As I stood outside the hospital in the sunshine, cursing the weatherman for saying it was going to rain, crabby because I chose to leave my bike home, I saw the man. He was staggering down B Street propelled forward by the combination of slope and gravity. When he reached the bus stop sign he reached out, grabbed the pole and stopped his forward momentum. He swayed, lurched once, and somehow managed to land on his back on the lawn. I left my post at the bus stop across the street, knowing that as soon as I left my ride home would come. I crossed the street and hovered above the man and asked if he were okay.
“Are you an angel?” he asked me, he was laying face up, his arms outstretched, fly wide open.
I told him no and again asked if he was okay. “Are you trying to get to the hospital? Do you want me to get you a wheelchair?”
“I want to go see my friends. I can’t see your eyes.” He replied. It was then that I realized I might have had a bit of an otherworldly glow with the sun behind me shining through my blonde hair. He told me his friends were at the Veterans’ Memorial and he just wanted to be with his buddies.
I was at a loss for words. I wasn’t an angel and I couldn’t take him to see his friends. I helped him find his feet and told him that bus 11 would take him to the Veterans’ Memorial to see his friends. He was likely drunk and I probably should have called the police to pick him up for public intoxication but I just didn’t have the heart. The man thought I was an angel after all.