Babysitting

"So in conclusion," the bright eyed young executive said, "There is going to be a break though in Hydrogen power and at the same time there will be a massive oil ocean found under Mexico." Next to him was a simple easel with a map on it. Around the picture were various graphs, which to the common eye, meant nothing. "Any questions?"

The board room sat motionless, for a time. Then, cautiously, a man toward the back raised his hand. "Excuse me, sir, but is it really wise to have them both happen at the time?"

The young man with quick green eyes seemed intrigued, his eyes flashed. "How's that?" he asked, cocking his head.

"Well sir, they might find it odd to have two such discoveries happen at the same time. You see, having such a coincidences, it's well, miraculous. I know, sir, that is something we do up here, but don't you suppose they should be, at least, a month apart?"

The courageous man was terrified deep down. He knew it was rude to contradict your boss, but maybe the Boss was in a good mood.

"I'll consider it, Davis, but you are right," the man with the fair skin and quick eyes said. "They shouldn't happen at the same time, but which comes first, the chicken or the egg, you see. I will have to think about it, well done, Davis." Davis gave a silent sigh of relief.

"It's just so stupid," muttered another man. He was leaning back in his chair, looking down at a pen in his hand. The young executive looked up quickly from his papers, which he had begun to put back into folders. His eyes flashed, and went from light, piercing green, to a deep, startling blue. "What was that?" he asked, slowly and clearly.

"I said," the man looking down at his pen didn't more anything aside from his lips. "That this is all so stupid."

"Now Travis," The man's eyes were a storm of color, greens and yellows all rushing around in beautiful chaos.

"It's Williams!" Shouted the man, standing up. He threw his pen across the room. "For three years I've sat here and been called 'Travis,' and I can't take it anymore you dick!"

"Travis," The executive tried again.

"Williams! Get it right! I don't even understand why you call me that! No one has ever called me Travis in my whole life! And his name isn't Davis, its Scott!" The man started to approach his boss.

"For three years, and then when I come up with a good idea, you scoff and say it was too much like last century! Well, what do you call this! This, this piece of shit!" He knocked over the easel. Then he vanished, without a sound. The young executive's eyes were black as pitch, and he went back down to putting his papers away.

"Travis went home to his family, and he will be by tomorrow for his things. Davis, I want you to get his things together for him. And now," his voice grew a few notches less grave, "I want you all to go home to your families, but please, come back tomorrow." The men started to file out, being careful that their halos didn't fall off. The Boss picked up the pen Travis had thrown, and studied it as people left the room.

"Not you, Dawson, I need to talk to you," he said, not looking up. Dawson gave a sigh. Why him?

His name wasn't even Dawson, it was Myles D. Presley. Granted, the "D" stood for Dawson, but why did everyone refer to him by his middle name? Of course you should never disagree with your Boss, especially when your boss was as powerful as Dawson's was.

"Yes sir?" He walked up to the young man, still packing, and not looking up, he had put the pen down.

"I need you to stop by on your way home, and check up on my son." He explained.

"Um, but why? Sir," Dawson asked.

"I gave him a message to give to you," The young man finally looked up. His unnatural eyes were back to a friendly green.

"But why couldn't you have just given it to me, sir?"

The Boss laughed, the sun shown just a little brighter in the room.

"I work in mysterious ways, remember? I think you coined that phase, Dawson. Didn't I give you promotion for it? Or at least a raise?"

"Good point, sir," Dawson tried to laugh too.

"How many times do I have to…" The young man said to himself. Then he spoke louder to Dawson again. "None of this 'sir' stuff, understand? You're practically family, Dawson. Why else would I use your middle name?" Dawson was about to answer "'cause everyone else does," but he bit his lip. "But anyway, he's waiting for you, and tell him I'll be home late tonight."

"Yes sir," said Dawson. His boss merely glared and made his eyes a little darker, and raised an eyebrow. Dawson mouthed "sorry," and left the board room.

He had been asked to his boss' villa several times, and didn't need directions. For the ruler of the universe, he lived in a rather humble home. It looked as if it was built in Britain during the Roman Occupation. (Dawson didn't know it, but it was a replica of the Palace at Fishbourne) It was merely a large square, and in the inside was an impressively large garden. Up the middle of the garden, and lined on both sides by hedges, was a pathway, measuring three yards across. Roses of all kinds grew in the gardens, forever in bloom. The Palace had a Roman-style board room, in case He didn't feel well enough to go to the office. With its high walls and terracotta roof, it was spectacular. But for the ruler of the universe, in the opinion of Dawson, it was very modest. If he was the ruler of the universe, nothing short of a high throne on a mountain top would do.

In the court yard, off to the left side, and picking at an orange rose, was a small black child. He couldn't have been a day over thirteen, more toward twelve. He had his father's eyes, which looked even more odd given the child's dark complexion. His robes were dirty, from playing all day outside. He looked depressed, or as if his mind was else where, which was strange, for everyone was sent Up Here when they were at their happiest. "If I was the son of God," though Dawson as he got closer, "I wouldn't look nearly so depressed."

