Angel's Counsel

"So what if Peter's a nerd? He's excluded, he's lonely, he's hated by everyone around him - believe it or not, he'll be one of those people who will inherit the kingdom of Heaven," Miriam exclaimed, spreading her arms out in broad, emphatic gestures and scattering light around the crowded hallway. I sighed in defeat. It was useless to argue with an angel, as I had been attempting with Miriam a few minutes ago. I couldn't exactly say it was wise to argue with Miriam as a person either, with all the wise guy comebacks and biblical references she would make. Miriam had been a Christian. I knew her somewhat well, since she'd been determined to convert me to Christianity while she was alive. She was a quiet, tall redhead who generally would sympathize with whoever was losing in a conflict. She was brave, though; one could tell because of the way she'd died. A lightning bolt had struck her house and caused a fire. Instead of fleeing to safety like she should have, she had dived back into the flames to save her family. Apparently she'd gone to Heaven and become an angel, because there she was in front of me, as an angel visible only to my eyes. She told me she'd asked permission of her Heavenly Father to be my "guardian angel" because she was still worried about me up in Heaven. What could I say? It was compelling enough for me to at least listen to what she'd been preaching to me about. "Okay, I'll admit I am being kind ," I admitted. "I'll tell you this right straightaway, Tristan: judge not and you will not be judged." Miriam told me expressively. "English please?" I requested. "What Jesus meant when he said that was that if you criticize or tease or judge someone else, sooner or later by God you will be judged. Something that's bad about you, any of your faults, will be a reason to condemn you. Think about how Peter feels. Just think for a second. What's it like for him to be excluded and devastated practically every day?" I tried to put myself in Peter's shoes. Peter was a rather nerdy kid that nobody liked (except Miriam, of course). His skin was quite yellowish and his dirty blond hair hung down to just below his ears. Somehow his face seemed rather long, but his eyes were huge round circles that gaped out at the world. With his glasses on, he gave the appearance of an intelligent fire hydrant. He had an insecure nature, the kind of person that would, when pushed, push back but not as forcefully. He did a pitiful job of sticking up for himself. Then again, I wouldn't do so good a job either if I were picked on all day every day. "Probably bad enough that he'd want to skip school," I mumbled. "That's pretty accurate," Miriam told me. "That in particular seems to be one of your little malfunctions - being judgmental. Do you understand the wrong in it?" "Yes, yes. It's not fair to Peter." "Well, since you've got Chemistry next, I'd better leave you now, so catch you later," Miriam muttered. "What are you going to counsel me about when you come back?" I wanted to know. Miriam smiled and the light around her shone brilliantly. "The joy of a relationship with God," she answered. With that she faded into the atmosphere and was gone. As I swaggered into the Chemistry lab and dropped my book bag on the floor, I pondered all the things Miriam had taught me and showed me with the aid of a few miracles. In regard to the way I rushed about life, barely giving myself a rest break at night, she'd said it was important to enjoy life for what it was. Otherwise, life wouldn't feel "worth it" when I had it all - money, fame, and so forth. I could have all that, she'd said, and simultaneously be unhappy. Was I happy right now, she'd asked. I couldn't exactly say I was. Then she'd produced a chocolate milk shake out of thin air and given me specific instructions of how to drink it: slo-o-owly, intentionally savoring the flavor. It would take practice to get it right, but Miriam did have a point; a milk shake is much more delicious and creamy and smooth when you enjoy it. Then, concerning the way I responded to things such as the incredibly annoying scene my friends Lloyd and Becca created each time they stopped to smother kisses all over one another, she told me life was whatever I made it. If I screamed at those two while they were in the middle of a big sweet smooch, they'd be really angry. Did I have a reason to dislike that? Yes - I didn't need the extra conflict. However, if I "calmly and politely told them how I felt, their reactions would be much less destructive". She had a valid point; the B I'd earned in