ANGELS AT WAR

CRICKET KARR AND THE ROCK STAR

CHAPTER 3

CRICKET

IN HIM WAS LIFE, AND THE LIFE WAS THE LIGHT OF MEN. AND THE LIGHT SHINES IN THE DARKNESS AND THE DARKNESS DID NOT COMPREHEND IT (John 1:4, 5)

            My sister came charging into my flower shop, breathlessly saying, “You gotta help me, Cricket?”

            “Vi, what’s wrong?” I asked as my own pulse rate increased. I couldn’t fathom what had my bold, fiery sister so rattled.

            “Callie conned me into picking up Jeremey’s cousin at the airport,” she told me, placing a slightly trembling hand on her forehead.

            This didn’t make sense at all. Violetta and Jeremey’s cousin Lindsey were fond of each other. I expressed this sentiment. “What’s the big deal, you like Lindsey?”

            “It’s not Lindsey,” she said and then sighed. “It’s that guy.”

            “What guy?”

            “Come on, Cricket, you know what guy. The guy we watched the documentary about.”

            “You mean Sully Sage?”

            “Yes.”

            “When?”

            “His plane arrives in about a half hour.”

            “So what’s the big deal?”

            “You know I don’t like guys like him.”

            “So be yourself. No guy has ever made you timid before.”

            “He’s not making me timid,” she said testily as she placed her hands on her hips. “Just the opposite.”

            “So you’re afraid you’ll offend him, is that it?”

            “Something like that.”

            “That’s never bothered you before either.”

            “This is different.”

            “How, why?”

            “You saw his bio,” she said and then her pretty face looked like she bit into a lemon. “He’s not all bad.”

            My poor sister. She was attracted to the same type of male she despised, which was macho, muscular, and confident. Unfortunately, confident often morphed into cocky. Therefore, a group of cocky young men were prone to become bullies. And it was thus such a species that plagued our brother. How much this played into our brother’s mysterious death only God knew. But Violetta certainly believed it played a role.

            I considered the biography of Sully and his band. The first part of the program showed a shirtless, muscular, tattooed singer cockily strutting the stage singing about drugs and referring to women with the slang word for female dogs. This was a dictionary description of a man Violetta despised.

            Then the middle chronicled his relationship with his wife. Even I was fascinated with Poppy’s vibrant, bubbly personality that contrasted with Sully’s dark, brooding, depressive demeanor. Then, of course, Poppy’s untimely death in a tragic accident and Sully’s life being turned upside down.

            The last part showed Sully as contrite and soft spoken. His music transformed from party anthems to soulful ballads about lost love and dealing with depression to the point of suicidal tendencies. Yet as dark and despondent as his music was, he always seemed to shine a little glimmer of light, a tiny morsel of hope.

            “So how about it?” Violetta tried. “You go after him and I’ll man your shop.”

            “Don’t you mean woman it?” I asked with an innocent smile.

            It was a little tease due to her feminist propensities. She aimed an exasperated expression at me. “It’s a figure of speech. But your insinuation is correct, the term is a bit sexist.”

            “The thing is, Vi, you know I don’t like to drive. Let alone how busy it is this time of day by the airport. So who’s stress levels would be higher? Me in heavy traffic, or you riding twenty minutes with a person you’ve never met, but already decided you don’t like?”

            “I never said I don’t like him. My goodness, Cricket, you make me sound like a nasty wench.”

            “If you don’t dislike him, then what’s the problem?”

            “Let’s just say I’m leery.”

            “Could it be that you’re leery because he fits the mold of the type of guy you don’t like? But ironically you find him desirable.”

            Voletta narrowed her lovely blue green eyes at me and crossed her arms. Oops, I thought. I probably shouldn’t have poked the bear, but she was behaving like a teenager. On the other hand she wasn’t all that far removed from adolescence. She pointed a scolding finger and was about to chastise me when I was literally saved by the bell.

            The front door jingled and our mother entered. She smiled when her eyes landed on her youngest child. “Violetta, sweety, I thought that was your car out front.”

            If there was one person in the world that could soften my hard sister, it was our mother. Before the two women exchanged a quick hug, Violetta cooed, “Hi, Mommy.”

