by Ivan Saldarriaga
The cloudy night sky was reflecting back the bright artificial light of the city, giving it an oddly orange luminescence. An angel was walking the streets, looking left and right for anyone to connect with, anyone to reach out and touch, but this city has been closed into itself like a startled turtle for a long time now. He had on a long raincoat with the collar popped up in order to keep the cold drizzle off of his neck. His wings were bunched up in his trench coat, giving him the slight appearance of being stooped. The tips of his wings stuck out of the bottom of his coat and drug along the soiled sidewalk as he continued his search.
As the angel passed a church, Church of Jesus Christ Scientist, he paused and gazed up. They just can’t help but mix science with religion, he thought. I wonder what kind of ugly hybrid faith they have in there. His thoughts drifted into an odd scene inside the church where the pews were full of people, all kneeling with their heads down as they prayed up to a new General Motors engine resting priestly, high up on the altar. He shivered at the thought of what the new generations were considering sacred. Perhaps nothing, he thought.
He continued his walk, meandering through the city with no set destination. His eyes, ever filled with love and compassion, were vigilantly surveying the streets for someone who could use the abundant love the angel had to offer. But, there was just no one; nobody seemed to need anything the angel had to give, they were all living with fake replacements for love.
His attention was grabbed by a loud party of people coming out of a bar. There were two couples, each stumbling out of the bar, choking on their own laughter, as if they had just stepped out of some disorienting rollercoaster ride. He looked at them, and immediately saw what was going to happen to them in thirty minutes. Consumed with worry and apprehension, he ran across the street to where the party was beginning to get into their new SUV. He managed to reach the driver’s window just as the ignition started. He beat on the window, scaring the people in the car. The driver lowered the window an inch, yelling to the angel, “Fuck off, asshole, we don’t have any change.”
The intense smell of alcohol made the angel nauseous, but he still told the driver, “You shouldn’t drive drunk. Think of your life and-“
“Like you fuckin’ care,” the driver yelled as he and every one he was with convulsed with laughter. “Like you fuckin’ care,” he repeated and sped away leaving the angel alone with the smell of cheap beer and the echoes of his laughter.
“I do,” the angel said as he looked down at the ground. He sighed deeply, trying to shake off the picture of the SUV smashing into an oncoming car, whose aftermath leaves only one child dead. Poor Katie, only four years old and coming back home from her first play, he thought to himself as he continued his ritual pilgrimage around the city. Why couldn’t they just stop and talk to me? But on he plodded, making his usual trek around the city.
Before he knew it, he had reached the outskirts of the city. He looked up at a sign saying, “You are now leaving Blouster”. The life in this town has left it a long, long time ago. He leaned against the sign and looked over to a bridge down the road.
The bridge connected the city with the rolling country roads of Melbourne, which was mostly sleepy farm land. The angel looked at the bridge, at the manmade connector between-. What exactly was it that man was trying so hard to bridge together, the land of the superficial with the land of the natural? The land of concrete with the land of dirt? What was the difference? It was all essentially the same, thought the angel, everything’s covered by the same gray smog of doubt and loneliness. A shadow then roused the angel away from his thoughts. A small figure was perched dangerously on the ledge of the bridge. Seeing his opportunity to finally help, the angel floated towards him, seeing clearly in his mind the man’s intentions.
“Wait, don’t do it!” screamed the angel as he came up next to the man.
“Who the hell are you?” the man angrily asked the angel. His heavy coat drenched by the slow drizzle, he must have been out for a long time, the angel realized. He reeked of alcohol, in fact, the angel noticed the man was still clutching a beer in his right hand.
Immediately, the angel threw back his jacket, spread his massive white wings with dirty tips and, looking up to the skies, said, “I am an angel from heaven, sent to earth by His divine will to guide and protect humanity. Do not jump Harold, for you are not alone when you allow the Lord’s divine love to enter your life.” He was dressed in immaculate white garments and exuded a soft, white glow. The angel, with arms spread wide, approached the astonished man, whose mouth was frozen in an awkward gesticulation, making him look slightly retarded.
Harold’s mouth slowly closed, his face slowly returned to normalcy while he began wagging his finger towards the angel as if he had just found out some incriminating fact about the celestial being. “I must just be about as fucking drunk as… drunk.” The man, smiling, pivoted on his right foot. Facing the cold, rushing waters below, he raised his left leg up and goose-stepped forward, smoothly coming off of the bridge. Laughing as he said, “Drunk as –“ splash!
The angel, letting his wings fold in, looked down into the water at the spot where a few seconds before the Harold neatly splashed in. “Sorry, Harold you’ve led a tough life, one without much laughter. Even your last statement held no humor.”