my last group project was certainly better than an F. I could think of it that way. After that lesson, Miriam had lectured me on my "holding grudges" issue. Yes, it was a really hard one for lots of people, but still, that didn't mean I didn't need a little counseling on the subject. Forgive and forget was the biblical way to go; it was better for the person who was in the wrong, , who on Earth would actually appreciate someone always giving specifically them a bitter attitude? Not me, at least. "Forgive and forget" was better for me too, Miriam said, because then there wouldn't be a black spot on my heart and I wouldn't be angry when I didn't need to be. What's wrong with a little extra happiness? That concept was easy enough to understand, but I would have a time putting it into practice! Her last lesson involved the way I judged people, which led to the example of Peter, the computer-headed fire hydrant. I could learn not to be judgmental, I knew that much. It would just take lots of time and practice if I really wanted people to say I was more fun to be around, which is what Miriam said would happen. It was just that was just. "Hey Tristan, how's it going?" Max clapped me on the back and interrupted my thoughts. He zoomed in front of me and threw his freckled- faced, blue-eyed and sandy-haired head at my eyes. "Ready for another lab full of fun and adventure? Another exciting exploitation into the wonderful world of Chemistry!" Kenneth, who stepped into the lab just in time to hear Max's comment, answered for me. "Yeah, Max. What in the world could be more fun? Oh, I know - eating glass!" Kenneth dropped his backpack by his seat and slid toward me. "Or how about killing Peter? Remember our plan?" He added in a mumble. I froze in place. Kill? Had he said kill? Humiliate, maybe, but killing was a little too far. I did dislike Peter, but I didn't dislike him enough to kill him! "By the way, Tristan, there's a part for you in our plan," Kenneth muttered, coming closer and fixing his dark eyes on me. Before I could protest, he pulled out a sheet of paper with a slightly complicated diagram. As he began to explain it to me, the thump of a backpack dropped onto the floor and an explosive start of the Smooching Sonata No. 4 announced Lloyd and Becca's arrival. "I'm first going to transport my father's firearm to school and hide it in Lloyd's locker. Then at lunch, you will slip this -" Kenneth jabbed a tiny bottle labeled "depressant" beneath my open jacket - "into Peter's milk during lunch. Then Becca, using her extraordinary romancing abilities, will charm Peter out the courtyard, into the concealed spot, where she'll start pretending to flirt - that'll be Lloyd's signal to jump from his hiding spot and shoot Peter with my gun. Then you and Max will come out and Becca and Lloyd will run for help while I, you and Max stay by Peter and grieve. Got it?" "Whoa, whoa. Wait a minute - why exactly do we want to kill him?" I demanded. "Where've you been, Tristan! Everyone hates him, you know that! He's a nerd, and he doesn't fit into our society." Kenneth glowered at me. "Did you take a trip to La-la Land? Normally you wouldn't have a problem with this. Maybe you wouldn't want to do it because you didn't want to be caught, but you wouldn't have objected to the mere idea. What did you do, go soft overnight?" "So are you in, Tristan?" Lloyd interrupted. "You going to help us kill Peter?" "No." I said firmly. Lloyd's Asian skin reddened with a mild anger. "Why not?" "It's wrong." "Wrong!" Lloyd exploded. "Where'd you pick this up, Tristan? We need you, man!" "I'm not doing it. It's murder." Max, Kenneth, Lloyd, and Becca all stared at me, then glanced at one another. I took the depressant out of my jacket. "Take it back," I commanded Kenneth. Kenneth gave me a glare, but snatched the bottle from my hand. "Fine, then. We'll execute Plan B. Guys?" Reluctantly, everyone in turn nodded. At that point the bell rang for class to begin. With one last scowl, Kenneth turned from me and sat. There goes our friendship, I thought. I know what I might have done originally was to leave it at that, let Peter help himself. However, Miriam's words from her lecture about judgmental attitudes played in my head: Treat others the way you want to be treated. It'll come back to you eventually. I thought of her words, now with a twist - if I were being plotted against, wouldn't I want someone to try and warn me? But of course! Somehow, in my newly counseled heart, I knew it would be wrong to do nothing, especially when I knew about my friends' plot.

