My Guardian Angel
Today I met a musician who was not a human being, he said. He told me he was my guardian angel. He was a missionary of God, but not the door-to-door type; instead he was in the habit of walking along the road with folks such as myself. He had a friend sprung from jail who was nonetheless still in trouble due to his taste for heroin, but my angel was not afraid– he had saved many people who had succumbed to that stuff. He called to me from behind when I was barely a block removed from stepping outside, for directions to the main drag which was where I was headed anyway, and so we walked together for the next several minutes.
My guardian angel learned that I was looking for work, especially dishwashing jobs, and he steered me toward a place where a friend of his worked. He had the inside scoop that his dishwasher friend might be leaving soon and that a position might open up.
He asked my favorite music and I answered psychedelia like I always do– one must have an answer when asked– though I don’t quite believe myself anymore. He turned me on to a song called Paint Me in Your Sunshine and I tried, too late, to be the first one to expose him to that big Hawaiian’s song. Turned out Iz’s version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow was the song that was played at his wedding.
My visiting guardian angel loved the area, specifically he felt blessed, that all of us in these parts were blessed, and he wanted to return someday soon to pick out a house for himself. He commented disapprovingly on somebody’s rusting auto and unkempt yard, then on a scrap of litter, the exception rather than the rule, though he wasn’t hard core enough to pick it up. He was, however, hard core enough to walk his own potential litter across the street to a private trashcan, something I’d never do (especially if someone was watching) and I told him as much. ‘So what would you do?’ in tones of ‘drop it on the ground?’. I told him I’d suffer longer. I would keep holding onto my trash, maybe stuff it in a coat pocket, but my guardian angel had permission to use the neighbor’s receptacle as a citizen of the world, in the church of the whole universe.
When the time came that we parted, our differing perspectives (mine having diverged from his and that of my original self) regarding the concept of property stood in bold relief. I had gone and bought a banana for the privilege of receiving change for the bus, though conceivably I might have been simply able to present my five to the clerk, and there came a time when I was stuck with a banana peel, with no trash bin in sight. I stuffed it in my pocket, and suffered.
Holy crap! The banana peel is still in my pocket!
But it’s really my weakened guardian angel half that was sending these psycho-vibes, trying to save both Kitty’s life and me from going over the edge by telegraphing my bad intentions. [pg 370]
But this time my badly overmatched guardian angel half had only the strength to impotently worry about what might possibly happen. [pg 395]
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