Paolo (not Italian, but had pretentious parents) stood at the curb, impatiently waiting with a small crowd for the light to change. A light drizzle was falling. This annoyed Paolo because he was wearing his brand-new camel coat, which he got for Christmas after four months of assiduously-dropped hints to the wealthy progenitors. Yes, he had a job, and was self-sufficient. But they could spring for a few luxuries for (he hoped) their favourite offspring. He hoped, but he didn't mention this in front of his dreary sister. At least, he wasn't a lesbian with cats. Not that there was anything wrong with that, precisely…. Paolo was inordinately proud of the new coat, and hoped to run for the nearest café just as soon as the little green man showed up.

Paolo was just wondering why the city hadn't changed the 'walk' signals to those trendy new demographically-inclusive ones like Madrid had. Always behind the curve around here, he sighed mentally. And then the thing happened that ruined the rest of his morning.

The light in front of Paolo turned green, but the 'walk' sign wasn't lit yet. The Little Old Lady next to him started away from the curb. Of course, he thought. It's always a L.O.L., which is how he thought of them. Ridiculous figures, wearing sweat pants in public (shudder), and running shoes, as if…. Then the world inexplicably slowed down, like bad CGI.

In dreamy, frame-by-frame analysis, Paolo saw it all: the L.O.L. in her cheap nylon jacket and, yes, pink paisley sweat pants, on the crosswalk, following the traffic signal rather than the walk light. The car, turning, heading for the same space soon to occupied by the L.O.L. An L.O.L. soon to be lying in the crosswalk, injured, or worse...all of this observed by the Angel on the other side of the street.

The what? Paolo looked again. The man standing alone on the other side of the street, to one side of the crosswalk, wasn't wearing wings. Or a halo. He was, in fact, wearing a nondescript trench coat and fedora. He hadn't made a suspicious move. But he was looking in Paolo's direction. And somehow, Paolo knew he was an Angel. He couldn't say why, but he was absolutely certain.

It was one of those feelings of sudden enlightenment, like the epiphany he'd experienced the first time he saw Cats. That epiphany had been so strong it had changed his career plans. Instead of becoming a librarian, as his mother had wearily suggested after four changes of major, he'd taken a couple of computer courses. Now, he worked at TOOFERS, the best cut-rate online Broadway ticket supplier in the business. Best decision he'd ever made: he got first pick of all the discount seats. And he'd seen Cats a couple of dozen times.

This flash of enlightenment was just as strong as the Cats Inspiration, as he privately called it. Also: why else had time slowed down? Obviously because of him, Paolo. The Angel was slowing down time so that Paolo could make a vital decision.

He looked at the situation again. There was the L.O.L. Little Miss Blue Hair. Strutting across the intersection, headlong into unsuspecting traffic. He could stop her. He was young enough, fast enough, had long enough arms. Normally, he wouldn't bother. Why inconvenience himself? Let somebody else do it. That Angel over there could manage a miracle or two…

Ah. The Angel, thought Paolo. That's why he's there. To see what decision I make. If I choose rightly, I will probably be rewarded. He began to think of what kind of reward he'd like to have – a complete library of Broadway CDs, perhaps, or something splendid in cashmere? Before he knew what he was doing, he'd stepped off the curb, reached out, and grabbed the L.O.L. by the arm, yanking her out of the path of the turning car, which rolled by harmlessly.

Not entirely. The rear wheel rolled through a puddle. Paolo looked down in anguish at his brand-new camel coat, now sporting a muddy splash. Like the first dent in a new automobile, the first stain on outerwear hurts the most. Paolo felt like crying. Worse: he was now being berated (a word he liked to use) by the L.O.L.

'Let go of me!' she protested. 'Just who do you think you are?' (Contrary to popular opinion among writers of short stories, L.O.L.s do not regularly address adult strangers as 'young man' or 'young woman'. L.O.L.s are less age-conscious than short-story writers. Or Paolo, who can think of nothing else.)

In vain did Paolo protest his innocent, nay benevolent, intent: the L.O.L. hadn't noticed the car, and went off in a huff-and-a-half, as Groucho would have said, oblivious to her narrow escape. Ungrateful, too, grumbled Paolo inwardly as he thought about his cleaning bill. Arguing with the L.O.L. had taken so long that he'd missed his chance to cross the street. When he looked up, he was startled to see the man he thought of as the Angel standing next to him. The Angel had obviously crossed at the same time, only from the opposite direction.

The Angel looked at him with a curious half-smile. 'Would you like to talk?' he asked. 'You look like you have a lot on your mind.'

Do I ever, thought Paolo, such as: when do I get my reward?, but aloud he replied, 'Let's go into that café, why don't we?'

'Sure,' the Angel replied. 'I have nothing better to do this morning. But you'd better call your office, and tell them you'll be late.'

Paolo did call his office. He told them he'd had 'an accident', and he'd be in later. He didn't tell them the accident was to his new coat. Then he joined the Angel over steaming paper cups of overpriced latte and cheese Danish. The Angel viewed his beverage with distaste.

'I've never quite understood why people buy overpriced coffee,' he mused. 'Especially bad overpriced coffee, which they consume in noisy venues. When they could have a well-brewed cup at home.'

'See and be seen,' replied Paolo cheerily. He folded his coat carefully on the chair, dabbing at the mud-splash ineffectually. 'I don't suppose you could – ?' he asked.

'You don't suppose I could what?' asked the Angel, puzzled.

Paolo pointed to his coat. 'Do a little magic, remove the mud?'

