Exit God Out - Book One - The Unexpected Terrestrial

Exit God Out Book One: The Unexpected Terrestrial - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 Dec 2 1998

Jackson Brown could not escape the wind as he had done on previous visits. It licked at the back of his jacket and wrapped its evil hands around his neck. He quickened his pace, holding his collar up tight and meeting the walk light in perfect sequence. He was in such a hurry he barely recognized Sean waiting for him on the corner.

"Gives new meaning to the phrase, blown into town, hey Jackson?"

There was nothing like cheap humor from a loyal friend to take those cold hands away from your neck. Jackson looked his best friend in the eye with a rather intense disdain for the quest that lay ahead. The two held their gaze long enough for Sean to wonder if Jackson was backing out.

"You okay?"

Jackson took time to answer. He wanted so much to explode, to scream how wrong this felt, but in his heart he knew that wrong did not exist. Guided by the words of his Mother, Diane Sparrow, Jackson lived a full and complete life through truth, but this time he had to work at the balance he was struggling to maintain. And to work at keeping warm on a portent street whose cold platform chipped away at his senses.

"I was up all night, I know it sounds silly, but it doesn't feel like the sort of thing that could deliver any Christmas cheer," and Jackson began to wave his hands around, becoming agitated, a move very foreign to his character. "I will walk this Earth for how many years, wondering how many kids I'll have wandering this planet! Every little face I see with darker skin and long black hair will bring the reminder back! I always thought that if I had kids, I would have a loving wife and that I would be responsible for populating the planet. But this? This feels like mass production without consent. "

"Then allow me to give you an alternate point of view that may brighten your rusty halo," said Sean. "The word deliver is exactly the sort of Christmas cheer someone else may be looking for. It may creep you out a bit to think you'll have little Jackson's running all over the planet, but think of the joy you're giving someone in the New Year! This day will deliver a small package to complete strangers whose dreams are pinned on this moment. And strangers are just friends you haven't met yet."

Jackson snapped his head around to Sean. "You have the most unusual way of explaining things, and I know, I really do know, what you are saying." Jackson softened his hands and dropped them to his side, took a deep breath and relaxed. "I need to get the negative out of my head."

"What time is your appointment?" asked Sean. "Do we have time to grab a coffee? There's a really great little coffee shop just around the corner that I try to go to every time I'm here. There's something in it I think you'd like."

Jackson checked his watch. "Let's go Sean. Nothing like a little familiarity to ease the pain," and Jackson put his hand gently on his friend's back and pushed. "Keep walking. Faster! Faster!" Another wind gust blew through them, and they almost ran into an older lady coming towards them. She stopped and began to yell.

"You must go!" She screamed at Jackson in a ragged voice, her frail tiny body shaking. "You cannot miss your appointment. She is destined to come!" She hustled along and disappeared around the corner.

"You just met Wacky Wanda," said Sean. "Everyone knows her. Some say she's psychic. Most say she's just wacko." Jackson stood on the sidewalk, puzzled at why she would shout at him, while the message began to permeate. "Let's get you to the café. The only thing they'll shout is to pick up your coffee." Sean grabbed Jackson's arm and raced him along the street.

They walked into a small, out-of-the-way café, named exactly that, populated by young locals and old Profs. The smell of cinnamon raised a familiar image for Jackson, one he was not willing to let go of just yet. Sean headed straight for a table apparently set aside just for him, which made Jackson wonder how much caffeine was responsible for Sean's over-active mind. Surrounding them hung original art of numerous talent, color, shape and dimensions, all on display, from the souls and imaginations of people expressing themselves within the confines of various media. For a moment Jackson forgot his real reason for being there that morning. The two sat quietly while Sean smiled and stared into a section of the restaurant. Jackson looked over his shoulder and standing at the counter, hands speeding their way through the creation of a perfect java, was his little Angel from the University.

She shouted, "Large machiatto, extra caramel!" Jackson barely took his coat off to reserve his chair while Sean was one step ahead of him. Jackson had never seen such a face, so gently colored in pastels and flanked by thick blonde curls that tumbled down her back, covering the wings he knew were hiding. And those deep brown eyes! Where did they come from Jackson pondered, the right side of his mouth rising up. Just before he had his chance to speak to her, a young man leaned over and asked what time she wanted to be picked up after work.

Sean's face dropped but Jackson continued to secretly question her purpose. They made their way back to the table and sat down, hovering over their hands wrapped around the hot paper cups, absorbing the warmth for their next walk outside. "I hope your bubble didn't get too blown," said Sean.

"On the contrary, I had no intention of doing anything but being thankful for the fact that I now know, for sure, there are Angels living among us." A short silence was shared and Jackson continued. "Sometimes, it's not what you have, but what you appreciate."

The two men sat wrapped around their beverage, exchanging great dialogue in silence. Sean was well aware of his friend's skepticism of his next challenge that hung in the background. He was just about to break the silence when he noticed the lines on Jackson's face disappear, and the air seemed to soften and dance around him.

"Only good will come from this," Jackson said, lifting his head and fixing his gaze on the art above him.

Another long silence, but a fly on the wall could recognize the transformation in Jackson. It had nothing to do with men not being able to speak deeply, for these two were no strangers to mystical thought. Both knew that silence was power, and at this moment, silence was reconstructing the pillars of support.

"Let's do it!" Jackson stood up much taller than when he came in. "I'm thinking my purpose for this is to create more living Angels." As they got up to leave, Jackson's blonde angel met his eyes, and she nodded to him in approval, as if it were some secret message only he could decode. The café door slammed behind them and their step was swift, regardless of help from antagonistic winds. They jaywalked across a cobblestone street to a bright sign that beckoned them, "Northwest Andrology & Cryobank". Within minutes of arriving, the nurse had Jackson's information and what felt like a few quarts of blood.

"If everything checks out you'll be back here in two days. We take care in choosing our donors. I'm sure we'll see you again." The receptionist was as sterile as the room she occupied. Jackson and Sean parted, and the next morning Jackson woke to a call encouraging him to come back, and he went willingly, alone, praying for that one living Angel to come of this.

April K. Reeves, Author. Copyright 2004 All Rights Reserved. Visit us on facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/April-K-Reeves/390530011143987?fref=ts or our website: https://aprilkreevesauthor.wordpress.com/