Angels in the Wings

Angels in the Wings
By Arlene Levin

 (C) 2019

It was the dreaded gray days of late winter.  Gray faces bled into dull gray clothes that dripped onto the dirty slush covered city sidewalks. It was the end of March. This winter was hard, cold and unmerciful.  Beaten down, we marched through each day as soldiers in battle. Every moment was a small victory against a vicious winter that held no hope for an early spring.   
 
I walked down Parliament Street caught in the darkness of the moment.  I saw a group of ill-dressed children, their button-less coats flying in the cold wind, half an orange in hand, the sticky fruit juice caked on face and fingers. A toothless wino slumped in the door of the laundromat.  A heavyset woman struggled to get her huge bag of wash past the drunk and through the narrow door of the storefront laundry.  Looking inside I saw the bright florescent lights cast a blue gray tint on waiting patrons. The thin frantic fellow on the telephone looked like a drug dealer who was using his stash rather than selling it.  A girl, 12 years old going on 40, sat on the bench. Her dirty blond hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail tied sharply with a thick brown elastic band.   She looked up. Our sad eyes met and lingered for a moment before turning back to our lives.  This was Toronto's Cabbage Town circa the mid 1970's.  Home to hookers and winos, the whole range of poor lived here.   Children of alcoholics, welfare recipients, single parents and the homeless all walked these streets.

I was on my way to Sharon's house.  Visiting her was an oasis in my stormy life.  She was warm, intelligent and easy.  I trusted Sharon and appreciated the much needed caring and affection she gave me.  At Sharon's house there was a comfortable chair, a warm fire, music, coffee, advice and consolation.

At this time I'd known Sharon for about 2 years.  I met her at a time when my life took a challenging turn.  My marriage to Michael was in trouble, I smoked too much, I didn't exercise enough, I was poor and I couldn't decide what I wanted to do with my life.  I was thirty-something and I was floating out of control.
   
I began to walk faster, humanity blurred.  Reality at that moment was too painful to contemplate.  My mind slipped into nothingness.   Lost in thought I was startled. 

A dark cloaked man silently stepped out of a nearby doorway.  Much to my surprise and delight, a bouquet of balloons happily bouncing on long strings followed him out the door and on to the street.  Against the grayness of the day I smiled at the bright colors that almost hurt my eyes, deep blues, sun drenched yellow, a rich Spring greens.   He smiled back at me.  With a toothless grin and a twinkle in his eye he said, "A balloon my lady, a little color to brighten your day".