The Angel shook his head. 'I'm no good with stains,' he said. 'I'd try the dry cleaner's on the corner. The Korean there does very good work, quite reasonably.'

Paolo shrugged. 'I figure I'm owed a better reward than that for saving a life.'

'Do you?' the Angel replied. 'What makes you say that?'

Paolo looked at his companion across the narrow table. It was hard for him to form a mental picture of his interlocutor. Medium height, medium build, medium-brown hair…everything about him was so ordinary. He reminded Paolo of descriptions of the Men in Black, hard to describe, unmemorable in every way. Probably a form of Angelic incognito, he thought. Aloud he said, 'For saving that woman's life. I must have done something to balance the world this morning.' He beamed with self-satisfaction.

'Balance the world?' Quizzically.

'Yeah. Like in the films.' Another quizzical look. 'You know: Lord of the Ring Galaxy: The Struggle Between Light and Darkness, that sort of thing.'

The Angel rolled his eyes. 'Oh, lord. You're one of those. The kind that love those shallow, episodic action movies because they're all about "the struggle between Good and Evil." What in God's name makes you think you're living in a dualistic universe?'

Paolo blinked. He'd never thought about it. 'Because the world is full of opposites. You know, old/young. Black/white. Light/dark. Like that.'

The Angel's face wore a pained expression. 'Black and white aren't opposites. They're just names for perceptions. Old and young are relative. Light and dark? Think about it. If they turned the lights off in this dreary emporium of pumpkin spice, you'd say it was dark in here. But it wouldn't be the opposite of the current ambience. Just harder to see this stale Danish.'

Paolo decided to change tacks. 'I've never believed in God, myself.'

The Angel looked at him wearily. 'Define God.'

'An old man – okay, relatively old, like thousands of years. With a long, white beard. Sitting on a cloud and judging people.'

The Angel laughed shortly. 'I'd agree with you, then. By that definition, there is definitely no God outside bad movies and that late-night television show.'

Paolo felt he had scored a point, and that if he kept talking, he might get the reward that was coming to him. 'I remember reading something very wise a science fiction writer said. He quoted, absurdly pleased to have remembered it:

This is rather as if you imagine a puddle waking up one morning and thinking, 'This is an interesting world I find myself in – an interesting hole I find myself in – fits me rather neatly, doesn't it? In fact it fits me staggeringly well, must have been made to have me in it!'

Paolo went on, 'And then the puddle just dries up, completely surprised that the universe isn't all about it.'

The Angel laughed. 'That analogy makes a rather neat observation about the human mindset.'

Paolo pressed his advantage. 'But it proves there's no God, right?'

The Angel looked puzzled. 'I don't see how you get there from there,' he remarked. 'That analogy says nothing about the existence of higher intelligences in the universe, or a creating spirit. It just points out that humans are self-involved.'

Paolo shrugged. 'Okay, have it your way. But that's enough about God. What about me? What do I get for rescuing that old lady from uncertain death? Fame, fortune, really great seats for Hamilton?'

The Angel shrugged. 'What do you think you deserve for being a good neighbour?'

Paolo was about to answer, 'Something truly amazing,' when the Angel's pocket started ringing. He took out a mobile phone and turned off the ringtone – Paolo recognised it as the 'Amen Chorus' from Handel's Messiah. At least, he'd know it was his ring, thought Paolo. The Angel spoke into the phone.

'No, Jessica, tell Tony I won't change his grade. He obviously didn't do any of the reading. And no, 'Why Not?' was not the answer to the question 'Why?' on the Philosophy 101 final.' He put the phone back in his pocket and rose. 'I'm sorry,' he said to Paolo. 'I've got a nervous graduate assistant over at NYU. It was nice talking to you. Think about what I said. What do you think you deserve?' With that, he left, tossing the coffee cup and Danish wrapper in the trash bin near the door.

Paolo sat for a long time, thinking about what he deserved. He decided he deserved another latte and more time to think, so he got one with extra foam, and took a mental health day.

The following evening, Paolo broke up with his girlfriend Stacey. He had decided that what he deserved was a more fulfilling relationship with a higher-status and less mousy girl. He started an account on Tinder.

At first shocked by the abrupt breakup, Stacey took stock of what she wanted in life. She enrolled in a gym, where she lost twenty pounds over the next several months. She also met a really good-looking personal trainer who shared her interest in line dancing. The pair won a local contest and ended up on American Country Music Stars of Tomorrow. They came in second and got jobs at the Grand Ole Opry, leaving New York behind for the sunny South.

The L.O.L., one Goldie 'Starshine' Whittaker, went on to her gig at the recording studio, where she played backup percussion. During a particularly strenuous session with some wannabe Metalheads, Starshine missed the cymbal and toppled off her stool, bleeding slightly into her blue-dyed hair. While receiving first aid, she happened to mention her encounter with the 'smeghead on the corner'. Realising the problem, and knowing that the old hippie had no insurance, the band members held a benefit that paid for her cataract surgery. They raised enough to send her to Graceland for a celebratory holiday afterwards.

A few weeks later, Paolo hooked up with a girl on Tinder. She stole his camel coat, his Rolex, his jewellery, and all of the cash he had on him. Paolo decided to go back to Stacey, but she never returned his calls for some reason. He took to visiting his Aunt Francesca on Thursday nights, and discovered her Mario Lanza records. A new passion was born.

Professor Angelo O'Grady over at NYU was unaware of all of this. He was too busy grading essays in answer to the question, 'Discuss the summum bonum as described by philosophers from Aristotle to Zizek. Evaluate the utility of their definitions.'

Dmitri Gheorgheni

04.02.19 Front Page

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