An Angel

“An Angel”

Beep. Beep. The alarm blared in John’s ear as bright red numbers flashed “6:20” in his eyes. Jim Struck was blaring over the radio “Good Morning Miami. It’s a sunny Friday morning get up and enjoy the sand.” But John didn’t want to move.

Today was June 23. Forty five years ago today, John met the most beautiful woman he would ever know. Sarah Jones, the angel, was his steady sweetheart for forty five years. They got married right out of high school on the very same date they had met. But now, five years since her sudden death, this day seemed a bit hollow. Without her lovely face to wake up to, John felt emotionless. But he promised himself that as long as he kept celebrating that she would never die.

John reached over and slammed down the off button, shutting up Mr. Struck. Rolling over, he prepared to get up. Normally this motion took seconds, but John took the time to kiss his wedding photo and whisper “Good Morning” to his late wife. Running a hand through his scruffy white hair he placed both feet firmly on the floor and stared at the bathroom door.

Living in a senior center, his bathroom was nothing to look forward to. Basic and plain, like John, it didn’t have a luxurious shower or marble counter tops. Rather it was a simple stall with a white curtain, and a small sink with a cabinet/mirror combination, very similar to that of John’s military days. That’s probably why he had no problem adjusting as he shut the door.

Pulling out his favorite towel, he threw it over the shower rod, and put on some tunes. Setting a happy mood, John turned on 101.3 The Oldies, and cranked it to volume ten; nothing like some good Sinatra to wake the bones. As old blue eyes echoed off the walls, John stepped into the stall.

Within ten minutes, John had completed his shower. Used to his boot camp days, John managed to wash his body, shampoo his hair, and shave before Sinatra even started his third song. While brushing his teeth, his favorite song came on. He found himself tapping his foot and humming along. Before he could get into the last verse, he was preparing to put on his golf cap and walk out the door. Cane in hand, he gave one last wink to Sarah and walked out of his apartment to the beach.

After a 15 minute bus ride, John arrived at the Miami shore. Paying his outrageous three dollar buss fare, John walked off the bus, and toward his favorite spot. Right in front of an old burger shack, sat a simple red painted bench. Sitting on the deserted end of the boardwalk, it wasn’t much of a beauty. But it always faced the sun, and John knew how much his wife loved to tan. About a year ago, he saved up enough money to engrave the side, so now the bench had meaning as it read “In loving memory Sarah Buttaro.”

John plopped down on the left side, and looked out into the ocean. Twirling his wedding band, he could think of nothing but her beautiful face. Fiddling with his dog tags, he remembered how patient she was. The nation announced war barely a month after they were wed, and she didn’t stop John from enlisting. She waited for months, sending supplies, and letters; never ceasing her care. She was a saint, as she proved the day they met.

Fumbling through his social security card and old military ID’s, John found the worn out picture from the day it all started. With his tan little frame and the goofiest smile, he stood with his arm wrapped around Sarah’s shoulder. They had the twinkle of promise in their eyes. Every time John looked at them, it reminded him of that very moment in June 1960, when fate brought him love.

He was a scarwny boy. Standing on the California sand, the sun burned his skin, but he didn't care. John had come to surf and nothing was going to stop him. Adjusting his wet suit, he grabbed his board and hopped into the water.

Gliding on the waves, John felt like a pro. The ocean spray drenched his face as he swerved through a tunnel; everything was perfect. He was between

swells when he heard a loud sound. Paddling closer to shore, John noticed a group of people cheering his name. Being the cocky kid he was, he decided to paddle back out and give them something to remember him by.

About fifty feet out, John’s board start to rise and he knew he was catching the biggest swell of the day. Rising to his feet he prepared to ride the wave. Standing firm on his board, he rose 30 feet in the air, feeling like a king as the water swelled under him. The crowd screamed his name “John! John!”, and the water kept rising. Then in a split second, John’s board jerked with the strength of the swell and the board capsized. He