My Guardian Angel
By: Diana Langsford

“Boom, boom, boom.”
I sat up quickly in bed as I heard the loud knock that was emanating from my front door. I was anxious to see whom it was considering the fact that hardly anyone ever visited and it was 3:43 in the morning. I slowly began to meander down my hallway still half asleep when I woke fully from a startling thought.
“What if it’s the cops,” I said aloud to myself as I began to quicken my pace. Step after step, after step sweat beaded across my brow as I became more nervous. As I reached the door I leaned up anxiously to peer through the peephole in my door. And sure enough, standing in front of my eye were two cops who looked as nervous as me. The tall dark-haired one was looking around, paranoid as if something might jump out and attack him. I slowly began to open the door, but it felt so heavy. It felt like a giant lead weight lying in my hands.
I opened the door slowly speaking as it moved, “Yes?”
“Umm, are you Mrs. Johnson?”
“Y-y-yes, I am,” I whispered weakly.
“I’m sorry to inform you, but your husband was in an accident around 2:13. He was hit by a drunk driver and is now sitting in ICU at D.C.H.”
I could feel all the air slowly crawling out of my lungs. How could this have happened? Why me? Why Patrick?
“Can you please excuse me? I need to get dressed so that I can go see my husband.”
“Alright ma’am, if you need me this is my card. You can reach me at anytime. I hope you’ll be alright.”
As the door shut I fell, like a weight dropped in the water that landed with a thud to the floor, crying uncontrollably. If he’s horribly injured I don’t know what I’m going to do. Quietly I rose up and made a bee-line for my bedroom. Quicly, I dressed in a red flannel shirt and a pair of blue jeans. I left my hair like it was, a red mess all tangled up from another sleepless night. I grabbed my keys and purse and started out the dor to my four-door black Ford. As soon as I opened the door the sweet scent of Patrick’s cologne washed over me and brought with it, fresh tears. While driving down Highway eighty-two, all I could taste was the salt from my tears. It felt like the highway just stretched on. I felt as if I would never reach D.C.H. Then out of nowhere, the tall buildings came floating in like a mirage. They looked like death itself, just drawing people in with their radiant, iridescent lights. I found a spot close to the entrance between two motorcycles and began my descent into the lobby.
“Can I help you ma’am?” The desk clerk asked in a dull monotone. She looked about as dull as her voice sounded.
“Yes, I’m here to see my husband, Patrick Johnson. He just got in a acc-.”
“Room 286,” she retorted, interrupting me casually.
I ignored her attitude as I hurried toward the elevator. God I hope he’s alright. Then out of the blue I knelt down in the empty elevator and began a silent prayer for the salvation of my husband. If anyone deserved to live it was him. He was always an exuberant person even in times of darkness. He always thrived to provide the best for me. Most of all, he was an unsung hero of the Iraqi War. The elevator jerked to a halt sending me flat on my face. I scrambled up quickly as I ran in the direction of Room 286.
I tried to open the door quickly but quietly, and without success. I almost fainted at the sight of him. His normally blondish-brown hair was a greasy mess. His face was cut, bruised, and scratched beyond recognition. There was also a humongous bandage covering the upper part of his left arm. I could feel the tears beginning to return as I rushed to his side.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I let this happen to you. It’s all my fault. God I’m
so sorry,” I said as I sobbed uncontrollably.
“How many times do I have to tell you that everything isn’t your fault,” I could faintly hear his voice. I looked up expectantly and was once again staring into the beautiful blue-green eyes that I fell in love with nine years ago.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” I sobbed recklessly into his chest.
“I’ll be fine baby. Just relax, everything is okay.”
“Tell me what happened.”
For three hours I sat there listening to my husband recount hi story. A drunken driver had crossed over onto the wrong side of the road and they endured a head-on collision. He told me that the doctor said he would be fine, there was no permanent damage and that he could go home tomorrow. He said the drunk driver was named Jonathon King and that he regrettably had died instantly. King’s wife and two children were informed and they had come to give their apologies to Patrick.
“I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you,” I said with tear still staining my pale, weary face.
“Well, you don’t have to know, now do you. I’m still here and I always will be. I have my guardian angel watching over me,” he replied as he gently kissed my cheek and hugged me.
“Well with everything in order I think that I should tell you that you’re going to be a father.”
“Just what I’ve been waiting for,” he retorted with a mischievous grin.
“Ha ha. Let’s get some sleep. I know we’re both tired.” I said trying to change the subject.
“Alright, I heard pregnant women need lots of sleep anyway.”
The next day Patrick and I went home to a peaceful house and began to decorate the nursery for our child-to-be. Nine months later I conceived a beautiful, healthy baby girl. We named her Elizabeth Taylor. She had her daddy’s beautiful blue-green eyes and her mommy’s wavy red hair.