House of Angels

I remember blowing the eight cake-lights. They were all blue, and I was happy seeing what a great visual addition they were to the cake on which there was a picture of me, dad, and mom. It was my dad next to me who was clapping intensely with a beaming face and vivid green eyes, while gently caressing my head with his rough hand. 

“Happy Birthday, Joe!” he said radiantly.

“Thank you,” I remember saying.

“Aren’t you happy? This is a beautiful cake, son, isn’t it? I know you wanted it just like this.”

“Yes, dad, that’s it.”

“But,” he made a tiny yet noticeable pause after which he went silent, “you also want something else, right? You know you can tell me! A man turns eight once,” he said and chuckled. 

“Well, I was hoping that today I would be able to see mom. I mean, at least today she could have come home, wouldn’t she? She loved my birthday parties.”

Dad sighed and looked at the floor. He was obviously thinking, and it took him a while to come up with an idea.

“You know what? Let’s take this pretty cake and bring it to the balcony. Why don’t we move the party there? Then your mother might attend our little soiree. She is still our neighbor, to say the least, she should show up at her balcony and sing the Happy Birthday song with us. What do you think?” 

My fast response came as swiftly as a bolt of lightning, and the smile on my face returned momentously. It was now even turning into a grin since I was sure the ends of my mouth were reaching my ears. 

I never really thought, though, why mom was now living apart from us and why I never went to visit her, although, according to dad, she was our neighbor. I remember once watching a movie in which the mom had found a new husband and had decided to move in with him, so this really made me conclude that this was the case with our family and that dad didn’t want me to know this because he was hurt. Just like the dad in the movie was. Even when I was a child, I was fast with the conclusions.

We were now on the balcony with dad rearranging the party atmosphere there. He was lighting the lights, and I was ready to blow them for a second time when I realized that mom still hadn’t made an appearance, so we had to wait for her. 

“Why don’t we start singing, and then she might join us?” was the suggestion I agreed to.

We began singing, and I remember seeing a lady from the balcony.

“Mom!” I shouted loudly. “I knew you would come!”

Dad was looking strangely at me, not really realizing what was going on. I’ll never forget him moving his eyes back and forth, from that empty balcony to my, full of joy, eyes. Then he stopped singing with me, only I was. 

“Joe, you saw your mother?” he asked me with such a curious and surprised tone, one that I haven’t heard him use before.

“Yes!”

“I’ll leave you to talk with her then. I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do.” He went back inside the apartment and didn’t show anymore. I was so fascinated to see my mother that I didn’t even hear his steps to his bedroom. She was so beautiful. She had such delicate hands that were ending in thin fingers on which were positioned two rings that were connecting with the white shirt she had put on. Her hair was now blonde, I didn’t know why, but it definitely suited her. She didn’t move her eyes from me even for a second, and neither was I. I didn’t want to miss a moment of seeing her. I was genuinely missing her.

“Happy Birthday, darling! Look at what a big man you’ve turned into!” she started in the melodic voice I remembered from before she had left. She hadn’t changed at all.

“Thank you, mommy! You’ve become even more beautiful,” I complimented as well.

“Do you like your party?”

“Now I do even more. Your company always makes it better.”

After that, she just smiled. I gathered every single bit of courage scattered in my body and continued talking.

“You know I would love to chat more frequently with you, mom, and even visit you sometimes. Wouldn’t you like that, too?”

She didn’t say anything for a while but just stared at me. “Don’t rush into things, Joey. There is plenty of time to spend together. It will just happen in a later stage of your life. Be sure about that. However, I want you to know that I’m always there for you, and you can talk to me anytime you want. You don’t even have to come to the balcony. Just think about me, and I’ll show up. You have my word.”

The vision of her was becoming dimmer and dimmer, and she was turning into a disappearing image of my imagination. “Don’t go,” I said before a tear fell down my face from my eyes, but it was too late. I wasn’t seeing anything else anymore except for auntie Rose. She was our neighbor ever since.

“Why are you crying?” she asked me through her tiny window.

“Mom left my birthday,” I sincerely answered in my childish voice. Not so childish, though, I was now eight.

Rose decided to tell me a story. She told me about a house of angels where some people go. Where the good people go. The house is beautiful not because of its appearance but because of the goodness that it was responsible for. She said that there was no escape from there, and no visitors were allowed unless their time had come. And my mother was now a part of this house.

“I want to go there, auntie Rose!”

“Not so fast, boy, your time hasn’t come yet.”

Seventy years later, I now realize what this house is all about. And I have a better vision of it now. One gets there through a bridge, the bridge I am now crossing.

“I can’t wait to see you, mom and dad,” I said and closed my eyes.