Falling Angel
by pepperlandgirl
“I can’t do this anymore,” Angel said suddenly.
His mother looked up from the book she was reading. “Do what?”
Angel motioned to the books and notebooks strewn across the table. There was a Bible, a Book of Mormon, a Primary Reader, two primary lesson planners, and a notebook full of notes. “This.”
“Teaching Sunday school? Well I’m sure you can ask for a break…” his mother said, returning to her novel, the latest installment in a popular series of LDS fictional books.
“Maybe I need a break from all of it.” Angel picked up the Bible and then dropped it with a loud thud. His mother jumped.
“Do you have to bang around like that?” She asked crossly.
“No, I’m going for a walk,” he answered.
“Be back in time for dinner. Brother and Sister Smith are coming over.”
Angel pulled on his jacket and slammed the door behind him as he left. He could hear his mother yell after him.
The crisp autumn air felt good against his hot face. He sucked the cool air deep into his lungs and held it. It smelled of burning leaves, harvested squashes, and used earth. It smelt of death. In the distance Angel could hear the random gunshots of deer hunters. The sky foretold the arrival of thick snow.
As a rule, Angel disliked the smell and atmosphere of fall. Somehow the annual death of nature seemed to sap his own energy, but this year he couldn’t get enough. He stayed outside as much as possible, and he felt like he’d walked a hundred miles since the middle of September.
Angel didn’t want to admit why he really spent so much time outside, especially to himself, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to live in denial. He avoided the house in order to avoid his parents — especially his father. As the eldest child and the only son, he felt the pressure to follow in his father’s footsteps: to serve a mission, attend BYU, and eventually attain a high ranking office in the Church.
Angel had a wholly different plan; he just didn’t know yet what it was.
Angel felt boxed in. There were questions he couldn’t form, but that he longed to find the answers to. The doubts had been long in forming, mere thunderheads on the horizon. Now the storm was imminent.
“It just seems so futile,” Angel muttered to himself.
It referred to religion. He loved his family, but he increasingly became frustrated by their blind faith in what he saw as fairy tales.
“They don’t think for themselves…” As soon as he said this he immediately felt bad. He had been taught all his life that what he was currently experiencing was a “crisis of faith” brought on by “pride.” But that just didn’t feel right to Angel. Why, if God existed would he care if people had questions about the way things are ran?
A cold wind picked up, the crisp chill air turned to biting cold. Angel didn’t go back into the warm house, though. He sat on a nearby bench and watched the cars drive by on the street, and waved to the people he knew. One car stopped and the driver asked him if he wanted a ride. He declined.
The sun began to set, and Angel wondered how long he’d been sitting on the bench. He liked the peace and quiet. As the hours passed with the sinking sun, he felt better than he had in a long time. He resolved to keep this newfound peace, and in order to do so, he needed to be honest with himself and his family.
Angel decided that he needed to get away from everything and re-evaluate his faith, and belief in God. Europe would be the perfect place. Europe was thousands of miles away from his family and his friends, thousands of miles away from the ideals of what he should be, of who he should be. Europe had history, mystery, romance, and possibly a few answers. He would leave as soon as possible.
* **
“Where are you going?” His mother asked, shock radiating from her face. This was the last thing she expected to hear from her little boy.
“I’m going to Europe,” Angel repeated.
His father’s face had gone red, his mother’s pale. “Why?”
“I need some time alone. I need some time to learn and question, and I need to do it by myself,” Angel explained.
“And you need to do this in Europe? How will you pay for it?” His mother demanded. Angel looked uneasily at his father. He hadn’t said anything since Angel made his announcement. The only sign that he had even heard Angel was the steady flush of anger darkening his face.
“I planned on using my mission money,” Angel said quietly.
And the explosion came.
Angel had never seen his father truly angry before. Angel could almost see the steam coming out of his father’s ears. His eyes had darkened from chocolate brown to jet-black. His nostrils flared. He said slowly, “I did not save that money so you could go gallivanting around Europe instead of serving God.”
“I know Dad, and I understand. But this is really important to me. I need this time,” Angel tried to explain. He could see, though, that his explanation only made it worse; his father’s nostrils still flared.
“You need time? Fine, you can have all the time away from us that you need. If you leave and use that money, do not come back. You will no longer be welcome in our home.” His father’s words still came slowly.
Angel wanted to believe that his father didn’t mean it. He was only speaking in the heat of his anger. Once he simmered down, he would reevaluate the situation and tell Angel that he didn’t mean it. Only, Angel knew his father. His father only spoke when he absolutely meant the words. Angel’s father never took anything back.
Angel looked at his mother, and then back to his father. “I’m sorry you feel that way. But I can’t stay here, and I won’t stay here.”
His mother sucked in her breath sharply, and he could see the tears beginning to pool in her eyes. “Angel, darling, please rethink this. Don’t leave. Europe will still be there when you get back from your mission. It’ll still be there when you graduate from BYU.”
Angel shook his head. “You just don’t really understand. I am not going on a mission, and I am not going to BYU. Maybe eventually, but not right now.”
“What happened to you? This is not how we raised you!” The tears were now freely falling from her eyes.
Angel ached. He wanted to comfort her; he wanted to stop her tears. He hated to see his mother cry, and to know that he caused her tears was almost killing him. But he couldn’t give in. If nothing else, he had to be honest. He would not lie to them, or to himself any longer.
“I’ve got to go pack.”
... to be continued ...