"Hey Jesus," Dawson said sitting down next to the little boy. The little boy's halo was glowing in the grass next to him, the grass needed to be mowed.

The little boy's quick green eyes were transfixed by the orange rose, he didn't look away. "Hey," he said, absentmindedly.

"Your father sent me," Dawson said, trying to make conversation.

"I know," He said. Staring at unimportant things must run in the family. He looked at the rose in the same way his father was looking at the papers on the table, and the pen.

"Your father also said that you had a message for me."

The boy quickly reached to his left and produced an ordinary envelope.

"I already read it, so don't both reading it out loud. And I know, Dad isn't coming home tonight, like always."

Dawson took the envelope, it wasn't sealed, and it wasn't marked. He took the letter out, and read it to himself. Little Jesus, with the mind of a thirty-three year old, and a body of the happy boy he had once been, looked intently at the orange rose. He spun it slowly with his small fingers back and forth, back and forth.

The letter went as such,

"Dear Dawson,

Isn't it interesting? The alliteration in every greeting to every letter with your name in it? Well, I suppose I could have started "Greetings Dawson," but if I did, I wouldn't have had an interesting idea to start with!

"Anyway, it may surprise you, and I know we haven't talked about this in the office, but I have a daughter.

"She lives in New York, the poorer part, her exact address is below. She already knows how important she is, and I just want you to go down there and check up on things a bit. I imagine she'd be a bit under the weather, just like young Jesus was, see if you can't cheer her up a bit?
"Well, I hope you do cheer her up, I don't want to screw her over the way I did Jesus. Oh, speaking of which, make sure he gets dinner, okay? And please don't let him read this.

With Eternal Love,

G"

That's how He always signed his letters, "G."

"I've already had dinner, and if you don't believe me, I went forty days and nights without food, so I think one night won't kill me."

There was a pause.

"And don't pull 'but you're a growing boy,' either, it's been over two-thousand years, and I haven't grown an inch." His eyes never left the orange rose.

"Right," Dawson stood up, brushing off invisible dirt. He straightened his halo then addressed the child. "You know, you don't have to be as…sour, all the time." The boy didn't move.

There was an awkward silence, Dawson imagined the boy's eyes were closed. Then, suddenly, the child looked up. He had his father's eyes, quick and light green.

"Try getting crucified, then see how sweet you are," he said. A chill ran down Dawson's back, a child his size should not have such power in his voice. "And give this to Her, please," he extended his arms and held out the rose. Dawson took it, after apologizing.

"Sure," he said, and turned to leave. The child picked another rose, a white one, and started to study it with as much care as he had the orange one. The boy sat their with the never-wilting white rose until dusk, when he stood up and went inside and studied the rose in a better light.

After changing out of his work cloths, a white robe, and back into his usual cloths, an off white robe, he remembered how out of place he would seem Earthside. So, he changed; long, baggy jeans, a brown shit, and flip-flops. Normal enough, he decided, but then again, he was about to materialize in a little girl's room, so, normal was a relitive term.

Her room was small, and messy. The first thing Dawson noticed was a fish-tank in the corner, the second thing he noticed was that though the tank was lit and had a running filter, it was empty. A girl sat in the center of the messy room. Her skin, Dawson noticed in the dark, was pale, but not freakishly so. The only light in the room was given off by the fish tank, but Dawson could swear that she herself gave off a slight glow. She was hunched over, staring at something intently, though Dawson couldn't see exactly what. Dawson was about to make himself known, by walking out of the closet, but presently she spoke:

"It died, the fish in there," she said, not looking up or around.

Dawson was startled, and could only ask "What?"

"It was my brother's, a big goldfish he had since he was my age. Its name was El Fisho, but then it died." Her voice didn't move up or down, her eyes were fixed on what Dawson could now see was a doll in her small hands.

"I'm sorry to hear that, how did you brother take it?"

"He doesn't know, he's been in jail for the past year, it only died last month," she said.

"Oh," Dawson managed. There was another silence, it made Dawson uncomfortable. "So, how old are you…" he suddenly remembered he didn't know Her name.

"Caroline, my names Caroline, and I'm seven," She said, still looking at her doll.

Dawson, holding the orange rose Jesus gave him, was wondering how much about herself Caroline knew. "So, er, Caroline, do you, I mean, how much-"

"As much as I think I need to know," she said, having expecting the question since the moment the angel appeared in her closet. Well, her and her brother's closet.

"Well, this is from your brother," he held out the orange rose, which looked almost brown in the dark. Caroline took it, dropping her naked Barbie to the side. She studied it in the same way her brother had.

"Step brother," she said, after a moment.

"What?" Asked Dawson. Caroline, having been tormented by this fact for months now, snapped. Her eyes flashed from green to blue, and as she shouted, to black. Her eyes, it seemed, sucked the dim light from the room, and the life from Dawson.

