We are like secret agents. Not the obvious types who meet with each other with black trench coats, a fedora and sunglasses. Just the type where we’re wearing professional suits, as though we are simply meeting on terms of business.
We’re at a cafe/burger joint. There’s a light morning sunshine that permeates through the large glass windows that allow pedestrians to see inside. I’m sitting with Guardian Angel Rebecca. She is wearing a white button-up shirt with a grey overcoat that matches her slacks. Her complexion is greatly white in contrast with her red, flowing hair which she’s tied half-up/half-down. She puts her pen down onto our round tea table, the same table we had when I first ventured into my clairvoyance.
She looks to me with a business look, but just then our waiter, Archangel Raphael, comes by to refill our cups of coffee and then our glasses of water. He wears an apron, and a t-shirt of some anonymous burger joint uniform. Neither of their wings are visible; they look like normal people. He gives me a brief and sharp look as he fills Rebecca’s glass of water, pretending to suspect that these two particular customers are making a questionable exchange of information. He assumes this by our peculiar silence as chunks of ice cubes make clunking sounds in our glasses. He let’s go of his look and returns to a waiter’s job role walking off, but only after Rebecca gives him a slight head nod.
She then looks to me, “So, let’s have it,” she says as she pushes down on the butt of her pen.
I lick my lips, purse them slightly to one side, “A lot is going on at this time.”
She blinks at this and lowers her chin a little. She responds quietly as though the gravity of the subject just got heavier, “Tell me all about it.”
“There are questions. Wonderings. People are starting to find out,” I reciprocate the same hard look. Archangel Raphael stands behind the metal counter with a white rag, wiping the surface from ketchup marks and bread crumbs. “And even I have started to realize things on my own,” Rebecca smirks, “things that have only led to more mysteries.”
She lightly traces the rim of her glass as water drops of condensation streak down the sides, “It was going to happen eventually, there was no stopping it,” she looks at her surroundings where there are numerous employees walking about. All of them are angels incognito. The other waiter has short, golden hair; a woman of black and wavy hair but a white complexion punches buttons at a register; a skinny man hauling boxes of styrofoam plates and cups appears with brown hair; oddly, a customer sitting at the counter wearing a black jacket and black hair turns away with a mug of coffee.
I squint my eyes, following her gaze. There’s a white feather on the ground which casts a shadow in the sunlight. I lean in, “They’re everywhere.”
Rebecca laughs a quiet one, and tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. Raphael comes to our table with the check in hand as soon as Rebecca gives him the signal. Both of us fish in our purses for money to pay our equal halves of the check; oddly, we both pay the total in Monopoly money. Raphael returns to pick up the cash.
“Times up,” she says. She reaches from the inside of her overcoat and takes out a business card. She scribbles something on it, “The next time you figure something out, you use this,” and slides the card across the table. It is a gold piece of paper embellished with raised ink.
I pick up the card, and raise it to my face. It reads in purple ink, “777.”
We both lift our cups of coffees to our lips at the same time, but we never lose our eye contact. There are four eyes alone that squint and give smiling wrinkles in the sunlight. People (or angels) around look at us through their periphery, wondering what was discussed.
