Guardian Angel
There are about a thousand of us and we’ve been here for more than three millennia. We were
assigned human charges beginning at their births. We are always nearby, being especially careful to avoid detection. Our primary goal is observation and data gathering in support of the Great Experiment. Upon rare occasions, we are expected to assist our charges. Such assistance is to be subtle, taking the form of timely insight or a minor physical nudge to avoid premature termination of a
charge, as this represents the loss of a valuable data stream, and necessitates reassignment to a freshly born human. Thus has it always been, until one day I overstepped my role and changed the lives of both my charge and myself forever.
Perhaps it was a mistake on my part, and then again, perhaps not.
Applegate Bogdanski was born in the Aldershot military camp in England in 1947. The singular first name was the result of a tribute given to the camp pastor, Rev. William Applegate, for his unselfish help in getting two displaced Europeans settled and started on a new life. In 1951, the Bogdanskis moved to New Jersey, where Apple, as he is known to his friends, began his schooling at Saint James in Newark. The first years were difficult, since he entered school speaking a mix of Polish and German, the languages spoken at home. However, immature humans are quick to adjust, and Apple did just that.
#
The morning was much like any other in early Fall, 1958. With a brisk head wind tossing auburn locks across his eyes, Apple cinched up his windbreaker and scrunched over as he walked to school. It was three blocks up Ferry and a turn onto Adams for another three.
Sister Bernadette began her third grade class punctually at eight AM, and Apple was late. At this hour, few people were about the normally crowded sidewalks. He hurried along Ferry, pausing only briefly at intersections before dashing across. The bulging leather bag contained every book needed for the day’s lessons and more. He kept switching his carrying hand because his fingers had a
tough time with the smooth handles. When he reached the Adams crosswalk, he glanced quickly to his right and took a step off the curb, pausing a moment to heave the bag from one hand to the other. Just at that moment, several milk bottles in the back of a delivery truck slid off their shelves and crashed to the aisle. The driver looked back and cursed at the mess.
Naturally, I saw things developing quite clearly.
assigned human charges beginning at their births. We are always nearby, being especially careful to avoid detection. Our primary goal is observation and data gathering in support of the Great Experiment. Upon rare occasions, we are expected to assist our charges. Such assistance is to be subtle, taking the form of timely insight or a minor physical nudge to avoid premature termination of a
charge, as this represents the loss of a valuable data stream, and necessitates reassignment to a freshly born human. Thus has it always been, until one day I overstepped my role and changed the lives of both my charge and myself forever.
Perhaps it was a mistake on my part, and then again, perhaps not.
Applegate Bogdanski was born in the Aldershot military camp in England in 1947. The singular first name was the result of a tribute given to the camp pastor, Rev. William Applegate, for his unselfish help in getting two displaced Europeans settled and started on a new life. In 1951, the Bogdanskis moved to New Jersey, where Apple, as he is known to his friends, began his schooling at Saint James in Newark. The first years were difficult, since he entered school speaking a mix of Polish and German, the languages spoken at home. However, immature humans are quick to adjust, and Apple did just that.
#
The morning was much like any other in early Fall, 1958. With a brisk head wind tossing auburn locks across his eyes, Apple cinched up his windbreaker and scrunched over as he walked to school. It was three blocks up Ferry and a turn onto Adams for another three.
Sister Bernadette began her third grade class punctually at eight AM, and Apple was late. At this hour, few people were about the normally crowded sidewalks. He hurried along Ferry, pausing only briefly at intersections before dashing across. The bulging leather bag contained every book needed for the day’s lessons and more. He kept switching his carrying hand because his fingers had a
tough time with the smooth handles. When he reached the Adams crosswalk, he glanced quickly to his right and took a step off the curb, pausing a moment to heave the bag from one hand to the other. Just at that moment, several milk bottles in the back of a delivery truck slid off their shelves and crashed to the aisle. The driver looked back and cursed at the mess.
Naturally, I saw things developing quite clearly.