"He's not my brother! Don't you understand you silly poop head! My mommy only gave birth to me, not him too! We only share a daddy! My daddy's black! How do you think I'm white! Huh! Every night they fight, can't you hear them!"

"Caroline," Dawson tried, "Calm down!" He spoke as softly as he could while still being loud to be heard over Caroline's yelling.

"No! I won't calm down!" She started sobbing and then collapsed into Dawson's arms. Dawson, having a daughter himself when he was alive, was some-what use to such out bursts, and shushed and calmed Little Caroline, eventually she stopped crying. Propping her back, and having her sit on his knee, he talked softly to her.

"Are you feeling better?" a nod, "Good, now, please, is there anything I can do to help?" A sniffle, and a nod. "What is it, darling?"

She looked up, her eyes were calming down, they were back to a calming green. "Can I play with your halo?" she asked, in a little-girl pity tone.

Dawson blushed, he had forgotten to take his Halo off at home. Then he smiled, "Sure, here, take it," he bowed his head, and little Caroline took it in both hands. He turned her, and had her lean back in his chest. She was staring at the glowing ring with more attention than she gave the doll or the rose. "So they're not hot…" she said.

Dawson smiled, he seemed to have things back under control.

"You know," he said softly, "I had a daughter when I was still alive."

"What was her name?" Caroline asked.

"Emily, her name was Emily, and she was about your age when I, left,"

"Why did you leave?" Caroline asked.

"Well, it was just my time, I suppose."

"Do you miss her?" Here it became tricky, he had died about a decade ago, and had lots of time to get over his own passing. He was able to watch his daughter when ever he wanted, which he did a lot at first, but as time grew on and she grew up, he was able to let go. But he couldn't tell this little girl he didn't miss his own daughter. With a wry smile, he said, "All the time."

"That's nice," she said. She started to turn the halo slowly in her hands, to see if the rest of the circle was just as the first side was. There was a quiet, and Dawson started to hum a little, and lulled little Caroline back and forth, just as he had his daughter, before he left.

"Are you an angel?" She asked.

"I have a halo, don't I?" Dawson gave her a little tickle.

Caroline laughed a sweet laugh, "Yeah, but I mean, I thought angels all lived in Heaven, and you say you lived down here,"

"Well, your father, whose a wonderful guy, gave me a job in his office, after he saw how sad I was about leaving home,"

"That's nice of him," She said.

"Mmhmm," Came from Dawson.

"Did you and Emily's mommy fight?" She asked, she actually leaned back to try and get a better look at Dawson, but didn't manage it.

"A little, but everyone fights sometimes. Why do you ask?"

"Well, my parents mostly," she said, stroking the golden halo with her little fingers.

"How so?"

"Well, my daddy's black, and my mommy's white," she began. She sounded smart, for seven. "And when I came out of my mommy's tummy white, my daddy was very mad."

"I can imagine," Dawson smiled at the way she said "my mommy's tummy."

"Yeah, and they don't stop. You'd think they'd just leave each other, but it's been forever, and they still fight," She sounded far away, her mind must have been thoroughly taking in the halo.

"Well, everyone's parents fight, just, some more than most, that's all." Dawson said.

"Na-uh," Calm Caroline rebutted. "My friend Stacy said her parents only fight a little, once every few months, not every day like mine."

Dawson had to think, he laughed inside when he almost finished the thought "What Would Jesus Do." But, then, he asked himself, what would little Jesus do? "Well, it's a dirty job, but someone has to do it. See, if your parents didn't fight all the time, then some one like Stacy's parents would. And you don't want Stacy to live with that, do you?"

"No, not really," Caroline said, she seemed to be taking what Dawson said to heart. There was a quiet, and Dawson felt it was a good quiet, not awkward at all. He even hummed and began to rock little Caroline slowly back and forth in his lap.

"So, I'm just one of the lucky ones?" She asked.

"Exactly," Dawson said, hoping he made a difference.

Another pause.

"Can I keep this?" She asked, wanting very much to stare at it when ever she wanted.

"Sure, I can get another from your dad later," Dawson patted Caroline on the leg. He glanced over to a clock, and, seeing it was broken, he had to move a little to look at his watch. It was nine o' eight, way past bed time for little saviors. Dawson picked up little Caroline and put her in her bed, it was then when he heard the door slam, and two adults in another room start arguing, very heatedly.

"Hey, I left my rose and…" But Dawson already grabbed them, he put the rose and her doll on a bed-side table.

"Hey Uncle Dawson, can you come back tomorrow?" Caroline asked, about to fall asleep, halo in hand.

"I'll have to ask your father, but probably, yeah," Caroline smiled and nodded.

"Can you give my step brother that?" She asked, pointing to her warn, naked, doll.

"Sure," Said Dawson, kissing little Caroline on her forehead. She closed her quick green eyes, and muttered, as she entered her dreams, "Thank you,"

Dawson whispered, slowly dematerializing from the room, "You're welcome."

And the orange rose from her step brother never wilted.