Mrs. Klinger's frigid Ford crept cautiously through the icy January morning. The windshield was so frosted that she could barely see. At each stop sign, she slid dangerously close to the bread truck which was easing along ahead of her. She was almost within sight of her goal, the mini-mart when, in her rearview mirror, she saw a young boy bicycling along behind her. As she neared the intersection with Metropolitan Avenue, the cyclist pulled along side her. He was about ten, the age of her eldest son, the one for whom she was trekking over ice to buy eggs. He was dreadfully spoiled and demanded an egg that morning for his breakfast. Mrs. Klinger was alarmed that the young cyclist was bare-chested. He was clad only in shorts which were held in place by straps over his bony shoulders. Weird even for a ten year-old boy. Weirder still, the lad was wearing a halo fashioned from crudely crumpled aluminum foil. The unsteady loop was anchored over his head by a stick which was taped onto the boy's bare back with wide duct-tape. On either shoulder he had wings hacked from a cardboard box to which a menagerie of feathers of differing lengths and colors were taped. Suddenly, the child intentionally turned his bike toward her as if to ram it into the side of her Ford. Panicked, Mrs. Klinger hit the brakes and lurched toward the curb. At that instant, a semi-trailer zooming down icy Metropolitan Avenue jackknifed directly in her path. She never saw it coming. If she hadn't swerved to avoid the boy, the truck would surely have wiped her out. What a close call! Looking around she realized that, without a pause, the boy had handily navigated around the still spinning semi and coasted into the parking lot of the mini-mart. A large golden-retriever loped along beside him. Like an agile cowboy, the lad dismounted his garishly orange and red steed. Adjusting his halo and wings, he hunkered down on a snow mound and picked his nose. The happily panting dog plopped down beside him. After a long pause while she watched the trucker try to regain control of his rig, Mrs. Klinger very carefully inched across Metropolitan Avenue and into the mini-mart parking lot. The woman didn't know if she should give the child a good shaking or thank him for saving her life. The boy was golden as if he'd just earned a July tan. Under his trembling foil halo he possessed a storm of uncombed, untrimmed red hair. He was wearing high white fake-fur boots and was messily gnawing on a chocolate bar which was soiling his mouth. His dog intently waited for her share. "Who are you?" Mary Klinger demanded. "Where's your coat? Do you want to freeze?" "Jennifer," the lad replied to the first question through a half-chewed wad of Milky-Way. "Don't be a smart-aleck," the woman scolded. "Where do you live? Why are you dressed up like that?" "I'm an angel," Jennifer replied to the second question, ignoring the others as boys like to do. Scowling, Mary Klinger seized the boy's shoulder and led him toward the market. "You come with me, young man. I'm going to phone your mother." "I don't have any mothers," the child responded with a broad chocolatey grin. "I'm an angel. Angels don't have mothers, but they may have pet Labradors." Unable to contain herself any longer, the retriever had reared up to lick the boy's face. At the counter she asked the young clerk if he recognized the boy. He didn't, but he'd seen the close call with the tractor trailer and chattered on about how the woman could have been killed. He even forgot to protest about the yellow dog prancing around the store. With Sigmund jaunting behind (Sigmund was what the lad called his pet), Mrs. Klinger led the boy to the phone. "Now, young man, tell me your name and your phone number. I'm calling your mother. She can't possibly know that you're out like that." "My name really is Jennifer and I really don't have a mother," the child protested. "If you really insist on phoning someone, just press the star. You don't have to put in any money." In frustration, Mary Klinger pushed down on the asterisk. Instantly a voice, sounding remarkably like the lad's high-pitched timbre, announced, "his name really is Jennifer and he really doesn't have a mother. He's an angel." "But only part-time," the boy interjected as if he could hear the message. "That's you. You recorded it or something," Mrs. Klinger insisted. She knew how boys like to trick adults. "I am