Passing Through

Passing Through

It's strange, you know - being something other than what people think
you are. I wonder if they'd censure me if they knew. I wonder if
they're religious. Looking at the tall one with the slightly hooked
nose, I think she might be, and that plump, friendly one too. I wonder
how they'd react if I stepped in and dispelled a few myths for
them.

But for the time being, we're flower arranging, badly. The lady
leading the class is getting very exasperated with us all as we treat
the flowers as if they were plasticine. She cringes every time she
looks at me. I can feel her eyes willing me to be more gentle as I stab
the stems into that green spongy stuff with a texture rather like
Cheshire cheese. Until you poke it, that is.

I never did this before - no, I had more exciting things to occupy my
time with. Bet they did too once, the older ones, but now they're
gaining on God they've lost that sense of youthfulness. And why are the
younger ones here? Still, the flowers are beautiful and that's the
point, really. Only I'd love to go to the fair, or the pictures, or
even go for a drive. Yes - in one of those rounded-off, lidded motor
cars they have these days. Lovely creatures - ride so smooth and keep
you warm and dry into the bargain, apparently. I've heard tales.
Everyone here's got one now, even the little old ladies, though they're
a bit lethal once they get going behind the wheel.

"Hello, I haven't seen you here before - have you just moved to the
village?" It's the plump, friendly one - nice old girl with those grey
curls and a wide smile. Best answer.

"Oh, no, I'm only visiting - passing through, you know, want to see a
bit of the world before I die." There I go with my Licence to Lie.
That'd make the vicar's jaw drop open, now.

"Well, it's nice to see you at our Women's Institute. Are you enjoying
yourself?"

Remember to lie. "Oh yes, I'm having a super time" I say, hoping they
still use words like 'super'. It's been so long since I last visited,
and just from overhearing snippets of conversation in the village I can
see that the world's a different place these days.

Satisfied with having made my acquaintance, she ambles off to talk to
someone else.

Eventually, they've had enough of flower arranging and it's time for
tea and cakes. I try to mingle a bit, telling them what I told the
first one but no more; best not to get too deep into details, He
reminded me. That's what got me into trouble last time, of course.
Always was a bit of a chatterbox, me.

And now it's over (mercifully) and they're all getting dressed up warm
to go home. I put on my coat and I edge closer to the lady with the
dark hair - she's the one I'm here for. She's only thirty-seven, two
children, ten and six, both at the village school. She'll be off to
pick them up now; it's nearly three o'clock. I'm right behind her as we
emerge from the hall and it's not easy to keep up with her long legs as
she strides along, but I'm managing.

And it's just as He described it; there's the blue car, coming round
the corner as she's stepping off the kerb. It's going to fast, and he
doesn't see her, the idiot behind the wheel. But it's alright, I'm
right here behind her and I'm propelling her forwards, pushing her so
she falls clear. She's alright - she's hurt her knees but she's
alright; she's safe; she'll be there at the school gates, a few minutes
late, but alright. And I watch her as she examines her grazed knees,
looking around for whoever it was who pushed her, but there's nobody
there as I'm slowly leaving the world.

And He's happy, so it's a job well done, and I'm happy because I did
just exactly as I was told, and the kids'll have a mother tonight -
it's a happy ending all round.

And you can stop poking me, young Gabriel, I'll get off your cloud in
a minute, I'm just resting my feet a moment, have a care, 'cos wings or
no wings, I'm not as young as I used to be.