Early Warning Signs

Angels. Some people use them to explain things that have no logical explanation. Some people prefer to call it luck or miracles. Most people have never seen one.’

I was fifteen years old when all this happened. I could lean more on the side of luck. Unlike most people, I can see and hear them.

I am not like most teens. I don’t like boys, hate putting a musical earpiece in my ear, and don’t use makeup. I just love reading romantic novels and ninja comics. My best friend does not exist; she was never born.

No, you are completely wrong. I am not a nerd. I am tall, slender built, with dark green eyes, and am black. My model built has been my lifelong curse. Sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I were rather ugly without blonde hair.

So, yes, I was fifteen when all this happened. That day, I was heading to the bookstore to get the last part of a ninja comic trilogy. My house is about eight blocks from the Cromwell Bookstore, but I always walk the distance. I get more exercise than running with my next-door neighbor. She was too much into gossip about boys and sex, and TV sitcoms.

Better off walking alone in this colonial city.

The little town lies about twenty kilometers outside the city and was the gateway for over five other towns and their inhabitants. A railway snaked its way through the town center, linking farms, rivers, and small ponds into an accessible network of life.

Town folks have their own way to explain the facts of life. Sometimes it’s all based upon myths and drunken tales. Once in a while, the tales can be truthful enough. Why did they give this little town such a name?

Grandma said it was named after the fish that are abundant in the larger stream and ponds.  But, Mr. Harvey, the town’s baker, tells a different story.  According to him, long

ago, before the streets were formed and the donkey knew the midday hour, the town was called Great Pond.

One day, a stroller came by and invited the towners to join him in his search for pond crabs. That night, almost all the town men went with him. They were never seen again. They were believed to be transformed into tiny fish called anchovies.

That day was rather different. It was Friday, the day that my dad had visiting rights, or so the divorce papers said. I love my dad. He is the blonde of the family and has successfully passed it down to my two brothers and me.

How I wish my sister had never died. Dad would have stayed, and I would never be alone. Not even that Friday. The doctors said it was going to be a screamer, a little red rose. The rains and the bars did not share my joy. Dad was out of town, and news got to Mom that Tommy had just returned home and there was a welcome party and all that. Even though Dad told her not to go and the weatherman said a storm might be coming, Mom went anyway.

Drunk drivers always manage to stay alive. So did Mom and Tommy, only my sister died.

I have not seen heavier rain since.

I was running late, so I took a shortcut. It was about noon, so there would be some other users. The unpaved road ran behind the Giant Storehouse, then crossed through the old library, bringing me to the bookstore in only – in only fifteen minutes.

This was my favorite place. Here I am free to be myself. No judgment, no overbearing expectations, just book lovers in a fantasy world. Three aromas always get my attention. Ever since I was a child, was never able to resist the swelling aroma that flows from the oven when mom makes an apple pie.  Even now when she does bake, I tag along like a dog on a leash.

Then there is the breathtaking scent of hot bread freshly snatched from the furnace.

How I used to linger when I walked past the town’s bakery.

Finally, this perfume, my favorite of all, leaps to my nose, fills my lungs, and takes my mind hostage. The odor of new books ready to be explored.

During my walk to the bookstore, I could not help getting ahead of the game and guessing how the final plot would end. This, however, did nothing to quell my anxiety.

I was about midway across the old library when a voice brought me back to earth. The voice was rather soft, crispy, and familiar.

“Lacy, Lacy!’

I stopped as a soft breeze blew through my hair, before caressing my left cheek. There was a slight cherry flavor that reminded me of Mom’s apple pie.

“Miss Mazzle. What a sweet surprise”.

“Hello Lacy, good to see you too. Say, how beautiful you are’ she smiled and passed her hand through my hair.

‘Thank you, I thought that you left for Spain…’

“I will be here for a day. I leave tomorrow. But there is something that I need to tell you, Lacy. You must not go to the bookstore today.’

I was rather surprised that everyone knew I would be going to the bookstore.

‘I am heading there now, Miss Mazzle. Can I..’

‘Lacy, you can still turn back. Try not to go.” She sounded a bit worried.

‘I will be alright, ma’am. Enjoy your afternoon.’

‘You too, Lacy. See you soon.’  She was wearing a grey pantsuit and low-heeled shoes.

My word, Spain really has changed her. Elton John claims that Spain is very pretty,

and maybe it is also transforming. The Mazzle I grew up with would never wear

pants. She loathed them so much that she once locked her daughter in her room

for wearing one.

But today she was fully dressed in a pantsuit. How much she has changed.  The once Pentecostal, fire-breather, was now a redhead.  Miss Mazzle dyed her hair. I would never have believed such a story, but here she was, touching my hair the way she always does.

Mom would leave me with her for hours whenever she went out at night or ran an

errand. She was more loving than most young nannies.  She would feed me hot chocolate and cookies.  How I do miss her.

The bookstore was surprisingly empty, not even the lazy lads who always hit on me were there.  Not today, the store was completely empty. Where was everybody?

Nonetheless, I seized the opportunity, rushing up to the empty counter. I eagerly touched the bell.

‘Lacy, finally, you are here. How are you?’ the husky, muscular, bearded clerk came bouncing out of the store room.