Lunch came the next day after a restless night and a weary morning. I searched the lunch crowd for any sign of Peter. At last I spied him following a very flirtatious Becca. The unusual, dizzied look on his fire- hydrant face gave away the fact that somehow they'd drugged him without my assistance. I quickly noted that I should have kept that depressant. As silently and fluidly as I could, I stood and followed the two out the hall and eventually into the faculty room. I'd sneaked close enough that I was able to squeeze through the door and dash under the table. Quiet and motionless, I listened. I heard footsteps, the beginning of Becca's Kissing Kanon in A Minor, a sudden massive rip and crumble of paper - a thousand rips and crumbling papers, then an odd clicking, rubbing, breaking sort of sound, and finally the door open and shut. A whiff of something caught my attention. It smelled like the kitchen on the time that my sister spilled the pot of greasy, flammable chicken broth onto the burner. Was something burning? Then I noticed the heat. I didn't care by then who was in here with me now; I was scared. I crawled out from under the table and to my horror, saw the work of an arsonist. Fire was everywhere in the room! Paper was strung upon cabinets, on the floor, in the sink, on the counter, on the table I'd been under, and the fire ate up whatever the paper touched. It spread like a demon, engulfing and destroying whatever it came that included Peter, who was entwined in paper bindings on the floor, now beginning to recover from the drug's affects and screaming with pain. Smoke blackened the air around me and I coughed uncontrollably. The fire approached the middle of the room, and my foot caught flame. "AHHHH!" The pain was unbearable, as if my foot was being torn to shreds. Instinctively I leaped over the blockade of fire, kicked the door down in a burst of panic, and dropped to the floor and rolled. Miraculously my foot ceased to flame. From within the faculty room, Peter screamed again. I'd forgotten about Peter! Mindlessly I whirled around and leaped back in. The smoke suffocated and blinded me; the heat was indescribably intense and the blaze completely surrounded me. I grasped at Peter, lying on the floor and twitching in agony, and without considering his weight or burning body, hoisted him up and turned back again. The fiery wall in front of me was creeping closer, and all I could do was leap as best as I could, and land completely scorched in the hallway. I violently rolled Peter's and my body on the hall floor, thinking of nothing but to stop the pain. We rolled and rolled and rolled.

"Ooh, owch. It's a third degree burn you've got there. Well, I'll tell you what, I know how that feels. Believe me, that's how I died." I opened my eyes to the interior of a hospital room and an angelic light washing down upon me from the familiar, radiating angel standing before me. "Hi, Miriam," I grumbled. "No worries about that leg! You've got an angel right here. We'll have these burns healed by - Tristan! Do you realize what you did?!" Miriam interrupted herself. I raised my eyebrows in response. Miriam's eyes became tender and motherly. "You risked your life for someone you didn't even consider a friend. Very few people would even dare to do what you just did. That's kind of like what I did, and what Jesus did." "I think I finally understand it that you put a good influence on me." I muttered. Miriam laughed. "You're the one that opened your heart. That's what matters." "What happened to Peter?" Miriam glowed, and light shone like the sun in the hospital room. "Now look at that, you even care about him now! He'll be happy when he finds out! He's alive, covered in third degree burns, and shouldn't worry at all. There's an angel here. I'll take care of him, and then it's back to Heaven for me." "You're going back?" "Yes, believe it or not. I'm not worried about you any more, Tristan. It's Heaven for you, once you're ready to come home. I'll come back to get you. For now, though, get some more sleep. You'll look pretty strange talking to the air, since no one else can see or hear me." I shrugged and closed my eyes again. Sleep settled onto me like a soft, heavy quilt and blanketed me with peace. I let go of consciousness.