The Blue Door

5



THE RUDE AWAKENING



A tall warrior slapped his knees and took a seat beside an angel who wore his age gracefully, like a crown of silver. Lifting one callused hand, he said, “Shimron, I can still count the number of weeks your apprentice has been under my watch-care on these fingers. I cannot remember the last time so much trouble was stirred by a single misstep.”

“Was it a misstep?” the Observer inquired.

“I have good reason for misgivings,” countered the big angel ruefully.

“The stirrings had already begun before Koji arrived,” Shimron pointed out. “He would not be here if that were not so.”

“I know it,” he replied grimly. “But he is so very new. What compelled you to choose an apprentice so young?”

Shimron smiled benignly. “For the most part, Koji was no different than any of the other potentials in his class. Inquisitive. Eager. Hopeful.”

“But?”

“I was asked countless questions that day,” he reminisced. “But he was the only one who wanted to know why I was sad.”

The warrior’s gaze softened. “The boy saw through your brave front.”

“Koji sees the world with uncommon clarity,” Shimron concurred with a nod.


Prissie was only three when it happened, so she couldn’t really remember much, but in her dreams, she was always falling.

For a little girl brimming with determination, the barn was a wonderful place to explore — a warm, sweet-smelling paradise where sunlight streamed through dusty motes. Pigeons cooed in the rafters, and chickens scritched and scratched their way across the floor. Young Prissie had a vague sense of wanting to be Grandma’s helper and find the eggs their hens would sometimes hide in the loft, but five-year-old Neil lured her with the promise of kittens. Their mother cat had a new litter, and he wanted to be the first to find it. Her chubby legs barely managed the stretch between rungs on the ladder leading to the loft, but he pushed her up from behind.

The kittens were nowhere to be found, and Neil took off to continue his quest in the machine shed, leaving his baby sister alone amidst the golden bales. Soft clucks from one corner of the loft betrayed the presence of a lone chicken, and Prissie squealed in delight over her discovery. Abandoning her egg, the hen bolted out of the little girl’s reach, and Prissie followed, giggling as she chased it in ever-widening circles across the plank floor. When the hen leapt off the edge, awkwardly flapping to a safe landing below, her pursuer stumbled, teetered, and fell.

A shrill scream, a tilting world, and helpless whimpers. She clearly remembered her fear in that moment, for it remained with her.

According to Momma, Prissie was too scared to make sense, so no one believed the next part. But in her dreams, she still felt strong arms and heard a gentle voice. “You frightened me, little one,” soothed a strange man who cradled her close to his chest. “I was almost too late.”

Her eyes were blurred with tears, so Prissie couldn’t recall his face, but she had a lingering impression of long, brown hair … tanned skin … and warm hands.

“Don’t let your big brother lead you astray,” he urged. “And if your mother says not to play in the loft, you must listen.”

The little girl’s lip trembled, but she nodded before squirming to be let down. He released her, and she ran to the house to find Momma.


Prissie woke with a start, the dream fading from memory, leaving her with an unsettled feeling that was difficult to face alone. For a moment, she thought of going to her mother for comfort, but she quickly dismissed the idea. She wasn’t a baby any longer. “Just a dream,” she mumbled into her pillow, trying to reassure herself.

As the only daughter in a houseful of sons, Prissie had been granted an enormous privilege; she was the only member of the family with a room of her own. It was a tiny niche at the very end of the hallway, and the ceiling slanted so sharply that one corner of her door was angled. There was just enough space inside for a narrow bed, a bedside table, and a creaky old wardrobe, but there was one feature that transformed her sanctuary into something sublime. Halfway up the wall, a window seat spanned the width of the gable, and if there was one thing Prissie loved, it was the window set above it.

According to Grandpa, all four of the house’s peaks had boasted stained glass windows when he was a boy, but damage or renovations had claimed the other three over the years. This one remained, a relic from another era, and it was her treasure. A simple geometric pattern of diamonds in soft shades of green, blue, peach, and gold filtered sunlight or shone in moonlight. Grandma Nell had quilted Prissie’s bedspread in the same colors, and the hues were echoed in the braided rug, which had graced the smooth floorboards since Grandpa’s mother’s day. The overall effect may have been a little old-fashioned, but it suited Prissie.

