Mia had always loved stained glass windows.
She used to sit in the fourth pew of St. Paul’s Episcopal every Sunday, because it was just to the left of the angel Gabriel and his big, beautiful golden wings. They would sparkle as the sun rose past the 11:15 mark in the sky, shining some of his godliness onto her. She used to feel so special and warm, standing there under his righteous, piercing blue eyes and his yellow curls.
He looked like an angel should: more beautiful than God with an Aryan complexion to rival all the Hollywood actors who played in movies Mia was too young to watch.
Mia did not know her heritage. She could not trace the tint of her skin to a specific population or cultural group, and she didn’t have a community surrounding to tell her that she was beautiful, because Mia was adopted, the only dark girl in her community. Her parents were nice and sweet and lovely, but the pale boys always chased the pale girls on the playground, and she knew she was different.
Mia only felt beautiful in church, under the gaze of her perfect angel. She depended on him more than God. She drowned out the words of sermon after sermon, Sunday afternoon after Sunday afternoon, as she waited for a message, a word, a sign that he loved her.
It never came.
She lived on. The Monday afternoons melted into Mondays and Tuesdays. Playgrounds morphed into prom nights, tangled tulle and crowded corners. The night of her junior prom was the first time a boy treated her with interest. She thought it must be a sign, the way he looked at her. A look like that had to be a gift from God, a message from her angel, so Mia didn’t question him when he moved too fast. She followed him where he took her and listened to his every thought and suggestion, never speaking, only hoping that this was it, that the waiting was over.
She woke up the next morning overflowing with an unknown hope and joy, but after that night, he never looked at her again.
But Mia was fine. She just needed to wait for her angel.
Diligent without believing in herself, she graduated with a solid C average, and began training to work as a bank teller. It wasn’t a bad gig; it wasn’t special. It was what she expected.
She started her day promptly at 8 and ended it at 5. She ate the same sandwich every day, and wore the same shoes. She did not know friendship. She did not know love.
She called her mother every Friday, but she stopped attending church. She’d had to transfer to a city far away for her job, and the service itself held no pleasure for her. She no longer sat next to the stained glass image of him, but she continued to pray to and for her angel every night. She kept his memory close to her heart, and she waited.
One day Mia’s world split open. It was him, the model of her dreams, the subject of her every thought. It was the new bank manager, but it was also the love of her life.
He was Gabriel. Every curl perfect and golden, he had eyes that bored through her very heart. All that was missing from his angelic figuring was a pair of wings.
She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t fathom her luck. Could he be real? Could he be the answer. She was sure he was the reason she’d been living.
He was less sure. He was happy to give her orders and to evaluate her performance at the branch, but he never saw her. He never noticed her devotion, her patience, her love. She didn’t blame him.
She waited. She waited on him; she waited for him. She thought about him morning, noon, and night. It did not matter she was invisible. She kept on.
She brought him coffee. She picked up the bill when he had food delivered. She worked harder and more efficiently than anyone else. She just wanted him to notice her.
And then it happened.
“Mia, we’ve had a good quarter, and I feel like celebrating. Won’t you have a drink with me?”
Her heart was out of her chest. The day had come. She was sure of it. She was a princess in a tower escaping for the first time, tasting life.
“I’d love to.”
It was a sports bar, a five-minute drive from work. She’d been there with other colleagues before, but it’d never felt so special, so bright, so shiny. They took two stools next to each other and ordered matching drinks: gin and tonics.
Mia felt fantastic and relaxed. She was sitting next to everything she’d ever dreamed of.
The alcohol was calming, loosening the tight knots around withheld thoughts. The bubbles were exploding upwards with her heart.
She told him everything. She told him about her parents, her neighborhood, the puppy she never had, and the loved she’d always waited for.
He was listening! He was caring! He was kind and he was patient. She could see it in the blue of his eyes. She knew he was the answer.
She was so close to telling him so, to telling him he was her angel, to describing the vision her childhood-self formed out of a depiction in a window, a depiction of him.
And then it was over. She was sitting, listening and waiting when the crash happened, when her dream died.
He was ordering.
“Hey bartender! How ‘bout a red wine for that cute blonde? Tell her it’s on me.”
Mia could not speak. She could not understand how he could overlook her, how he could ignore her when he was all she’d ever wanted. This was their moment.
“Mia, ehhem, would you help me out? You’ve been so good to me; I was wondering if you wouldn’t talk me up to that girl. Yeah know, seein’ as we’re friends?”
It was over. He didn’t love her. She’d poured out every piece of herself for him, but he wanted another girl who looked more like him, who acted more like him.
He wanted a girl who did not care for him. He wanted an image, a golden curl. He wanted his flashy, movie-star opposite. He wanted what he’d been told to have. He hadn’t even noticed how she loved him.
And how could she blame him? Mia spent her whole life waiting for a white man, a James Bond, a Sherlock Holmes, a Captain America to come save her. She believed in the savior who’s image she was presented with. She believed she was incapable of a good life without him. She never felt loved, because he wasn’t there. She never loved herself, because she was his opposite, and when he did come, he didn’t love her either. There was nothing to love. She’d given it all to him.
She set down the half empty drink in her hand, and walked outside. She enjoyed the effort it took to budge the heavy bar door, as well as the satisfying slamming noise it made behind her on the way out.
The wind was nippy, and her throat was bare. She’d left her scarf inside, but Mia didn’t care.
For the first time in her life, she was done. Her efforts had been fruitless, but she was far from barren.
For the first time, Mia recognized her own independence, her own worth, separate from a ‘him’ who never existed.
She’d given everything to come up empty, and for the first time, Mia could give up. Mia could admit that she hadn’t been in love with an angel; she’d been in love with a window.
She was heartbroken and sad, but Mia was also free.
Mia was more than the shadow of an angel. Mia was an individual, a gorgeous unit of agency.
She laughed; she cried. Mia called a cab.
The next morning, Mia would quit her job and start something new.
It was time to live.
