Neurotica Page 4

I was alone in a restaurant - my lunch half finished - when I received a sudden visit from an angel. I'm not sure where he came from. Well, of course he came from Heaven - everyone knows that. But I'm not sure where he was previously hiding. Perhaps he was sitting in a dark corner, out of view. Maybe he had a waitress seat him near a window where the light flooded in - angels are fond of that sort of thing. Maybe he was fluttering overhead. At any rate, he was beside me, and I regretted my ability to attract such eccentrics when I didn't want to be disturbed.

  Not wishing to be rude, I pretended to be absorbed with my meal, when in fact I was blatantly ignoring him. However, this strategy proved to be quite a chore. He made things very difficult for me. He kept peering over my shoulders. His glow reflected off my cutlery, blinding me. He beat his wings. Feathers flew up and around me, falling onto my plate. I began to sneeze; he was wearing too much Old Spice. Quite suddenly, he stepped back and began a kicking motion. His foot flew up, just inches from the side of my face. With my spoon suspended before me, I rolled my eyes. Slowly I turned my head, not wanting to be kicked.

  “What are you up to?” I frowned.

  “I'm trying to knock your hat off,” the angel replied.

  “But I'm not wearing a hat.”

  “Well, now that I have your attention,” the angel set down his tray and slid into the seat right next to me.

  At that point, I really didn't know what to do. Obviously, I couldn't ignore him, yet I simply had to finish eating. Staring down at my meal, I was barely aware that I held the attention of almost everyone in the restaurant. Suddenly, a wing flew up in front of me.

  “Sorry about that,” the angel shrugged, as I pulled back, “it's a nervous tick.”

  “There you are,” the waitress smiled, coming towards us. “I thought you were still over by the window.”

  “No, no,” the angel laughed, “I moved over here.”

  “Here's your milk,” she set the glass down in front of him.

  “Thank you.”

  “Now,” she pulled out her pad and pencil, looking at us both, “is this all on the same bill?”

  “Yes,” the angel nodded, “I'll take care of it. Thank you.”

  “You two enjoy your meals now,” she winked, turning to leave.

  The angel moved in closer to me.

  “Tip monger,” he whispered, “thank God we're rid of her.”

  “I really have to be going,” I finally spoke up, taking another mouthful of chips, “I don't have time to talk.”

  “This won't take long,” the angel patted me on the shoulder. “I have very little to say. I'm more of an observer than anything - not a talker. I could sit off to the side and watch people forever - just like you.”

  The angel paused, a wide grin on his face. He watched me shovel spoonful after spoonful of chips.

  “You're making me nervous,” I frowned; “it's ruining my digestion.”

  “I know something that you don't know,” he smiled.

  “Oh really?” I sipped my water. “And you're an angel - what are the chances?”

  “That's right,” he slapped my shoulder. “I know all about your life.”

  “I've got an important meeting to go to,” I wiped my face with a serviette. “Did I forget to mention that?”

  The angel just laughed and shook his head. Sighing, leaning on the table, I decided to humour him. Besides, he struck me as a persistent type who might go on to bother me at weddings, funerals, and future lunches, if I didn't get it over with right there and then.

  “Allow me to illustrate,” he sat back, sensing my interest. Pen and notebook suddenly in hand, he drew a single short straight line. Smiling, he displayed it to me. Needless to say, I was more impressed with his ability to make office supplies appear at will than his talent as an artist.

  “Is that it?” I laughed.

  “What do you mean?” he looked at his sketch and then back at me. “I worked long and hard on it!”

  “But that can't be me,” I laughed, pushing my plate aside, leaning back in my chair, “and I can give you a good reason why not.”

  The angel frowned - my own favourite pastime. Shaking my head, chuckling to myself, an incident came to mind, one of the more recent ones, which would prove him wrong.

  “Take this morning for example,” I shrugged, “I was rushing to get downtown for a job interview, which is why I'm rushing to get my lunch over with. Stepping onto the number eight bus, I noticed it was completely empty, which was very unusual for that time of day. Regardless, I went to pay my fair and that's when the driver, who was of obvious Viking descent, caught my attention. He was not the driver I was accustomed to. I asked him a few questions about the usual driver, but he just looked at me blankly. Leaning in closer, I noticed that his ears were plugged with ants. He spoke up, telling me that he rarely got invited to picnics. Confused by this, I wondered if it would interfere with getting to the job interview on time. Suddenly, the driver had some sort of fainting spell and fell over the wheel. The horn sounded and the parking brake came loose. The bus started to slowly roll down the street, the horn blaring. With the door still open, I decided to seek alternative transportation. I hopped off the bus and hailed a cab. Now here I am!”

  The angel stared at me, squinting somewhat. His wings twitched ever so slightly. He crossed his legs, leaning against the table. Rubbing his chin, he looked around the restaurant and shook his head.

  “What the hell kind of story was that?” he shrugged.

  “Exactly,” I laughed. “Now let me see that illustration of yours.”

  Slowly, perhaps reluctantly, he handed me the pen and notebook. Barely able to contain myself, I flipped to a new page. To the best of my ability, I sketched a circle, and handed it back to him. I burst out laughing at the expression on his face. All eyes turned towards us - if they weren't already. I don't know why I laughed so hard; perhaps it was just the playful absurdity of it all. But the angel, obviously insulted, took the notebook and quietly left the restaurant.

  Shortly thereafter, I left the restaurant. Outside, the angel was nowhere in sight, but I couldn't care less. My thoughts were elsewhere. However, I was extremely upset that he left me with the bill. Stepping out onto the street, pulling on my jacket, my mind adrift, I didn't hear the horn roaring towards me. A moment later, I was struck by a runaway bus and killed instantly.

  And now, out of lack of anything better to do, seated in a far corner by the window, where the light comes in, I have penned this tale, from beginning to end. I see a young fellow sitting alone, nervously gobbling down his lunch. When my glass of milk arrives, I think I'll go over and bother him.

  The Flame