Under the Wing of an Angel
You never quite know who's going to lead you where you need to go.
As I came to rest at the bottom of the subway stairs, I looked around for some assurance that I was headed in the right direction. I didn't need divine intervention, any local would do. I got both. "Where you headed?"
I turned to see a large woman, about 30, with four children orbiting her like loose atoms on the edge of an unstable molecule. They came to rest and—like their mother—looked at me, eyes wide and—unlike their mother—heads tilted.
"Rockaway Beach. 98th Street."
"OK. That's where I'm headed. Come with me," she said, turning.
She sounded honest enough.
The six of us chose our seats on the A Train. A son on my right, and a son and daughter on my left. The third son sat next to his mother—across from me—surveying. Questions began flying, relentlessly.
"Leave the man alone."
"No, it's really OK," I smiled, as I caught up answering the previous two unanswered questions.
"My name is Richard, by the way."
"Angel. Nice to meet you, Richard."
Over the course of our trip, I learned that Angel named each of her children (middle names) after comic book or anime characters, Tai and Rob (roughly ages 6 and 8) loved sharks enough to talk to me about them for ten minutes, Mae Ling (14 or so) loved to read (enough to ditch us for some privacy), and Dre (about 12) was content simply presiding over the conversations. And then there was Angel, both exasperated by and in love with her children.
My guides.
I was alone in New York, but then again, I wasn't at all—and it was refreshing.
When we got off the exit, we walked together. Angel and her children told me all about Hurricane Sandy and how it devastated the area. Everyone had their own take on it. Time slowed, we owned the streets—the downtown, downtrodden, hipster, surf-culture streets.
Nevertheless, it wasn't long before we reached their destination and the children started dispersing into their cousins. Angel and I exchanged pleasantries and then I was gone, continuing on my trip. And so were they.
But after only thirty minutes with an Angel and her kids, I'd seen the glimpse of community in that new place. In lower Brooklyn, where I probably could have found my way on my own. I found something else.