not him," rejoined the phone voice. "I'm Fred Fuller. I'm an angel, too." Frustrated, the woman just hung up the phone. "Well," she offered, giving up on trying to phone the child's mother, "you saved my life. Thank you very much." "Yeah, I know. That's my job. I'm your guardian angel, but only part time. Willis, the regular guy is on another assignment." Reaching up he gave her a sticky, childish peck on the cheek. "I've got to go now. I'm filling in all over the city this month. But count your change. This guy's a gyp." With that, boy and dog trotted out into the gusty chill. The clerk did make a mistake with her change. Although she never bothered counting her change, this time she did. It was $5 short. Over eggs, Mary asked her son, Todd, if he knew the cyclist with the dog. He didn't. She insisted and described him fully down to his fake-fur boots and red suspenders. On one side he wore a button which said "I'm An Angel." On the other side he wore a larger button which said "Sasquatch For President." Todd had no idea who the boy was, but figured that he was a nut. Who else would dress up like that and ride around without a coat? To prove his point, he pushed the asterisk on the phone. It only chirped a monotone note. "See," he said, holding the handset to his mother's ear. As soon as the phone touch her, a bright, childish voice on the receiver announced, "Todd doesn't know everything. Anyway, tomorrow he's breaking his finger. And Jennifer really is an angel!" As his mother yanked the phone away from her ear to share the voice with her son, he caught only the last few words. Todd was startled, but Mary was suspicious that maybe the two boys were in cahoots to play a joke on her. "If you know this kid," she told her son, "you tell him he better be more careful and dress more warmly. He'll hurt himself." During the day, Mrs. Klinger thought repeatedly about her near-fatal collision. She was very thankful, but shaken. It was difficult to concentrate on her chores. About two in the afternoon there was a resounding banging on the back door. It was Jennifer. With a grinning "hello," the lad walked past her into the kitchen. Sigmund loped in behind him, nose high, sniffing the roast in the oven. The boy was dressed differently, jeans, a pullover shirt, sweatsocks and moccasins. On his shirt was stuck a Post-It note saying "Worms Don't Have Any Heads Either." The child still sported his aluminum foil halo and his cardboard and feather wings. Ragged slits had been cut in his shirt to allow the wings to poke through. Before Mary Klinger could recover from her shock, Jennifer pointed to the cellar door. "It's about your dryer. If you don't fix it right away, it's going to burn down your house." The boy pulled a half mashed Hershey bar from his pocket while Mary stared in stunned silence. "How do you know that?" she stammered. "You better go right away or you'll be too late." Acrid smoke rolled across the ceiling when May opened the basement door. Rushing down to the dryer, she was just in time to contain the blaze to an electrical box and a heap of clothes which were waiting to be folded. After a frantic twenty minutes, Mary climbed back up to the kitchen. Jennifer was nowhere in sight. She sat at the kitchen table to catch her breath. Suddenly the lights went out. Power outages were frequent during bad weather. After a brief wait, the vexed woman poked into the closet to the breaker box to see if maybe it was just a fuse that had blown. She bumped something and the snow shovel came crashing down. It would have smashed into her upturned face, but, at the last instant, a hand seized it. Jennifer was stretching up barely grasping the shovel and saving the woman from a serious injury. She jerked back into the kitchen as the boy propped the shovel safely against the wall. "Thank you!" was all she could manage to gasp. Sitting down at the end of the kitchen table, Jennifer mentioned to nobody in particular: "I like cake. Chocolate cake is best." "I don't have any cake," Mrs. Klinger apologized. "I was just telling Mrs. Rudy, mothers should always keep cake on hand just in case. Cake is very important." "Who's Mrs. Rudy?" Mary asked putting the cookie jar on the table and turning to get a glass of milk. "She's my mother," the boy grunted through a mouthful of crisp Toll House. "Often times she's not careful with her cake supply either." "You told me you didn't