Band of Angels

Driving home from the DMV, tears. The first, really, and I notice how clean. Spilling like rain, I pull up in front of my house, and there's a car in front of me just parking, too. I decide they must be visiting the neighbor but wipe my tears, compose myself, as I walk up to the door. Turning the lock I turn back to look again, curious, and I can't believe it. Nellie steps out of her car.

Completely shocked, vulnerable, I yell, "Did I call you?" Squarely, seriously, "No, I was just driving and drove here." My mouth is open. Dropped open. I'm laughing in disbelief and muster sarcasm as I glance up the street behind her, "Where are your band of angels?! Where are they!"

Eye to eye, "Why are you crying, Prema? What happened?" I'm still laughing, uncomfortable, "Where did you come from?!"

I tell her, only a sentence, and she takes my hand and leads me inside, "Come on, come with me." I'm thinkin', here we go again, back to the bathroom! This time I want to follow, I need to follow, I am fully aware and open to the likelihood of grace.

We lean over the kitchen counter, hands entwined, and she articulates a prayer so beautiful and clarifying that I stand down, the stubborn forces down and silent. Listening. She names my position, my confusion, my longing, my duty, calling out to everyone connected to me so that I might assume my rightful place.

She opens her eyes and we speak softly, intimately, dearly. I begin to understand this highway of energy between us and moving out from us.

"Ok, anything else? I need to go, but let's look at the calendar. When can I come to clean?" She sees my expression as she turns to mid-February. "Ok, dear, I will see you this Monday."