"I always write about my own experiences,
whether I've had them or not."

When Angels Are Busy
By: Tedric A. Garrison

            When Timmy asked if I wanted to go trolling for shrimp I thought he was kidding.  I was an only child and my mother was always working. This was my chance to be with a real family; you know, people who actually liked being together.  Mom and I only bumped into each other from time to time.

            It was almost midnight when we left. Timmy and I were laughing and telling jokes and having a good old time.  Patty also came along, she was Timmy’s sister. Even though she was two years older than us; we always did things together; swimming, climbing trees, and talking for hours at a time.  But on this trip she sat in silence and watched out the side of the truck as things passed by.   I guess that’s what caught me off guard; I had never seen her this quiet for so long.  Timmy said we must have interrupted her beauty sleep.

            When we got there, Timmy and I got the net and started spreading it out.  Patty helped her parents with the boat.  She mechanically did everything they asked, (but didn’t say much).
             The first time I got into the boat it almost tipped over.  Their dad smiled, Timmy laughed, and Patty just rolled her eyes as she pulled me down to the bench beside her.  We tried our hands at pulling in the net and caught several fish.  But their dad said the shrimp must be staying on the bottom, so we had to do it the “old fashion” way.  That meant getting into the water with people on both sides of the net and dragging it ourselves. 

We were having fun, and then something squirmed up Timmy’s pant leg, because he yelped and did a little dance and fell into the cold water.  Everyone laughed, well . . . everyone except Patty that is.  I glimpsed down the length of the net.  Her eyes turned away.

I knew her dad could handle the side of the net we were on, so I went over to her side.  As I got closer I whispered, “I don’t know much about fishing, but I listen really good.”

            Patty sighed heavily.  It was strange, me standing beside this beautiful sixteen year old girl in a wet t-shirt.  Suddenly I realized my best friend’s sister, was a girl.  I didn’t know what was wrong . . . but I knew I wanted to help.

            We stayed for another half hour, before the family packed it up and started heading back the way we had come.  Timmy was still wet so he got in the front of the truck.  Patty and I climbed in the back of the truck and shared a blanket. 

She put her head on my shoulder and I thought I had died and gone to heaven.  The moon seemed huge and romantic, but other emotions lingered just below the surface.  Like the undertow you try to dismiss, my heart was getting carried further and further out to sea.

Her head popped up suddenly.  Patty’s eyes darted about like she was looking for something.  We were on a South Carolina back road, in the middle of the night.  Huge old trees with Spanish moss, hung down like cob webs in a crypt.  Crickets and fireflies choreographed their show so as to leave us mere humans breathless.  Clouds in the sky formed like Angels trying to see what figures they could see in the sand below.  We passed a small road side park with a table and suddenly my flesh started to tingle.  Patty’s jaw clenched slightly and her muscles tightened as a shutter went down her spine.

Instinctively I put my arm around her.  “What happened to you back there?”  I heard someone ask.  It kind of startled me, so I looked around.
            There was no one in the back of that truck except us.   I tried to look over my shoulder, to make sure no one in the cab was listening in.  It took me a minute to realize that it was I, who had asked the question.   

Patty sniffled with her head still facing down and mumbled, “They touched me.”

“They?” I wondered, “You mean more than one?”   Thoughts rushed through my mind faster than I could sort them out.  “But we’re touching right now . . .” My heart raced, and then that other voice spoke again, “They hurt you?”

For the first time, Patty raised her head and looked at me eye to eye.  Moonlight reflected off the tears that streaked down her cheeks.  “Yes.”

Her expression was one of surprise, then relief.  My chest felt heavy as she explained in detail the experience of being gang raped.  The picture she painted was very graphic and I sat in silence for most it.  Every so often the voice, would ask her questions; guiding her in some way to get it all out.  I had no idea where it was all coming from.  My mother hadn’t even gotten around to the birds and the bees yet.

“Have you told anyone else?” My breathing was shallow, “You know, family or friends?” I asked, but could barely hear the response over the pounding of my own heart.

“No.”

My palms were starting to get sweaty and everyone knew what that meant.  According to Mary Jane Harris, that was the first sign of true love.  My mind was drenched with emotions and I found it hard to breath.  I stuttered slightly, “Why, I mean . . . why are you telling me?” 

My eyes were starting to swell up and nothing had happened to me.  I didn’t have to look up to feel her eyebrows rising.  I had already said something wrong.  I wanted to help; really I did.  “I mean, wouldn’t it be better to talk to a school counselor or something?”

Patty was silent for several minutes, so I spoke quickly.  “Please go on.  I want to hear more.”  Of course that was a lie.  I was terrified to hear more; Patty was my friend, but I sensed she had more to say.

            “I’m in High School. If this gets out, nobody would ever treat me the same again.  Besides that, all the counselors are men.”  She spoke softly and looked down.

            I understood the first part, but I had to admit the second half threw me for a loop.  Cautiously, I leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “Patty, I’m a guy too!”

            Her eyes looked up before her head moved.  That’s when I first saw that little sparkle return again.  She almost smiled, “No you’re not.  You’re my friend.”

            You can’t tell you’re friends, but I’m a friend?   You don’t trust men, but you trust me?  I had to admit this was getting a little confusing.  It was kind of strange when that light bulb finally came on.  What this girl needed was an Angel, and I don’t know . . . maybe they were all busy at the time, so God used what he had. 
            Before that night, I thought her family was better than mine.  I mean, they had to be didn’t they?  She had a mother, a father and a brother.  They always did things together; she never had to feel alone.  And yet . . . she did.  I was used to being alone, but after that night I knew I never would be.  The older I get, I wonder who learned more that night, my friend in need or my friend within me.