have a mother," Mary protested. "No, I said that angels don't have mothers. Of course boys have mothers. Where else would they come from?" To Mary's chagrin, the boy fed a cookie to the attentive Sigmund whose head came up just to the top of the table. "Don't give that animal cookies!" she squawked like a true mother. "She likes cookies," the boy said ignoring the instructions. "I like cake. Chocolate is best." "Yes, so you said, but which is it? Are you a boy or an angel?" "Both, of course. Strawberries are good, too. Some mothers keep a supply of strawberries." "So your name is really Rudy and Mrs. Rudy is your mother?" Mary tried. "Why did you lie to me?" "I didn't lie to you. I do like strawberries, but not as much as chocolate cake." "You know what I mean, about your mother." "Don't be so silly," the boy said putting his empty milk glass into the sink. "The boy is Richard Rudy who has a mother just like all boys. The angel needs a place to live, so he lives inside the boy. What, you expect them to just float around like smoke? Angels don't have any mothers. That's not so hard, is it?" "Don't be a smart aleck!" "Anyway, I've got to go. I'm substituting for Willis all month and it's just one thing after another. It would be a lot easier if you had somebody who loved you. Then he'd be your guardian angel and Willis and I would get a break." What a dreadful thing to say! Mrs. Klinger was taken completely aback. After a sharp inhalation of umbrage, she was speechless. Boy and dog trotted to the door. "Be careful with your salt shaker," he said over his shoulder. "The lid's not screwed on tight. And there's a fork in Theresa's crib. She'll injure herself." For the rest of the day Mary was hurt and depressed. It was true that she was divorced, but she was certain that lots of people loved her. How about her three children or her mother, or Tony, the man who took her out sometimes? In her heart, she realized that it wasn't the same; it wasn't what Jennifer had meant; that a true love is a guardian angel; all the guardian you need. About eight o'clock she resolved to talk to the boy's mother. She should be told what he was doing and the awful things he was saying. There was only one Rudy listed in the phonebook, W.T. Rudy, 1419 Oliver Circle. That was out in the senior citizen's development on the road to Halifax. After some uncertainty, Mary tried the number. "My name is Mary Klinger," she started. "This may sound a little strange, but do you have a boy named Richard?" A man had answered the phone with an annoyed grunt. He was no more cordial after Mary's introduction. "I'm eighty-one years-old," the man started. "My son's sixty and lives in Philadelphia. The only Richard Rudy I know is my great-nephew. He lives in Hawaii. No, he must be a great-great nephew." "Oh!" was all Mary could think to say. "Quit bothering old people. Don't you have anything constructive to do?" "Yes, I'm sorry," Mary said. "But, tell me, your grand-nephew, Richard, how old is he? Can you tell me that?" "Nine or ten, I suppose," the octogenarian replied. "He's got red hair like his sister. Her name is Lilith." He hung up without another word. Well, that didn't seem right. Hawaii was thousands of miles away. There must be another Richard Rudy. She sat beside the phone for a long time wondering. Her two oldest children were boisterous in the livingroom. Finally, she thought she'd try the star again. She pressed the asterisk on the phone and listened. "What?" said a boyish voice. "Who's this?" She inquired. "You know who I am, Mrs. Klinger. I'm Fred Fuller the angel. "If you're an angel, why are you on the phone?" "To talk to you, obviously! You're the one who called me, remember?" She felt silly. She was sure it was some childish prank, but she was hooked. "About Jennifer, he's really Richard Rudy, right?" "He's really Jennifer just as much as he's Richard, like a letter and an envelope. Get it?" "Okay, so where does he live?" "Who?" "Richard Rudy, of course." "Kailua, but right now he's bicycling to your house on Longmeadow Drive." "I see, thank you," Mary managed. "Please don't bother me unless it's important," Fred Fuller said. "Your guardian angel's personal affairs are none of your business." Sure enough, information found a Robert Rudy in Kailua, Hawaii. A woman answered the ring and Mary tried again. "Excuse me, but I'm Mary Klinger from Pennsylvania. Do you happen to