Sit, Little Angel Girl

{Ever since yesterday's post this picture has been on my mind. I wrote the story two years ago, but it never published on the home page. I don't see why it shouldn't.}

Today's inspiration is a Watercolor painting by Kara Castro. She called it "Sunbeam," and it was the 2005 National Gold Medal Award Winner of the California Watercolor Association.

(If you would like to see more of Ms. Castro's staggering talent (and if you care about art, you really do), here are some more of her paintings.


Sit, little angel girl, in the fading warmth of the sun. Take what comfort you can, while you can, for that sun will soon set, and the room will grow dark and cold. Sit there as long as you can, little angel girl, knees pulled up to your chest, safe as houses. Safe for now.

Safe from the monsters you know will come with the night.

They live inside your closet.
They live under your bed.
You cannot hide under the covers
They live inside your head.

Sit, little angel girl, and look at the beautiful flowers in the rug. The sun shines on them so brightly, and they perk up proudly just for the sun's radiance. But what you don't know is that those pretty little flowers are slowly being eaten by the sun. When you are older you will come back to that very same spot and see your pretty flowers, no longer bright and cheerful, but faded and warped by the sun.

But sit there a little longer, little angel girl, happy not to know your part in this tragedy.

The flowers are so pretty
When the sun banishes the shade
It will not last forever
Soon the price must be paid.

Sit, little angel girl, quiet on your special spot on your rug. Quiet so they won't hear you as they scream out in the kitchen, in the den, upstairs, and out in the hall. It is not fun to hear them scream, and there is nowhere you can hide. When mommy and daddy yell like that it scares you, but here in the sun you are safe. Here in the sun nothing can hurt you. So sit, little angel girl, in the sun, in the warmth, you know must end.

They yell until their voices are hoarse
They rest and yell some more.
Mommy calls daddy a drunk, a bum
Daddy calls Mommy a whore.

Sit, little angel girl, a little while longer. Soon you will grow up. Soon you will find the boys like your body, want to look at it, want to touch it. If you let them they will tell everyone. If you do not let them they will tell everyone that too. Or maybe they will lie and say you did. Soon the boys will not ignore you like they do now, but they will never let you into their club. It will always be theirs, and maybe you can visit, but you can never stay. Soon the boys will be interested in you, but not in what you have to say. They will dismiss you for being a girl, give less weight to your arguments. And if you are right, they will hate you. They will resent you. You will threaten them, and they will not like it. Soon the girls will look at you differently too. They will hate you if you are prettier than they. They will hate you if you are much uglier too. They will use you if you are a little uglier, to make themselves look better. They will tear you down to others. They will feel threatened that you want their man. They will try to steal yours. They will not like how smart you are either. They will judge you every second of the day. Sit there awhile longer, little angel girl. You have to grow up. You have to face that. But not quite yet.

The sun is kind, the sun is warm.
The sun brightens the day
Mommy and Daddy will stop fighting
And they will love me again, and it will all be okay.
I will not grow up, I will not grow old
I will sit in the sun until the room grows cold.

{To see the original page, click here}

No comments: