Angelhood by A.J. Cattapan

Chapter One

Chapter One

Getting the gun is easy. Mom has never tried to hide it from me and my sister. As soon as Dad moved out three years ago, she bought it for our “protection.”

In her bedroom, I slide open the top dresser drawer and pull out a skeleton key attached to an angel key ring. The angel is made of pewter and smiles at me knowingly. I hate its smile. At the foot of Mom’s bed, I kneel in front of Grandma’s old cedar chest. I run my fingers over the rose design that disguises the keyhole. After slipping in the skeleton key, I turn it and listen for the click. It’s easy to hear in our quiet suburban home.

The heavy lid creaks as I open it. A faint cedar scent escapes. When I was little, Mom told me cedar chests were supposed to hold a woman’s most treasured items before and after she married—lace tablecloths, fine linens, dresses, photos. We don’t have much of that. Instead, Mom has filled Grandma’s cedar chest with our old report cards and baby books, a lock of chestnut hair from my first haircut, the First Communion dress both Cecille and I wore, and our baptismal candles. I dig deeper. Somewhere in this chest is a shoebox. And in that shoebox is a .38 snub-nosed revolver wrapped in a kitchen towel.

The cedar chest actually contains several shoeboxes. Taking the lid off the first one, I find programs from all the plays I’ve been in. On top is the program for Arsenic and Old Lace, the play I was in last weekend. Actually, I’m supposed to be in it again tonight, but that’s not going to happen. I put the cover back on the box and push it aside. Leaning around the lid of the cedar chest, I check the time on Mom’s alarm clock. Three minutes after five. It’s Friday afternoon. Mom’s already turned off her computer at her desk outside Mr. Henderson’s office. She’s probably already headed toward the parking lot. That gives me 22 minutes—give or take a few, depending on traffic lights—before she gets home.

I reach for the next shoebox. It contains two tiny pairs of shoes. Cecille’s first pair of ballet slippers were pale pink with white bottoms that went gray from hours of pirouetting and pliéing. They were well loved and well worn. My first tap shoes, on the other hand, are still shiny and barely scuffed. They were unloved and worn poorly. I put both pairs of shoes back in the box, but linger on the ballet slippers for a moment. When I’m gone, Mom will be able to afford the best ballet school for Cecille, the one that practically guarantees she’ll get into Julliard. My sister will be a success. Someone in the family should be.

Before I can pull out the third shoebox, a drawing peeking out from under the report cards distracts me. I recognize it instantly. A homework assignment from my sixth grade Religious Ed class. I smile as I remember how angry I’d been…

“Homework?” I had whined to my best friend Ally. “We shouldn’t get homework in Religious Ed.”

Luckily, Ally had a way of looking on the bright side. She invited me to her house for a sleepover so we could work on the assignment together. After homemade pizzas and ice cream sundaes, Ally and I pulled on our cuddly pj’s, and spread Ally’s markers and colored pencils all over her family room floor. The assignment was to draw what we thought heaven would be like.

Lying on our bellies, we pulled blank pieces of white paper in front of ourselves and began sketching. Multi-level cloud platforms came first. Some were high, some were low, some were connected by cloud escalators, but they wouldn’t really be used since we’d all have wings then.

Next, we worked on what each cloud would contain. I insisted that one cloud would simply be stocked with 3 Musketeers candy bars, their fluffy insides like little clouds of chocolate heaven all on their own. Ally wanted a cloud that came up with a different kind of candy every day of eternity so she’d never get bored. We both wanted clouds where bands could serve up dance music so the party could last forever. Of course, we’d all be wearing the latest fashions, and we’d all look like ourselves, only better—no acne and no frizzy hair. “And no glasses!” Ally insisted as she pushed hers higher on her nose.