The Complete Zagzagel Diaries Read Online Free Page B

I could have been there for him—really been there, and not just as a watchful guardian but as a friend, someone he could talk to, fall back on when needed. I swear Big Papa thrived on making my job as difficult as possible. Game playing is what this boiled down to, and I abhorred playing games. You’re not to interfere, Papa forever reminded me. I’ll not warn you again, Zag. Allow the humans to make their own choices. Right, the one time I heed His advice and look where the grandiose plan landed my charge. I added Big Papa’s wonderful idea—instilling these beings with the power to choose—to my arguing points, as I struggled to adjust to this too-natural locale.
    Other than the occasional train, which ran along a set of railroad tracks to the east, and noises from the campus, which sat easily a hundred-plus yards past the field, silence shrouded us but for a random birdsong, the buzz of bees, or the near undetectable flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Give me the hustle of an urban environment any day. I scoffed at my surroundings as I turned to view Nick’s target—his roommate, and possibly more if my charge wasn’t so uptight about his sexuality. Moving about the far end of the otherwise lonely practice field, Cody volleyed a black-and-white ball from one side to the other with ease…. Those tight white shorts of his are easy on the eyes too. With a resigned sigh, I forced my attention back to Nick.
    Desperate for relief from the shame, from the confusion, from the guilt, Nick was a wreck just waiting to happen. In spite of the young man’s misgivings, however, how he could blatantly disregard such beauty—such opportunity—I failed to comprehend. Oh, I was aware of his reasons — my dad this, the church that …maybe Cody’s wink yesterday at lunch set him off —but I also knew how flawed Nick’s reasoning was. Of course, you could thank his father for that. Being born to a racist leader of the county’s most established hate group didn’t help the kid. Not at all.
    Butt of the Remington to his shoulder, Nick wobbled his head toward the sight. Do it. It’s the only way…. Or, so he thought, so sadly mistaken—and so incredibly inebriated; at best, I was able to maintain a working distance. One, which allowed for my intervention while accommodating my need to avoid a contact high…or nausea, whichever happened first. Personally, I didn’t feel it necessary to experience either one.
    Arms crossed, wings tucked so close to my body I itched, I propped against a knotty oak, a shudder racing over me as I took in the more-than-healthy row of bushes to my left with its noxious bunches of dainty flowers. Nick thought he’d concealed himself to perfection in the lilac hedge forming the wall at this end of the field. I’d let him carry on his futile effort a while longer. Would hate to disillusion the poor soul; he did that to himself enough. A little out of arms’ reach of Nick and that wicked flowering hedge, I waited….
    Little did he know—little did any of my charges know if you wanted the truth of the matter—not one detail in their lives went unnoticed. Nothing. Take Nick, this waste of air— Papa’s words, not mine—for example. Nick’s gay, but he’s hell bent on never admitting this fact, even though last Friday evening, he and his roommate engaged in some pretty heavy…well, what happened between them is really no one’s business.
    Suffice to say, thanks to his wonderful role model of a father, not only does Nick believe he will now rot in hell, but also he thinks if wind of his little escapade reaches his father’s ears, he will be doomed in this life, to boot. Add his alcohol dependency and his staunch but warped religious upbringing, and one is left to surmise the kid is headed for catastrophe.
    I was aware of all of this—but Nick? The young man had trouble seeing past his immediate need. Right now, he felt he needed to purge himself, though his actions were sorely misplaced.