Memories of Heaven

The time was nigh~ he was coming home! Since she had learned of his eminent arrival some months past she'd lived in a state of anticipation. In preparation, Angelique had spent much of that time formulating her thoughts, organizing her questions. Now, when he was due, each second left her bereft, thinking the time would never come. Within the confines of her belly she could feel the jumpiness the angst of waiting was causing. Absently, Angelique fingered the satin ribbon that wound through the bodice of her blue velvet dress. When its silkiness ceased to ease her, she spun on her shiny black shoes to face Cassandra.

"How much longer?" Angelique said, again.

The face of the older woman was pulled into a smirk of annoyance. Cassandra had already answered that question at least a dozen times! The words of her answer, as well as a few more ominous ones, were written now on her pinched features.

Angelique twisted away, and again stared out of the lace-covered window. She knew Cassandra wouldn't understand. The woman was simply too old. And with her age had forgotten all of the things that Angelique wanted to remember . . . all the things he could rekindle! Angelique let out a whoosh of air and watched the woven material flutter; frustrated because there was no way she could make the old woman understand.

For the years Angelique had lived with his family they had taught her their language. Imposed their beliefs. Insisted she learn and live by all of their customs. But never did they try to learn hers. And in so doing, Angelique felt a great loss of herself. Though even that knowledge dwindled as each new day broke.

Thereby the cause of one of her greatest fears: the certainty that one day hence she would awaken with all memory of her life before, vanquished for eternity. He could help, if he would ever arrive! At least she hoped he could, hoped she could remember how to speak to him. It had been so long since she had spoken her native tongue that she feared she couldn't, and he wouldn't yet know the language of this family! "Ah!" Exasperated, Angelique stomped a foot. The jolt loosened a hairpin. As the small bent metal fell, the blond curl it had held tumbled onto her neck.

Hastily, Angelique went into the lavatory and reaffixed the fastener in her hair. For her hair, like all else, must be perfect for him. She doubted he'd notice, but knew nevertheless that she wanted all things in proper alignment when they met. So with deft fingers Angelique began to arrange the gewgaws on the countertop into what she pictured as perfection.

The deep rumble of the out-of-tune Oldsmobile came to a halt in the front drive. Excitement fissured up in gargantuan bubbles from deep within her soul and burst forth from her peach lips in the form of a squeal. As she began to move from the stepstool she needed to reach the counter comfortably, her bright blue eyes caught sight of glimmering white teeth revealed by an over-wide smile.

She raced the length of the hall and thumped down most of the staircase, then stopped and watched as he went passed, ensconced in the loving embraces of family. Angelique's breath came up short at the sight of his beauty! His hair was dark, nearly as dark as his eyes! And his skin! . . . it was fresh and clean, and she could only imagine the intoxicant of his scent and the power it would hold over her.

When her heart's rhythm regained its proper systole, Angelique stepped down from the last step, intending to follow after him. But the steady flow of aunts and uncles and cousins and neighbors and their children cut short her progress as they pushed and shoved by, heedless of her feelings. Heedless of the suffering she had endured while awaiting his arrival! Once the hoard had gone before her, she moved into the room and watched as they all hovered around and over him, blocking him, blocking her from him. The whole of the scene was overwhelming to her slighted heart, and the pain showed itself in the tears that blotted the soft fabric of the dress she'd worn just for him.

She couldn't remain there, watching and waiting. Couldn't stand for him to be in the very same room yet completely unavailable to her. So she ran to the room they would share, flung herself onto the bed and sobbed until blessed sleep overcame.

Night was deep into its darkness when Angelique roused and saw him. She smiled at his silhouette, stood, then straightened her sleep-rumpled dress and hoped her hair was still soft. She moved silently on stocking-covered feet toward where he lay sleeping.

Angelique's small hand fit easily through the bars of his crib. "Michael," she whispered as her fingers closed over his newborn fist.

The baby rustled with jerky movements underneath his small, warm blanket. Again Angelique wondered if he would understand her . . . if, after all that she had forgotten, she'd be capable of hearing him.

"Michael, please tell me about Him." Eyes fringed with infinitesimal lashes batted as Michael responded to his five-year-old sister's voice.

Michael could hear her, and in the same way one small child can communicate with another, leaving the surrounding adults in awe of the silliness of children, he could speak with her. She could feel within her spirit his understanding, and relief cascaded through her, as moisture filled her eyes.

"I've forgotten so much, Michael. It happens when you've been flesh for a while, and I can't remember Him anymore. Please Michael, tell me about Heaven, and how God is . . . tell me Michael, so I can remember Him in this place where He has been forgotten by so many . . . tell me before I forget my memories of Heaven."