Honduran Angel

Honduran Angel  

     “You haven’t cast your shadow in our doorway in two years. But it is Christmas and you are my gift.”  
     “If I’d waited any longer it might have been too late.”  
     “You mean I might have moved on. Trust me, I am part of the furniture here. There is no chance of me leaving.”  
     “No, I meant there is a chance that I might move from this earth.”  
     “Don’t tell me you would off yourself. You should never have left me. I heal your mind.”  
     “That never crossed my mind. I have a lump on my forearm.”  
     “My Mom was a witch doctor in Honduras. Let me apply the things she taught me to your arm. Roll up your shirt sleeve so I can feel this bump. We will call it a bump in the hopes that is all it is.”  
     “You can see it is the size of a lemon.”  
     “This never happened to you on the diet of guacamole and refried beans I served you. My God, come back to me. I will be your healing angel.”  
     “You are my medicine woman. But alas the house is sold and I am an apartment dweller.”  
     “There is an apartment complex down the road. But you must have walked past it on your way here hundreds of times. I am your best chance for making it. Now, let me feed you my soul food until that lump goes down. Oops, I called it a lump instead of a bump.”  
     “You were using the dramatic term to persuade me of the urgency to return. And I am convinced.”  
     “Dine on this healthy cuisine from my heart. There you go honey, all done. Now, I’ll take the liberty of squeezing your bump again. I could swear it shrunk.”  
     “My sorceress your magical avocado remedy might do the trick.”  
     “Well with a tall glass of Yerba mate to wash down those veggies your bump will turn into an oversized pimple.”