angel dreams

I

Father William Hennessey awoke from a dream, alone in the rectory. The pastor, Timothy O'Neill, was away on vacation. The cooking and cleaning lady had Wednesdays off. It was still dark. His eyes tried to adjust to the surroundings of his bedroom, but failed. He had left the shutters tightly closed and no light from Dublin's dim outside glow was allowed in. Images from his dream continued to linger as he gazed around at the darkness of his room. He could make out odd shapes, unsure of what many of them were. A lamp? The computer monitor on his desk where he wrote his letters and sermons? Why did everything seem so unfamiliar in the dark, while during normal daylight hours these same things were so familiar?

The dream images returned as he stared at what he thought was his bedside lamp, which he wanted to turn on, but not wanting to disturb the darkness, he decided against it. A young woman in the dream had reached out to him from a mirror or a pool of water--he couldn't tell exactly what it was, but its surface reflected the dark surroundings and shimmered like a quiet pool of water would. He was crouched before this shimmering thing, gazing into it. What he saw in the murky glow he assumed was an angel--she had feathery wings almost hugging her on each side, but she wore no halo, and she didn't seem majestic like he expected an angel might be. Instead, she was wispy and small. She resembled the young woman who Father Hennessey had encountered at confession just a few days before. The same pale smooth skin, innocent dark eyes, the same childlike expression of curiosity....

Father Hennessey wanted to fall back to sleep for the dream had seemed interrupted at his waking--what had awoken him? The dog that sometimes barked down the lane behind the rectory? The aging building's clanky plumbing? He didn't recall hearing any sounds at all. Just saw the silent image of this silent angel--for she had spoken no words to him, made no sounds at all--and then he was awake, staring at the unfamiliar dark shapes of his usually familiar room. And wondering about the young American woman he had met at confession the previous Saturday. Jessi was her name. And she had confronted him with his very faith while they sat in the park down from the church. And now she was reaching out to him from a pool of shimmering something. But he hadn't been able to reach her.

Just as his outstretched hand was about to meet hers he had woken up. Because of a dog? Or plumbing? Or because he wasn't ready to finish the dream, still uncertain of his very faith? Her wings were as pale as her skin. Her eyes as dark as his room was right now.

Father Hennessey tried desperately to fall back to sleep, to resume his dream, to reach out to the angel who was silently calling him into the pool of quiet spirituality. But instead he lay awake, wondering about a dark eyed American woman called Jessi.

II As Jessi moved down into the water, her wings seemed to keep her afloat. But when she began swimming around in the clear pool they became lighter and gradually disappeared. In the darkness the glow from the stars overhead fell onto the water's surface with a sultry glimmer. Jessi was free now, no wings to keep her afloat or bog her down--she felt that's what they'd certainly do--bog her down, the feathers soaking up the water and becoming heavy like a sponge. But they weren't heavy at all, seemed almost as if they were no longer even there, had become translucent, like they were now a part of the water. She wondered if she had left her clothes back on the shore, or if she had even been wearing clothes at all--she had no memory of the moments just before she went into the pool. As though she had been asleep and was now awake. Awake and dancing naked on a mirror of water. She paused a moment, still floating on the water's surface, gazing at the skin of her arms, so pale and fragile, so human, so divine, so much like a woman's skin that had been kept hidden away under clothes, seeing no sun for too long. The stars winked off as she pulled herself down into the pool, using those same pale arms and her rapidly kicking feet. She could see clear black liquid opening up around her as her small body danced through the folds of the pool's depths. She kept going, wondering if she could find the bottom, if the pool even had a bottom. After awhile she glanced back up and saw the stars again, only now they were a shimmering blur, like someone had scattered powder over the night sky. And then she saw a figure looking down at her from the edge of the pool, as if trying to find someone, or something that he had lost. When she swam back up for a closer look, she recognized the person--it was the priest she had met at St. Mary's church that Saturday when she had gone to confession just after her arrival in Dublin. She swam to him, and as she approached the surface, she felt her wings begin to reappear. She reached a pale arm up to him in greeting. He reached back, struggling to touch her. Why didn't he just come into the pool like she had? Jessi wondered as she watched him search through the dark starlit water for her, for someone, for something lost. And then he was gone. He fell back away from her view, his dark figure melting into the darkness. Jessi swam to the shore and climbed out, water spilling from her pale skin onto the ground. The stars were clear again. She looked around for the priest, but he was gone. She thought of calling out to him, but the surrounding silence was louder than her voice could ever be. Then the full dry feathers of her wings returned and she flew into the even louder silence of the stars. The night turned into a clear Irish morning, and Jessi woke up, her wings vanishing once more.
angel dreams was written by joe beine ©1997 jessi was drawn by shawn strub ©1996 angel dreams continues: part 3

more stories featuring jessi can be found in the book paper angels

angel dreams

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II