Justin Vascao had been told from an early age to never pick up anything off the ground, no matter how new, how pretty, how simple it looked. Because his father told him it was always a trap, and his mother said you never knew where it had been.
The morning he turned 16, he was walking to school when he saw the shiny, glittering coin on the ground. He walked over to it, looked around, and against all his family’s wishes, he picked it up.
It was about the size of a quarter, gold, with a silver lightning bolt on it. He flipped it over in his hand, but it was flat, unadorned. Then it sunk into his hand, even though he tried to shake it off. He screamed, jumping around in the vacant lot, “Get it off me!”
No one heard, or if they did, they thought he was crazy. Regardless, nobody came.
Justin finally stopped jumping around, looked around. He felt himself – nothing had grown, nothing had happened, it seemed. The world was not brighter. Or darker. Or there were demons, or little things following him around. “Hello?” he said, and he spoke his own language – at least it sounded like it.
He picked up his backpack and looked at his hand. He opened and closed it – there was nothing different there. His backpack was the same weight as before. He walked – he didn’t walk faster. He looked at his hand every once in a while, but nothing was odd. Nothing until he got to school.
One of the kids stared at him, and ribbed another. Then another stared. Then a teacher. Then more kids. Something was wrong, he realized, and he ducked into the bathroom.
The silver lightning bolt was across his right eye, all across his face from his forehead to his chin. “Oh, my God,” he said, and a man walked into the bathroom. He didn’t look like any of the teachers. He was dressed in a simple vest and long sleeved button down shirt, with blond hair and piercing blue eyes. “Is everything all right?”
“My eye!”
The man only smiled, “Yes, your eye.”
A couple of kids came into the bathroom. “Jus’? You okay?”
Justin looked from the man to the kids. “They can’t see me,” the man said, “only you can.”
“Yeah,” Justin looked away from the man and back to the kids. “Do I have something on my eye?”
Gerry, one of the kids from his class, walked in, walking around the man as if he was there, but didn’t see him. “You got somethin’ on your face.”
“What’s going on in here,” demanded a man’s voice, throwing open the door. “Mr. Vascao, it’s time for you to get to class.”
Justin looked down, heading toward the first class. He slunk into his chair, dumping his backpack on the table. The blond man from the bathroom, in black pants and wingtip shoes, followed, and someone even held the door open for him. The man walked up to Justin and squatted down at his desk, looking him right in the eye. “You have been blessed.”
Justin focused on the man and wanted to blurt out something, but the man tapped the table. “Write it down. I can read.”
He got out his notebook and a pen. He looked up at the teacher and wrote down on the notebook, What do you mean?
“I mean, that the coin you picked up today, means you have been chosen by God.”
Justin tried to ignore the man as he wrote, For what?
“To bless people, forgive their sins. After that, they have the free will to continue to do what they’re doing or to choose to stop, and God will have forgiven them.”
Justin started to sweat in fear. The teacher had stopped and was staring at Justin. “Justin? Are you all right?”
“I need to see the nurse,” he said. “I’m going to be sick.”
The man got up, and Justin got up, packing his notebook in his bag. The teacher scribbled out a pass and handed it to him. He went out the door, the blond man right on his heels.
“Why me?” Justin whispered, and stopped at an alcove. The blond man joined him. “Why me?”
“You saw something no one else saw, the purity of souls.”
“But I’m not good. I mean, I’m not going to heaven.”
“Says who?”
“I don’t do good things.”
“You’re not perfect, you mean.”
“I’m not.”
“We aren’t all perfect. We are only a facet of His creation.”
“You’re a ghost, right?”
“No, I’m an angel. I’m here to guide you.” He put a hand on Justin’s shoulder. “And to help you.”
Justin felt something come from that man’s hand, something warm like water flowing from his shoulder, through his chest, filling it, and filling his body with warmth and – goodness. He couldn’t describe it any other way. He felt like he could do almost anything. He felt like he could fly.
The man smiled, “You can.”
“Can what?”
“Fly.”
“Seh…seriously?”
The angel let go of him, and that spigot of warmth faded away. “Close your eyes, and wish it.”
“It’s that simple?”
“It’s that simple.”
Justin closed his eyes, and said, “I wish I could fly.” He opened his eyes. “It didn’t work.”
“Look down.”
He was about a foot off the floor, suspended in air. He waved his arms and fell backward against a locker, the booming sound echoing down the corridor. He fell to the floor.
The angel laughed lightly and put his hand out to help Justin up. Justin, embarrassed, got to his feet with the angel’s help. “Thanks,” he muttered.
“Landings are the challenge,” said the angel, and turned his head. Someone was coming down the hall. Justin stumbled out of the alcove.
“Mr. Vascao,” said the stern voice of the principal, and then it softened. “Justin?”
“Sorry, Mr. Senger, I’m sick.”
“Let’s get you to the nurse’s office, then,” he said, and put an arm around Justin, leading him to the office.