            My mother didn’t greet me because we lived together in the apartment above the flower shop. Not only were we roommates, we were business partners. Our home and our work place was nestled on the north side of a town square in the quaint little city of Cotton Creek. Our town was situated about fifteen miles west of Cedar Rapids.

            “What brings you to our large metropolis on a Thursday afternoon?” our mother asked Violetta.

            “Yes, thankfully I have GPS or I wouldn’t be able find my family’s flower shop here in Mayberry,” Violetta joked. Then she turned girlish as she made her eyes wide and laced her fingers together in front of herself. “Mom, we were wondering if you would mind closing up shop for Cricket? She was wanting to go to the airport with me to pick someone up.”

            “Yeah, that would be no problem.” Mother replied, then aimed her kind face at me, patted her mostly gray hair. “Dear, why didn’t you tell me at lunch you needed to go to the airport with Violetta?”

            “I hadn’t known I wanted to go yet,” I replied, looking at my sister. “Violetta just informed me that it was a deep desire of mine.”

            Violetta winked at me and said, “We better get going.”

            I rarely drove my little light blue Toyota Corola because driving makes me uncomfortable. But my own flesh and blood sister drives a big Red Ford F350 diesel with four wheel drive and dual wheels on the back. She also regularly pulled a horse trailer with it.

            We were about ten minutes from the airport when her phone whinnied. If you hadn’t guessed, my sister is very much a horse person. She looked at the caller ID. “It’s what’s his name. Answer it.”

            “You, it’s your phone.”

            “I’m driving.”

            I hit answer and said, “Hello?”

            “Is this Violetta?” a male voice asked.

            “It’s Violetta’s phone, but I’m Cricket, her sister.”

            “What’s a Cricket?”

            “Well, it’s an insect. Or a game played with a ball and bat. But I guess it’s also me. I mean my name.”

            “I’ve met a lot of people, but I don’t recall meeting a Cricket before.”

            “It’s more like a nickname that sort of became a permanent name.”

            “I see. So, if you’re Violetta’s sister, you must be Callie’s cousin. Jeremey said Callie’s cousin was picking me, but he said her name was Violetta.”

            “Violetta is driving, so I’m on phone duty.”

            “Smart move. I’m able to talk because someone else is flying the plane.”

            “That’s a smart move as well.”

            “Especially since I don’t know how to drive it.”

            I laughed and said, “I don’t know that driving a plane is correct terminology.”

            “You’re probably right.”

            “Just remember that and we’ll get along fine,” I told him and then winced. That was more of a Violetta reply than something I’d typically say.

            He chuckled and said, “You seem like quite the pistol.”

            “Actually my sister is a pistol, I’m more of a sling shot.”

            He laughed again, and Violetta narrowed her eyes at me for a second before turning them back to the road. Sully Sage said, “My plane is due in about twenty minutes. It’s a private plane, so you’ll need to go to gate C, where the hangars typically are. I gave airport security Violetta’s name. Just so you know, they’ll probably give your vehicle a quick search for weapons. But I trust you have none.”

            “Just the sword of the Spirit,” I told him.

            “I don’t think a sword will be a problem,” he said slowly, not understanding I was referring to the Word of God.

            “It shouldn’t be. By sword of the Spirit I mean my little Bible that I carry in my purse.”

            “Sounds dangerous,” he joked.

            “Dangerous in a good way. When it stabs somebody in the heart, it changes their lives for the better.”

            Violetta nudged my upper leg and shook her head, indicating that I shouldn’t start preaching. I nudged her back and nodded.

            “Are you gonna stab me with it?” he asked.

            “Only if you want to be stabbed.”

            “Who knows, maybe I would.”

            I’ve shared the Gospel with countless people. I was used to following the Holy Spirit’s lead. But I questioned whether I followed His leading correctly. You see, I felt compelled, given our dialogue about being stabbed, to say, “In Romans chapter six, Paul speaks of being crucified with Christ, and thereby dying to self and letting Jesus live within you.”

            It was Sully’s response that had me question whether I followed the Holy Spirit’s leading correctly. But I would later discover that I was just breaking some eggs to make an omelet, so to speak.

            Nonetheless, his words sent a chill up my spine, especially knowing his background. “Well, I’ve certainly been contemplating being dead to self lately. But I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.”