Angels backpacks

I came across this writing from a trip I was on in Colorado in 2019. I had been in the town of Silverton and drove towards Black Bear Pass. I happened upon this cabin that had a sign $10 a night or free October to June. It was stocked with wood. So I started a fire and sat down to write. I hope you enjoy it!

When the angels float down from the corners of this cabin and join me at the table, I will have questions for them and I hope they, for me.

The demons have been banished from this trip.  I allow myself to think about the negative for fifteen minutes a day.  Then I send them away.  Laughter and happy spirits are always welcome.  They never show up during the negativity though.  Not that they are not allowed, they simply don’t waste their time with that nonsense.  When they do come to visit they open their backpacks and unload memories of my youth at Christmas or during vacations.  They unload the laughter of friends and children who are all much brighter than I to have wasted fifteen minutes on the negative.  But you see, even the demons deserve fifteen minutes a day.  I pretend to listen to their strife but instead I am just waiting for the angles with their backpacks.  What will they show me tonight?  I am sure it will be a pleasant cornucopia of smells, tastes, and sounds of happy days.  Maybe I will have the conversation I had the last time I shared an hour with my Mom.  Or when I realized my father had become softer, and probably wiser in his old age.  He had abandoned his earlier chip on his shoulder, I told you so, for gratitude and even pride for us all.  

How do the angels get here?  Do they ski down the ridges I am looking out at through the small window of this wooden castle I sit in?

Or do the rapal down a rope of amazing memories.

They are arriving as I write this!  All different shapes and sizes of angels but all carry with them their backpacks.  I ponder when they enter my cabin what objects and memories will they have?  Will they take turns sharing one by one?  Or, as I hope are there so many amazing things that they scurry about like children on Christmas mornings giggling and laughing as they grab presents and pour them from their backpacks?

A coyote just ran by my window.  I watched him run over the months of snow with his bushy tail bouncing in the wind.  I hurry to the door to listen and watch him from the front porch of the cabin.  I did not see him after I left the window, but heard him saying as he ran, they are here, they are here, they are here, as his shade of a shadow disappeared into the valley.

How did he know my angels were all arriving?  Maybe there are so many of them he watched them like fireworks on the fourth of July floating colorfully down from the skies?

The first angel who comes from the corner of the cabin is a child.  Blonde hair and a bright smile whiter than the snow I am sure covered this cabin in December.

“What’s your name?” I asked as he settled down across from me.  He simply smiles and unpacks his pack.  A huge blueprint unfolds as he touches the top corner.  It’s a present of the first vacation I took with my two oldest children Philip and Kassie.  It’s not a replay of the trip as I would have thought. Instead it’s every laugh, smile, giggle, or “oh my” they uttered as we watched the campfire at Premier Lake in British Columbia when they were four and five.  These sounds, smells, and taste surround me like the sleeping bag I settled into after that busy incredible day.  

I throw another piece of wood on the fire and as I turn there she is.  An angel trimmed in white but a teenager this time.  I can’t resist so I ask “What’s your name?”  She simply sits beside me in the wooden chair and reaches into her backpack and pulls out an unwrapped memory of sounds, music and color!  It’s my youngest daughter’s second Christmas.  Kattie didn’t tear into the presents as her two siblings did.  No, instead she meticulously carried the presents to me with a smile.  This was my present that I had waited for my entire life.

I throw another log on the fire.  As I return I spot him on the far bunk.  “Darin!  Hey you know the rules!” I yell at him.  He just looks at me with his red eyes as if to say “you’re listening to their stories, why not mine?”

“Because you know I spent fifteen minutes with you today so beat it!”  You have to stick hard and fast to them all.  Even if they are yours.

I stand and open the door for Darin to exit my cabin.  He slowly drags his backpack behind him with his head hung low.  It almost makes me feel bad.  Almost enough to invite him and his overgrown bag of negativity.  Is it really his fault that his bag contains so much?  

“Let him go.”  says the voice from behind my eyes.  I watch as he slowly disappears into the snow filled night.  As I watch the tracks of the heavy backpack he drags.  They disappear much faster as they move away from me.  I remember how deep and long the tracks were as he drug the bag towards me.  “They disappear faster when you make him go!”

“Hi you!”

It just flies out of my mouth as I turn from closing the door.

“Hi Back At You!”  Smiles the little angel who is sitting on top of the wood cabinet.

“When did you get here?”  I ask 

“Long, long, ago.”  Quickly replies the angel who I can tell was dressed in what used to be white.

“What happened to your clothes?”  I ask

“Well I was going to keep them clean this time.  I mean Joseph told me to not ruin another set of wings. I almost made it. Really, I did!  But you know the Taylors!  Well  you don’t but let me tell you!  They said “put down that bag and come play football”.  I said “no I have to get along”.  But then Ricky you know Ricky.  He said

“No be on your way we are in a serious game here.  No Child’s play!!”  