Walking back through the city, with the rain coming down slightly heavier now, the angel hunched over, hugging himself in the cold. Gosh, Jesus, You were clever enough to make us not feel hunger or thirst. You made sure we felt no sexual desires, which, I am totally glad about. I can’t imagine behaving like all the men I see going completely mindless over the images of some pretty girl. But just why would You make us so vulnerable to the weather, the angel thought. Is it to help us understand the “human” plight better? It’s despairing to think that the only thing I really share with man is our mutual desire to find a warm enough coat. Just sil-
“So you’d rather you felt nothing at all?” The question came from the shadows of the alley the angel was passing. It was a shrill, slightly mechanical voice. “No sensation of the sun kissing your cheek on a warm summer day, perhaps. You’ve got to realize, my dear angel friend, you have to take the good with the bad. It’s something that the big fella forgot to mention in the good book.”
The angel, looked into the shadows, addressed the familiar voice, “You should seriously consider staying in your own head sometimes. It’s just rude of you to be pokin’ around up there.”
“Oh please,” the voice said as he gave out a shrill laugh. “You yearn for connection with every fiber of your being. Hell, I’ve seen you try to spiritually commune with a tree. And now you’re telling me to leave you alone? You sure are a funny one.” The owner of the voice stepped out of the shadows and into the soft yellowish glow of the street lamp. He was an alien, short, not taller than a second grader, and a small one at that. His thin, wiry limbs and bulbous torso were clothed in a gray, shiny uniform, resembling aluminum foil. The only parts of his body that poked through the uniform were his head and hands. His head reminded the angel of a large air balloon, with a small orifice for a mouth, and two large, black eyes. His skin was a sickly gray color. As the angel looked at his alien friend, he couldn’t help but think that he was perfectly made for this cement coated world: cold, hard and logical.
“Any luck scaring the town’s folk with your lasers and UFO’s?”
The alien snickered and shook his massive head at the angel. “You’ve been on this earth long enough to at least have a better sense of humor, you know. Truly sad, truly is; you really need some better quips. You’ll need to rent some Woody Allen flicks or something, buddy.”
“Har har har,” the angel responded as he leaned against the street lamp, revealing a slight smile, glad at finally finding someone to talk to.
“Sarcasm; I thought the big guy banned that after Abraham told Him ‘Sure thing, yeah, right’ when he was first asked to sacrifice his only son.” The alien shielded his eyes with his hands and looked up at the sky. “Well, it doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon, what do you say we hang out for a while in a warm spot? Out of the rain at least.”
“You know? That sounds like an almost saintly idea.”
The alien began navigating the angel through an assortment of dark alleys and unlit streets. Both were tired from their night’s prowling, both wanted to find a quiet place to rest for a while with someone that believed enough in them to carry a conversation.
The angel cautiously followed the alien into an old diner. The alien was a perfect contrast to the angel, completely calm and confident in his entrance, walking straight to the counter and hitting the service bell. The angel, realizing how much he wanted to sit and rest, became alarmed at the idea of someone coming out and becoming startled at what the angel knew must seem like a pretty funny sight. “Hey, Bill, where the heck are ya? You haven’t fallen asleep makin’ coffee, have you?” the alien shouted into the kitchen, causing the angel to apprehensively put a hand on the alien’s shoulder.
Through the metallic swinging doors to the kitchen came an old, tired voice, “I’m comin’. No need to make such a ruckus.” Coming out of the kitchen was an elderly man, with a white beard and white hair poking out of his faded and dirty “Bill’s Diner” hat. His cooking apron had old stains, and he was wearing darkened sunglasses. “You again, huh, Elian? You’ll have your regular coffee and donut?”
“You know me too well, Bill,” laughed the alien. “But best make that a double order; I’ve got a friend with me. We’ll be at my usual booth.”
“I’ll have it right out for you guys.”
The alien directed the angel towards a dimly lit corner of the diner. “So you’re, Elian? How appropriate,” the angel offered with a smile.
“Well you can’t say I don’t have sense of humor sometimes.” As they slid into the booth the alien said, “He’s blind, so he doesn’t cook too much. Just coffee, donuts, toast and some scrambled eggs. But I’ll be damned if those aren’t the best eggs of this sinking town. So, enlighten me. How’re your human “connections” coming along? Still have a message to spread from Him?”
The angel looked down at his hands, letting out a sigh. “I am beginning to give up hope, you know what I mean? I know it probably sounds awful from me, but…it’s beginning to take a toll on me.”
“True, true, things aren’t as easy as they once used to be. I’ve heard that things used to be a lot easier on this blue marble.”
“Easier? Are you kidding me? They couldn’t have been easier, let me tell you. Before the dark ages, people ate up what we said like if it was the last stuff they had to hang on to. I remember telling Joseph about Jesus. Oh man,” the angel smiled as he picked up his head, “how his eyes lit up. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, the utter belief, the complete surrender of his life for his faith. But nowadays, if that were to happen, Joseph would tell me that his woman was sleeping around with some other guy and to get out of his drug laced dream.” The angel bit down on his bottom lip, and looked away from the alien.
“Here you go fella’s, hope you enjoy. Be careful now, this brew is hot, and the food is good,” Bill said as he placed the coffee and donuts on the middle of the table.
“Thanks, Bill. Looks good as always,” the alien told him.
