Sunday

So here it was Sunday again, and I was coming in to work, through security, changing in the locker room, going up to the fifth floor to the vegetable garden again. Knowing that my prize rose was gone, had sprouted legs on me and walked away. I wondered if it was too late to call in sick, but the idea of spending another day with nothing to do had no appeal.

The lights were half-off as usual, and I flipped the switch that turned the rest of the fluorescents on. And there he was; sitting in a wheelchair at the foot of the bed that he had spent three years in. There was something strange about his bearing. He had to be weak from so much down-time, but instead he looked almost regal; the curve of his fingers off the edge of the armrest, the tilt of his jaw. He looked like a prince, sitting there in his hospital pajamas with a blanket across his lap. If I thought I was attracted to him asleep, the sight of him awake was stimulating in a way that left me faintly dizzy.

"Hello." I said, awkward. I glanced around. There was nobody else in sight. Nobody awake at least. The two rows of silent sleepers rested quietly. He smiled at me. The light filtered through his short blonde hair, giving it a glow.

"Hi." He replied. "I'm sorry. I'm not in your way, am I?"

I shook my head. "I can work around you." Good morning, sleepy-head. I wanted to tell him. You're beautiful today. But no, he wasn't a fantasy now. Instead I asked, "Why are you here? How did you get here?" and my voice sounded annoyed, even to me.

He looked puzzled for a moment. "I'm trying to get my bearings. I'm...here for a reason. Things are... different, for a reason." I didn't blame him for being disoriented. "Did you take care of me?" he asks, and I feel my face get hot as I'm changing the sheets under the older woman in bed one.

I cough, trying to clear a throat that feels too tight. "I did."

"For how long?"

I switch the IV bag. "Three years." He's watching me, and I feel like a germ under a microscope, like he can see my desire and guilt through my skin. And he doesn't say anything. And long minutes pass as I check bed one's vitals and move on to two, changing sheets.

"My name is Raeandaphael." He says at last. It's an odd name, there's almost a Jewish inflection between the last two syllables. "Would you like to call me Ray or Andy?"

"I ah, haven't heard that name before. Which do you prefer being called?" I assumed he had remembered it, but what a weird name.

He shrugged. "You choose."

"Ray." I decided, like it mattered. "I'm Garreth." I finally said, remembering my manners.

He smiled. "Thank you, Garreth. For taking such good care of me when I needed it." He tries to rearrange himself on the chair, and I can see how weak he really is. I go over to help him. His skin is warm and alive and awake under the pajamas. It's appropriate, I keep repeating to myself like a mantra.

"Thank you again." He says once he's comfortable again. "Dr Dayton says I should rest, but I think I've rested enough, don't you?" I nod and go back to my work. "To tell the truth, I'm really not used to this, this frailty."

I glance over. I don't want to talk to him, I don't want to connect, I don't want to interact, but I can't stop myself. "So you remember now?"

He grins, and his grin is faintly wicked and proud. "I never forgot. There are just certain things you only tell certain people. There was nothing I could tell dr Dayton, and he was willing to believe amnesia."

"But you're telling me?" I bundle up a dirty sheet. "Why?"

"Because I'm meant to." He watches me for my reaction. I feel myself frowning.

"Meant to how? What wants you to tell me?"

He shrugs. "Call it what you will. The Higher Power."

I'm getting angry and I know it. My beautiful sleeping John Doe replaced by this...this...annoying person.

"I should take you back to your room." I say, and he shakes his head.

"Soon. Garreth, I'm not like you, I'm not one of you." And I felt like I'd been pushed out of the closet by a bull-dozer.

Embarrassment burned on my cheeks. "Sir..." I started, with no idea what to follow that up with. He held up a hand, interrupting me.

"I'm an angel," he said, and I realized with a pang that he believed it. "A Fallen, to be more precise. I know this is hard to process, but even Fallen, I know that everything I do is for a purpose, that everything I do is guided by a stronger hand." He watched me, his eyes so sane and his words so crazy. "I woke up...different." he says, making a puzzled helpless gesture with one hand. "There must be a reason, and I feel the reason is you."

It was all too much. I was glad I wasn't outed, especially if he wasn't "one of us." On the other hand, I was a little sad he wasn't "one of us," and clearly crazy besides. I laughed, trying to keep it light, and walked to the door. I called the nurse at the station and she came over. "Can you find someone to help Mr. Doe to his room?" I asked. She looked down, flushing and guilty and nodded.

I looked back at him, wondering how he had talked the nurse on his floor into bringing him here and the nurse on this floor into letting him sit alone and unattended among the vegetables. "You're going to get someone fired." I told him, pushing his chair to the door.

"I only present a crossroad. Everyone chooses which path to take. All of you, at least." I shook my head and closed the door behind him. It was too crazy for me, and too much work besides. I made a mental note to talk with Dr Dayton in the morning.