“Childs play what the hell, I mean heck.  So I threw my backpack down and boy did I show them.  But in the midst of it my wing, well you see it broke.  My pants, as you can see one pant leg got torn off but I made that touchdown so it’s worth the scolding I will get.  Anyway ya my wings are pretty dirty,  I will get another pro long!”

“A What”. I asked” 

“A pro long.  Everything I return is dirty and ripped up.  You get prolonged in getting a new set of wings.  But who cares, mine still work fine..  Besides, I showed the Taylors a thing or two.  Well except the youngest.  Darin I think his name is? He strikes me as adopted!” 

“Why is that?” I ask

Well he looks nothing like any of them.  Plus all of them are mean and Darin’s kind of nice.  Plus they are always putting things from their backpacks into his.

“What do you have there?”. I asked

“Oh ya I almost forgot he said”  pulling a memory from his bag.

It was a smooth medium object.  I recognized it right away.  Well I recognized the feeling.”  Smooth, grand, no sharp edges.

It was Matthew’s football.  He and I would play football everywhere we went.  The store, the movie, ice cream I would hit him for the game winning touchdown pass.  Just the seconds, minutes, hours I was allowed to smile, grin, beam with pride.  How fortunate am I?

I watched him catch his last pass and grab his backpack as he said “I’m late oh man I’m in big trouble!  Well they can’t give me any worse wings than these “ He laughed and ran into the mist.

“Should I have forced Darin to leave? I thought to myself.  I mean he is not as bad as those other Taylor’s.  Maybe he was adopted.  Was it his fault he had to carry all his brother’s negativity and strife?

Maybe I should go look for him.  Actually I don’t really look.  If I just let my mind go there he will show up and unload all of his bags.  That’s the thing he doesn’t ever stop with one thing as the others do.  Once he starts unloading he keeps going and going.  And it’s easier for me to help him unload and unload and unload.

“NO”. says a voice from within me.  “You know once Darin starts to unload that’s it!  The whole rest of the night you just keep on keep on keep on.  It never stops.”

“Hey you’re curly buddy!”  It’s a memory of my first dog Spunky. He was my first dog.  Why would he be carrying a memory around his neck?  He looked like St. Bernard in the Alps.  I grabbed him, held him, hugged him and all of the talks we had about life poured out onto the ground in front of us.  

“Lori didn’t really like me, Spunky “ I told him in our field next to the house.  “That’s ok I love you Spunky I said as he brought his stick back.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. The door of the cabin sounded.  I knew it was Darin!  He always comes this time of night and begs for me to let him in.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK the door echoed again and again.

“Darin go away” I shout at the door.  “I have company!” I lie.

“No you don’t say the voice on the other side of the cabin door.

“Yes I do. Go Away! .”  I insist.

“A girl?” the voice asks.

“Yes”. I answer. Damn I over played my hand.  Darin will know that no girl is in here.

“Gotcha” the voice rings out.  “Let me in because it’s cold and my backpack is so heavy.  Let me just leave a few things with you then I can make it back to my brothers.”

“No “ I stick to my guns.  Whenever he leaves a memory they are always much heavier than the angel’s ones they leave.  DARINS ARE NOT ONLY HEAVY THEY STICK AROUND FOREVER.  IT SEEMS AS THEY MAY NEVER LEAVE.  THEY WAKE ME UP SCREAMING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.  WHEN I WAKE UP THEY ARE SITTING ON MY CHEST.  IF I’M TRYING TO SPEND TIME WITH MY KIDS THEY INTERRUPT.

“Go away ‘Darin” I demand

“Really?”

“Yes”

“You have said that before but let me in”

‘I know that was a mistake”

“Ok I’ll Go if that is what you want?”

“Yes, Go!”

I swallow the last of that beer and listen.  Silence.  He’s gone.  Now what? At least with Darin there I’d have drive and arguments, and being right it’s a charge!  Keeps me going.  But in which direction does it keep me going!

Now the angels become comfortable.  They all drift down and sit and stand surrounding the table.  

They all tip their backpack over and shake.

It all pours out

Colors, smells, sounds, smiles, laughs, dreams they all pour out on the floor of the cabin.

Rather than pick them up one by one.  I lay down in them.  Surrounded by all that they have to share.  It’s not a voice, or even sound.  It became a tapestry of love.

My children, parents, friends, and lovers are all there!  Everything I touch glows with truth and honesty.

I’m sorry Darin I don’t think I can let you in again.

“That’s ok,” he says.  “There are plenty of others that invite me in at night , during the day, or anytime.  Goodnight Pat.”

Goodbye Darin I say without one ounce of pity or sorrow.