by Medusa
© 2002 B. Howard, all rights reserved
In the spring of 1994, my husband had begun working third shift not long after we moved into a older house a block away from the projects. I double-checked the locks that night, puttered around a bit, and went to bed. With my newborn son on my chest, warm and safe from the storm raging outside, I slipped into the deep sleep of an exhausted first-time mother. A loud slam awakened me, briefly. I lay my sleeping child beside me, and went back to sleep until I heard a familiar voice.
"Baby, wake up. You have to close the door." I murmured and rolled over. "Baby! Get up. You have to close the door." I opened my eyes and saw a man, dressed in a white button-up shirt and gray slacks standing beside my bed. Still blurry from sleep, I thought for a moment it was my husband. "You close the door." I mumbled. "Baby...." the man said firmly. "You and the baby are in danger."
I closed my eyes again, then snapped them open when I heard that no-nonsense voice, a bark I hadn't heard in ten years. "Rebecca Marie, get UP!!!" I was fully awake by this point. I sat up in bed and looked at my grandfather. "Go close the door, baby." he said "Now." I blinked, and there was no one there.
I heard the wind howling as I got out of bed. The wind had blown my front door open. I had failed to shove the door hard enough for it to latch. That door was old and tricky. I looked outside and saw a strange car parked in front of my house. Two men were walking up my driveway. When they saw me standing in the doorway, they ran back to the car, and sped away.
I closed the door, gave it the good, hard shove it needed (and later became habitual for my little family), sat down in the floor and began to shake.
My Grandpa Paul died of a heart attack in 1983. He rarely called me by my name, only Baby. He was a man of few words, and I was a shy child. But we loved each other dearly.
I was taught to believe in guardian angels, great, nameless warrior beings with wings who were sent to watch over each of us from the moment of our births. My son is called James Paul, from my memories and love for the greatest man I ever knew. I feel safe knowing that my son's guardian is no stranger. And there is also great comfort to me. I am still Baby.
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