“Uh…”
Okay, I’m not great at covering my butt when I get in trouble. That may have something to do with why I haven’t been able to keep a job for longer than six months in the past thirty years.
“You know, Trin,” Dave drawls, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s a skinny, ferret-faced little man who carries himself as if he’s a six-foot-tall bodybuilder. “I was going over a recent influx of early cancellations we’ve had, and to my great surprise, it turned out that all of those early cancellations had spoken to the exact same customer service rep when they called. Any guesses who that was?”
“Uh…”
I’m not dumb, I swear. I’m just not big on lying, so there’s not a lot I can say here besides giving a full confession. And that won’t help my case.
But what was I supposed to do? Just stand by helplessly as that poor man was taken advantage of by this company? Should I just stay silent and follow the rules no matter what?
That’s what Upstairs wanted me to do. And it’s exactly what I didn’t do. Which is why I’ve been banished to Earth for the past thirty years.
And also why I’m about to get fired.
Chapter Two
Trinity
Yup. I’m totally about to get the boot.
I can see it in Dave’s expression—the too-eager gleam in his eyes and nasty curve of his lips. But I don’t really feel like getting yelled at for the second time in less than an hour, especially when there’ll be no chance of turning this interaction into a positive one like I did with the guy on the phone. Nope, Dave just wants to throw his weight around a little to make himself feel better about being the manager of such a crappy company.
So before he can get a word out, I stand up and smile at him.
“I am, of course, fired,” I say in my perkiest voice. “Don’t worry. I’ll see myself out.”
With a broad smile, I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder, then spin on my heel and make my way down the row of cubicles toward the exit. The room’s gone a little quiet as everybody realizes someone just got the axe, and I see heads popping up like little groundhogs as I do my walk of shame.
I wish there was someone that would stand up and walk out dramatically with me like Renée Zellweger did with Tom Cruise in Jerry Maguire, but the truth is, I don’t really have any friends here.
I’ve always tried not to talk a lot around my coworkers, just in case I let something slip that’s a little too weird and they get suspicious. Humans don’t know about angels or the corrupted. They don’t know about werewolves or vampires or any of the other creatures that walk among them either. Personally, I think it would be only fair for them to know, but I suppose the saying ignorance is bliss is a saying for a reason, and besides, I’d get locked up in a loony bin if I ran around telling humans that centaurs are real.
They are. And they are not friendly.
When I reach the door, I consider turning around and making some big exit speech about how I shouldn’t be punished for doing what was right even if it was against the rules, but then decide against it. I gave speeches like that the first few times I got fired from various jobs, but I’ve come to realize that nobody really wants to hear it.
Not my managers here on Earth.
And not my angel higher-ups Above.
I tug the door handle and slip out into the dreary hallway of the massive office building.
Well, guess the job hunt begins again tomorrow.
It’s been like this for most of my time on Earth. Now that I’m fallen, I need a job to pay the bills. Yuuup, I have bills. That was in the instruction manual too. I really hate bills. And having to eat. Well, eating is actually great, but needing to eat because I feel hungry is less fun.
The Seattle streets are gray and dreary as I make my way back to my little apartment. It was almost five o’clock when I ended that last call, so it’s not like I even got an unexpected day off out of all this.
When I reach my apartment, I hurry inside and immediately change out of my work clothes into my soft flannel pajama pants and oversized sleep shirt.
Humans are crazy, I’ve discovered. Truly crazy. But there’s a method to the madness, as Shakespeare would say, and humanity definitely got the whole “creature comforts” thing spot on.
The shirt is made to imitate Captain Kirk’s Star Trek uniform, with the Starfleet insignia pin designed onto it. “I am the captain now,” I say to myself in the mirror in a horrible attempt at an accent. I can’t do accents. My human body is a black girl with an American accent, and that’s just how I’m gonna stay. I tried to sound Russian once, and I was told I sounded like a drunk moose.
Anyway, this is my Captain Kirk sleep shirt, and I love it.
Feeling marginally better already, I step over to the tall bookshelf that rests against one wall and peruse my movie collection.
I like to own DVDs. I actually still have all the VHS tapes I got when I first fell, even though nobody uses those anymore. It’s a nostalgia thing. I joke that I’m Mike Hanlon, even though nobody gets that joke. Well, the other fallen in my support group don’t. They don’t really indulge in pop culture like I do. I think they want to just coast through their banishment, ignoring everything around them.
But I want to hold on and remember. Humans have such fleeting lives. They grow old and wither so quickly, but they also burn so bright.
Not like me. Every morning when I look in the mirror, I see the exact same face I’ve seen for thirty years. Nothing’s changed. Same dark skin without wrinkles, without scars. Same big dark eyes, no crow’s feet or dullness. Same halo of kinky hair, all dark as well, not a single silver corkscrew in the lot. My hands don’t wither. My back doesn’t bend. My shoulders don’t grow stiff.
I’ve been here for thirty years. I look like I’ve only been alive for twenty-four.
No matter how many more years I live on Earth, I won’t age a day physically. I lost a lot of powers when I lost my wings, but that particular side effect of my angelic nature has stuck with me.
Since I’ve had a rough day, I need a pick-me-up, so for tonight’s entertainment, I pick The Matrix.
Oh, man, I love this movie. When it came out in theaters, I watched it about a dozen times—and if that makes me a nerd, so be it. I just love the idea of rebelling against the system and choosing a life that’s less perfect, less “happy,” because it’s real. It’s genuine.
And, well, the name of the heroine is Trinity. I mean, come on! Clearly, I was meant to love this film. My namesake in this movie is so tough and cool; I wish I could be like that.
Contrary to what many people believe, angels are not these wholly benevolent beings who sit around stringing a harp, but we’re not all avenging terrifying warriors either. I’m not anyway. I actually worked in administration the whole time I was Upstairs.
I sure do wish I could kick ass though. Ooh, I should probably enroll in some kind of self-defense class or take up martial arts!
Ordering Chinese food and curling up with a movie is probably not what I should be doing, but it’s all I really feel up to at the moment. And besides, the parameters of what I should and shouldn’t do have gotten a lot blurrier since I fell. I appealed my banishment, and I’ve been told my case is under consideration, but I don’t receive daily instructions on how to improve myself to earn my way back Upstairs.