“Your friend sure is quiet. You alright buddy,” asked Bill while looking in the general direction of the angel.
“My friend, it’s only been a long day,” the angel responded with tired, gentle voice.
“Well, I’m sure you’re gonna pull through. That’s something I’ve always been sure of; we always seem to find a way through problems. Now, if there’s anything else you boys want, just give me a holler.”
“Thanks,” the alien replied. Turning back to the angel, he said, “Man, things have changed even in my own lifetime.” The alien took a sip of his coffee, and looked at it silently before continuing, “Remember my friend, the one that crashed sometime in the forties out in that desert? I was positive that his crash was going to dispel any doubts once and for all. I remember thinking, that damn, at last, at freaking last, man has enough brains and science to realize that we do exist. In the very least, I thought…I thought that my friend’s death would serve as beacon of undeniable reason.” The alien slowly gripped his coffee and leaned close to the table. “But what came out of it? Just government conspiracies, hearsay, and rumors. Freakin’ calling it a weather balloon. That was my friend down there, dead, and they had the gall to publicly call it a weather balloon.” He slowly shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” the angel said, holding his own coffee mug.
The alien looked up at the angel and asked, “Tell me, I’m curious, why do you think that people don’t believe in us anymore?”
“That’s the million dollar question, huh? But honestly, I don’t think it’s very complicated.” The angel said. He took a sip of coffee and said, “I think it’s a matter of faith. People have distanced themselves so much from Him, that they’re lost, scrambling for anything to cling to. The best they think they can do is worship their superficial and fickle beliefs. They worship their money, their cars, their houses, their own material lives. When they lost their faith, they lost the ability to believe in anything too deep, like you or-“
The alien, chuckling as he shakes his head, said, “Are you serious? You think, because they’re not going to mass seven days a week, they lost sight of other intelligent beings? Are you serious? Tell me, does the Pope believe in me? If I were to go to the Pope right this second, what would he do? Either have a heart attack, commit to stop sneaking one too many drinks from the “blood of Christ”, or just deny that I exist completely. You know why?” He looked hard at the angel; his hand tucked into a hard, little fist on the table, he continued, “I’ll tell you. It’s their freaking ego. It’s man’s expensive and cancerous ego, it suffocates any conception of there being any intelligent being besides themselves. Their egos act like damned leaches, sucking away at man’s ideas until they are forced into some sort of tunnel vision that they are comfortable to live in. They think they can use their science and own intelligence to aggrandize themselves, make themselves into gods. They just can’t swallow the fact that the gap between them, god, or other beings could be so vast. No, sirree. Not this generation, they’re too fragile.”
They sit quietly as they sip their coffees and eat their donuts. The alien, softly bouncing his fist against the table, breaks the silence by saying in a tight voice, “He just lay there dying in that desert heat. And you know what? I partly suspect he wasn’t flying too crazily. I partly suspect he wasn’t going too fast. And I bet that he didn’t lose control of his aircraft. I bet you that my friend drove his vehicle into that damned hot desert sand to break this barrier between us and humans. To try to shatter the ego that he saw choking them. I can imagine him smiling as he died, smiling because he thought that with his death the truth would be too evident to hide any more…I get so mad, like you wouldn’t believe, when I realize that his death was for nothing. In the blink of an eye, his death, his LIFE, was brushed away by humans and their logic.” He pauses as he takes a drink from his coffee, draining his mug. “I don’t know man, this world has been spinning off kilter for way too long now. I don’t know if I want to see where this world is heading to. I meant to tell you earlier, but I think I’m leaving. I’m going to look for another world, one where I’m not ignored anymore. I tried keeping a level head, but there’s been too much boiling in me to keep under this long.” Without looking up from his mug, he offers, “You can come with me if you wish. I don’t know how you’d work it out with your boss and all, though.”
The angel thought of the alien’s friend. He sees him lying on the hot desert ground. Barely alive after the devastating crash, his last breaths are filled with dust and floating debris. His lungs are ready to burst, but his body is numb. He feels himself getting colder. And yet the angel sees spread across his face, a face so similar to the one that sits in front of him now, a broad smile. It’s a smile of relief and gratitude. The angel can see the contentment in the dying alien’s sacrifice. Such a sad, wasted sacrifice, the angel thinks to himself.
He then pictures himself on the alien’s ship. He can imagine himself being pushed into his seat as the ship accelerates further and further away from this town. Looking out of the small window, he imagines seeing the world float away. My alien friend is right, the angel thinks, the world is just a blue marble from this distance. Just a delicate…vulnerable…blue marble. How can so much sadness, so much coldness exist on such a small place? He closes his eyes, letting the warmth of the coffee mug seep into his hands, and shakes his head.
“Sorry, as much as I will miss your company, I can’t leave this place.” He glances over at the neon sign outside flashing, “Bill’s Diner, open”. He gives the alien a soft smile as he says, “As bad as things get, I just can’t help but believe that things are going to be alright. It’s like Bill says, we’ll find a way through this issue, sometime…sometime.”
