for me while you're at it." He
had to yell as the boy was already near the back door.

They had been burning leaves all
morning. Pushing a shrinking mound ever inward,

adding another pile to freshen the
flame. The sweet smoke sometimes got into the boy's

eyes.

"Just because I got tears,
it don't mean I'm crying grandpa."

"It 'doesn't mean you're
crying." Even as he corrected the boy's grammar, he chided

himself, "No more pressure."
His wife usually reminded him to lighten up, but without

her out in the yard with them, he had
to check himself for gaffs. Once this morning the

boy even reminded him saying,

"I don't hafta know all
the words grandpa, I'm only a kid!" Now he smiled at the

memory in spite of himself, turning
embers to reveal hidden pockets of unburnt leaves.

He looked up at the sound of the
screen door and saw two small hands carrying two

large brown eggs. He noted a similar
'coffee with cream' coloring of both hands and eggs

and the term 'high yellow' came to
mind. The boy was stepping nearly heel to toe,

monitoring his hands, as he carefully
made his way back. Jimmie, his very own, very

first, orange tabby kitten hopped after
him but soon gave chase to various drifting leaves.

"Grandpa, I didn't know
they made brown eggs. Was they brown chickens?"

"No, I think it was the
vitamins the mamma chicken ate that made them brown." He

hoped he was right. I'll have to
look that up, he noted.

With the hoe the old man made an
indention at the edge of the hot ashes. With finger and

thumb he quickly nested the two eggs
side by side, and scooped a hoeful of embers to

cover it.

"We gonna be able to find
em, right grandpa?"

"Yes Angel. You and I will
watch this spot. We won't let them get away will we?"

The boy frowned but did not respond. He
hoped to be up to catching one, should it

escape from it's current discomfort.

Later, they sat under a nearly naked
maple and cracked and peeled their hot snack in the

October chill. Hilo came and nuzzled
the old man's pant leg and found a soft spot just

above the knee to lay his head. The
screen door sounded again and Grandma, scarfed and

sweatered, came out, bringing a thermos
and some honeyed biscuits. He was not

surprised when she produced two coffee
cups, and even a salt shaker from deep in her

sweater pockets.

"What am I gonna drink
Grandma?" Angelo asked as only a worried four year old can.

"I left you some hot cocoa
on the counter." She applied her extra special coaxing

tone and Angelo's eyebrows automatically
raised to match her enthusiasm.

"Do you think you can
bring it out without spilling it? I wouldn't want you to burn

yourself." Eager to complete this
impromptu picnic, Angelo ran back to the house,

jumping over Jimmie who made a dive for
his ankle but for reasons of his own, bolted

toward the garage, rolling now with a
very important bit of gravel.

"She just called,"
she said, watching Jimmie.

"Well? What?" He
asked this though he already knew what she would say.

"She says maybe next week.
You know, she's just not ready." She always tried to

soften him, and though at times, he
reproved himself for not being able to be soft like

her, he now bristled at her for trying
to 'fix' his feelings. They were interrupted as Angelo

came again heel to toe, even more
slowly with his not terribly hot cocoa.

"Angel." he said,
"Maybe later we can go and rent a movie. We're nearly finished
here."

High thin clouds cooled a pale Saturday
sun. Jimmie dozed in the driveway and Angel

copied his Grandpa, throwing the
remainder of his hot chocolate into the fire. Mingled

ash and steam roiled and rose in the
unsteady current, and a disappointed Angel looked

into his suddenly empty cup, wishing
for a reversal of fortune.

-----

"Where's my good little
helper?"

"Shhhhh shhh shhhh,"
she hissed, pointing to what he already saw, Angelo and

Jimmie, balled up in his recliner. They
paused as kid and kitten stretched and resettled,

a leg exposed from under, and a paw
sticking through the afghan. He followed her into

the kitchen. He had just come up from
his shower, barefoot, in jeans and a tee shirt. He

brushed the side of the coffee pot with
a knuckle, and lit the stove. He got his cup from

earlier, and ran it under hot water to
'mother' it, and to rinse a bit of twig into the sink.

She sat by the window with her book,
looking at him. He settled across from her. A slow

front finished off the sun, and the
scattering leaves were finally overcome by a steady

drizzle.

"The fire's nearly out
anyway." he offered, speaking more to the chore of the day

than to anyone.

"Go." She said. "GO!
Drive up there, get a room if you have to, and stay till she sees

you. Wait her out."

The pace of the rainfall changed
slightly, and under the coffee steam, his cup gave up a

bare whiff of today's smoke. He met her
look. As she turned her attention to her reading,

she slid her hand toward him. He
reached and received her makeshift bookmark, reading

the health center's phone number, and
the director's name.

Jimmie cried his way into the kitchen.
The old man got up, poured milk into a saucer, got

down the cookie jar and a glass, and
waited.