Angel in Paris
A story about two strangers
You hear stories about people encountering what they felt were angels in human form. I never believed them until I met Christopher.
It was a cold November, and I was in Paris for work. A musician I worked with had just played a show in a beautiful old church, and as we exited the sold-out gig via the side door, a man jumped up off the stoop while quickly gathering his sleeping bag and belongings that blocked our way.
The priest who was walking us out didn’t bat an eyelid, which brought me some comfort as I worried he would be the pompous type who would tell him to leave. We all said hello to the man, and I caught his gaze as he humbly and patiently waited for us to finish our conversations.
Our gazes continued to cross. It felt as if his eyes were piercing straight through me; as if we knew each other deeply from a long time ago — a brother I never met but knew.
As we shook hands farewell with the record label reps and priest, my eyes locked on the man once more. We gave each other a nod goodbye, and I walked away with the touring party.
Approaching the car, I felt a pang so powerful that I turned around and walked briskly back to…
