Touched By An Angel - Ferro Version

Virginia Parker had been called many things over the course of her life. The “A’s” were her personal favorite: “arrogant,” “abrasive,” “aggressive.” She tucked these insults away in her purse and occasionally pulled them out to examine. Although it stung that to know that her behavior would be lauded as self-assurance if she were a man like her coworkers, she also felt proud because these adjectives indicated that she scared the men with whom she worked, and whom she eventually bypassed when she was granted tenure and they remained associate professors.

Virginia, the youngest child in a family of five older brothers, with a height of five-foot-one and a face described by her family as “cherubic,” rather liked the idea that she could be frightening.

Her husband had appealed to this vanity in order to convince her to marry him. “Ginny,” he’d proclaimed, flashing the irresistible gap-toothed grin that had first won her heart, “you’re the most terrifying woman I’ve ever known.”

So she’d said yes. Because, while it was one thing to find a man who loved you, a man who loved and respected you needed to held onto.

Adrian had recited Maya Angelou’s Touched By An Angel at their wedding, knowing that it was one of her favorite poems:

“We are weaned from our timidity

In the flush of love’s light

We dare be brave

And suddenly we see

That love costs all we are

And will ever be.

Yet it is only love

Which sets us free.”

Angelou, as always, got to the heart of the matter (the matter being hearts). Virginia, who’d spent her entire career striving to be taken seriously as “Professor Atkinson,” preeminent expert on African American poetry, could simply be “Ginny” with Adrian (he was the only person whom she allowed to call her that). With Adrian, she smiled without feeling self-conscious over the way her round cheeks dimpled. She laughed, and she danced, and she let her hair reclaim its natural curl.

When their son was born, they named him “Taliaferro.” Not in honor of Virginia’s grandfather, as their families were led to believe, but because Adrian and Virginia had first met at a Shakespeare production in Crawfordville, Taliaferro County. The true origin of their child’s name was their own romantic secret, one which Adrian whispered into her lips and against the skin of her belly.

Ferro was born, and life was sweeter than a glass of iced tea on a sweltering summer day. Virginia became head of the Poetry department, and Adrian’s law firm made him a senior partner. Their son started talking at nine months of age and never stopped. The boy overflowed with questions about everything:

“Momma, why is the sky blue?”

“Mommy, how do birds fly?”

“Mom, how does the internet work?”

Virginia (who’d never been overfond of science) usually made up a silly little poem about the subject matter to buy herself time until Adrian came home:

“The sky is blue, that’s indeed true! But why not crimson or chartreuse?”

“Birds fly in the sky, and we wonder why! They climb so high!”

“Data travels very fast, but there was no Wifi in the past!”

Adrian, being a human encyclopedia, provided Ferro with more in-depth explanations:

“The sky is blue because of the scattering of electromagnetic radiation.”

“Birds have hollow bones which make them very light, and their feathers catch the wind.”

“The internet uses radio frequencies to send signals between devices.”

As a result of his parents’ combined education, Ferro grew up as enamored with wordplay as he was enthralled by science and technology. Virginia often returned from work to find Audrey, their nanny, at her wits end because Ferro, at seven years old, had decided to sharpie a sonnet onto his bedroom wall or had taken apart his laptop in order to “see how it worked.”

Virginia and Ferro were scrubbing his most recent poetic composition off the wall when she got the call.

“Mrs. Parker?” Caller ID showed the number as Adrian’s, but the voice belonged to a stranger. “Your husband has been a car collision. He’s been taken to Piedmont Hospital.”

By the time Virginia hung up the phone, hands shaking, Ferro was staring her with expectant eyes and a new question.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

She forced herself to smile, but it was a smile without dimples. “Audrey is going to stay with you tonight.”

“What’s going on?” Ferro asked again.

Virginia couldn’t answer. She hugged him tight and somehow managed not to cry. But she couldn’t think up a poem, because there was neither rhyme nor reason to the current situation.

“It’ll be okay, honeybean,” she lied.

* * * *

On February 12th, the day before Ferro turned eight, Adrian Parker died.

Virginia hadn’t been able to hold his hand at the hospital or to say “I love you” one last time. The brain aneurysm that had caused her husband to careen off the road hadn’t provided the privilege of time. The car was salvageable, having survived with nothing more than a bent fender. But her husband was gone forever.

Ferro stopped asking questions. For two entire months, he said nothing at all. Virginia couldn’t bring herself to encourage him to speak. What was there to say? His father was dead, and half of her heart gone with him. There could be no more silly little poems; now, it her responsibility to provide Ferro with factual explanations. But the world no longer made sense without Adrian in it, and she was at a loss how to explain “death” to her child when she could hardly grasp the concept herself.

She hid her curls, the curls that Adrian had so loved, under a black wrap. There was no time to take care of her hair, nor did she have the energy. Ferro still needed to be driven to school and her university students still needed to be taught. Three of Virginia’s brothers took turns staying with her, ensuring that she took at least a few bites of the meals that she prepped for Ferro.

And Virginia Parker, who had been called many things over the course of her life, discovered that “alone” was the most terrible adjective of all.

* * * *

When Ferro once again spoke, it was an evening after returning with Audrey from the park. At least, Virginia assumed that they had gone to the park. She hadn’t asked.

Instead of his usual coating of sawdust, however, Ferro carried a white bag. He grinned up at Audrey, and his nanny gently shoved him towards Virginia.

“Mom, we got you something!” he said.

Virginia blinked. She knew that she should feel relieved that her son was speaking, but instead felt only dread. Because now Ferro would once again start asking questions, none of which she was strong enough to answer.

“Ferro got you something,” Audrey corrected. “He’s been saving his allowance for this past month.”

Ferro thrust out the bag towards his mother. His smile was wide and gap-toothed, and he looked so much like Adrian in his enthusiasm that it stole the breath from Virginia’s lungs.

She averted her eyes and forced a smile, reaching into the bag. “You got me a present?”

Ferro nodded eagerly. “Open it!”

Virginia’s fingers touched silk, liquid cool and light as a kiss in her hands as she unwrapped it from the tissue paper. It was a brilliant blue headwrap with white feathers printed on its surface.

“They’re angel’s feathers, Mom,” Ferro explained. “Dad’s feathers.” He took the silk from her hands and held it up against her cheek. “It looks pretty on you. Dad liked when you looked pretty.”

Virginia reached for her son. Her wonderful, inquisitive son who somehow had become the one with all the answers.

“I’ll wear it tomorrow, honeybean,” she said.