No one else was allowed in her room, so when she turned onto her back, she was startled to see Koji perched on her window seat, gazing at the stars through the multicolored panes. His hair was tucked behind pointed ears, and the stained glass made patterns of color on his upturned face. She had to admit that at that moment, he looked the part of an angel. “Koji, what are you doing in my room?” she whispered.

The boy turned to meet her gaze. “This is a very pretty window; it reminds me of home.”

“You have stained glass windows where you come from?”

“Something very much like them,” he replied, reaching up to trace the edging of a blue diamond.

“Are you homesick?” Prissie asked curiously.

He frowned thoughtfully, then said, “I do not think so.”

“What are you doing in my room?” she repeated.

“I wanted someone to talk to.”

Prissie glanced at her clock, which told her it was shortly after two in the morning. “But it’s the middle of the night!”

“I do not sleep,” Koji answered with a small shrug.

“Well, I do,” she grumbled, pulling her sheet up over her face. “Find someone else to talk to.”

“You are the only one who can answer my questions, though.”

She folded down the blankets and studied him suspiciously, curious in spite of herself. “What kinds of questions?”

Meeting her gaze solemnly, he bluntly asked, “Why are you avoiding Milo?”

Prissie opened and closed her mouth, then said, “I’m not avoiding him.”

Koji tipped his head to one side. “You used to follow him around.”

Blushing hotly, she answered, “That was before I knew he wasn’t real.”

“Milo is real.”

“But he’s not who he said he was! I thought he was a normal guy.”

“So are you avoiding him because he is an angel?” Koji persisted.

“No, it’s because he lied,” Prissie corrected.

Koji’s black eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “Did you ask him if he was an angel?”

“Of course not? Who would ask something like that?”

“Then, he did not lie,” the young angel earnestly declared. “He has been doing his job faithfully for many years; your accusations are unjust.”

“His job?”

“He is very good at it,” Koji explained. “Milo has many friends, and I envy him.”

“You’re jealous?” Prissie sat up in bed and frowned at him. “Can angels be jealous?”

“Yes,” he candidly replied. “He has been able to interact with humans every single day, but I am only allowed to observe. There are so many questions I want to ask!”

Thinking back to Pastor Bert’s words, Prissie asked, “Why are you so fascinated by people?”

“It is my nature,” Koji replied. “I am an Observer, so I wish to know, to understand, to discover, to explore …”

“Right,” she interrupted. “But why? There has to be a reason you’re watching us.”

“It is my purpose.”

“You do it because you have to?”

Koji shook his head. “I want to.”

“But what if you didn’t want to?” Prissie challenged.

“I do want to,” he replied patiently.

“But only because you have to want to?” she persisted. “What if you wanted to do something else, like be a Messenger so you could talk to people.”

“An Observer is what I am.” A slow smile spread across the boy’s face, and he turned to face her fully. “You truly do not understand.”

His delight only added to Prissie’s frustration. “Of course I don’t!”

“I will try to answer your question if you will explain some things to me?” he bargained.

“Only if I don’t have to answer your questions in the middle of the night.”

“Agreed!”

“Thank goodness,” Prissie muttered.

“I will answer your question about why you are interesting,” Koji offered.

“Well?” she prompted.

Koji pointed to himself, then at her as he said, “I act according to my nature, but you often act contrary to yours.”

Prissie frowned in confusion. “What do you mean, my nature?”

“It is human nature to sin,” he said bluntly. “Yet you frequently manage not to.”

“Oh.”

“Do you have any other questions?” Koji asked hopefully.

With a flop, Prissie lay back down and turned her face into her pillow. “No,” came her muffled reply. “Why don’t you go talk to Harken or Milo, since they probably don’t need sleep either?”

“Harken is away, and Milo does not wish to talk.”

“Why not?”

“He is too sad.”

Prissie turned her head just enough to peek at Koji out of the corner of her eye. “Can angels be sad?”

“Yes,” Koji agreed, turning his eyes back toward the stars twinkling beyond multicolored panes. “Very sad.”