have a boy named Richard?" After a protracted pause the woman on the other end wanted to know why Mary was asking. "Well, I just wondered. You see, I talked to this boy today. He said his name was Richard Rudy. He had red hair and a dog named Sigmund. He was behaving strangely and I wondered if he was yours." After another pause, the woman said that her Richard wasn't home from school yet. It couldn't be him, but he did have a golden retriever named Sigmund. "Would this have anything to do with angels?" the woman wanted to know. "Well, yes it sort of does. The boy says he's my guardian angel. I know it sounds weird, but he seems to know all sorts of things about me. In fact, he saved my life." "This is the second call I've gotten," Mrs. Rudy admitted. "There must be some confusion. It can't really be Dicky. He's no place close to you. He does talk about angels a lot. He says that they visit him." After a pregnant pause, Mrs. Rudy wanted to know "does your Richard talk about food a lot?" "He's always eating chocolate bars," Mary responded. "And he told me he likes cake and strawberries." "Chocolate cake," mused Mrs. Rudy. "It certainly sounds like Dicky, but I'm sure he's in school. I'll phone just to be sure." Just then, there was a loud banging on the kitchen door. "I think he's here now," Mary interrupted. "Just hold on a second." Sure enough, Richard or Jennifer, or whatever he called himself, hurried past her into the kitchen. Before she could say a word, he said, "let me talk to mom, will you?" Snatching up the handset, the boy said "hi, mom! This is Jennifer. I'll have Dicky home for dinner, but right now, there's an emergency with the salt truck. It's going to slid into the tree out front and break it over into the garage if Mrs. Klinger doesn't do something quick." The woman on the other end was saying some concerned motherly things that Mary couldn't hear. "Not to worry," the lad say breathlessly. "I'm only borrowing his body for a month. It's perfectly safe. But I got to go to save Mrs. Klinger from the salt truck." Abruptly hanging up, the boy took Mary's arm and hurried toward front door. The commotion attracted Todd and Daniel, Mary's sons. They rushed out onto the snowy lawn behind Mary and the visitor. Sure enough, the salt truck was slowly growling it's up the street. It was about a block away. "What should I do?" Mary wanted to know. "Are you sure it's going to hit the tree?" "Of course," Jennifer sneered. "If you can slow him down enough, he won't hit hard enough to break off the tree. That'll save your garage." While Mary paused wondering what to do, Todd dashed out into the street waving his arms. The driver slowed just enough so that when the truck slid it only bumped the tree enough to release a torrent of snow from the trembling branches. By the time the salt truck got free and was on it's way again, it was almost nine o'clock and bedtime for the boys. Todd and Daniel insisted on staying up to talk to the visitor. "How come you wear a fake halo and fake wings?" Daniel wanted to know. "Nobody believes that I'm an angel," Jennifer explained. "I wear this stuff so that they'll realize what I am." At the kitchen table, Todd wanted to know why a boy used a girl's name like Jennifer. Daniel wanted to know if it was an angel rule that chocolate cake had to be kept available just in case. As it turned out, Mary Klinger had taken the hint and that afternoon, had made a chocolate cake. As the boys shared it, Jennifer explained that there aren't boy or girl angels and an angel can use any name he likes or change it whenever he likes. "Jennifer is a pretty nice name," the angel explained, so I'm using it. I may change it to Bart. I like that too." "I like Jennifer better," Daniel opined. "How about Incredible Hunk?" The older boys frowned at him. "It's just a suggestion!" While the children were still chatting, Jennifer complained that he had to go. He was needed elsewhere. He stuffed his half eaten slab of cake into his pocket and was off like a shot on this trusty orange bicycle. Sigmund dashed along beside him. She'd been given a sliver of cake, too, and had received plenty of pats from boys. Alone in the night, Mary Klinger was glad that she had a guardian angel. He was only part time and only ten, but he'd saver her life. She decided that it's a very lucky woman who has her own private guardian angel, a true love who shares her life.