Angel in the Mall

by Noelle Sterne

On a sunny Sunday afternoon, my husband and I headed for the busy upscale mall outside town.

I dressed up—trendy earrings, understated sexy blouse, tailored slacks, matching bag and shoes. We visited a few shops together, then agreed to browse separately and meet in two hours at the front entrance.

I’d been to every shop but the European baby boutique and had spent a lot of money without guilt. In both hands, I gripped the entwined handles of shiny, smart-logoed, overflowing shopping bags.

With all the prizes, I should have felt wonderful. But my purchases barely veiled my heaviness.

My Mind Kept Returning to My Husband’s Faults

At the imported pen shop, my husband and I had had yet another fight. It was hard to admit, but they were becoming too frequent. Each time, the anger on both sides had erupted, surprisingly intense and with unbridled vitriol. That cliché about marital arguments is true: I couldn’t even remember the reasons for the last few.

Reliving my outbursts, I felt ashamed and helpless. Now, despite all the new acquisitions and plush surroundings, I fell deeper into depression.

As I walked to our meeting place, noticing each passing flawlessly coifed woman, I imagined she had the perfect life, even though rationally I knew better. Should I stop one and invite her to sit down with me on an inviting hand-carved wooden bench in the mall center strip? A calming setting, with luxuriant greenery and overlooking the koi pond. I imagined her encouraged by my sympathetic smile, and she would twist the Tiffany diamond and emerald rings on her left hand and pour out her saga of troubles.

I also knew that whatever she might confess would not make me feel better. My mind kept returning to the furious shouting and endless litany in my head of my husband’s faults.

I Dreaded the Stony Ride Home

As we had icily agreed before parting outside the pen shop, exactly on time I waited for him at the two stone lions at the mall entrance near the taxi stand so we could get a cab home. We’d supposedly “made up,” each saying what we thought we should in apology, as if the perfunctory words would make us feel differently.

But our empty declarations couldn’t erase the lingering rage and hurt. And worse, I already knew from past repetitions that what we’d thought was resolved would only reappear a few days later, sparked by the next most trivial thing.

I dreaded the stony ride home, unpacking everything that was supposed to have brought joy, and serving an uninviting cold supper of leftovers. We’d eat without speaking, except for stiff requests to pass the salt, and then disappear into separate rooms, each blaring a TV or with headphones clamped on tight to drown out resentful thoughts.

Looking for him both ways from the entrance, I shifted from one foot to the other. Where was he? He’d promised to meet me promptly. Now he was very late. Angrier by the minute and my bags heavy, I set them down and propped them against each other.

He Said, “This is For You”

I paced back and forth, wondering irritably whether any cabs would be left, and then glanced to my left toward the area where they usually parked. Suddenly a man appeared on my right side.

Startled, I turned and looked full at him. He was tall and stout, towering over me. He wore black slacks and a black shirt open at the collar. In his mid-fifties, he had a large head, somewhat sagging jowls, and lank dark brown hair. Around his neck, standing out dramatically against the black shirt, on a thin gold chain hung a huge gold cross.

I felt him staring and thought he was going to fight me for a cab or make a pass. Instead, with a small smile, he reached into a little black pouch and held out an object. “This is for you.”

Automatically and inexplicably without fear, I extended my hand. Something small dropped into my palm, and without looking I closed my fist. Then he bent closer, his eyes piercing.

“God loves you and so do I.” His voice was deep and sure. He leaned down and kissed my cheek.

No words came, and I stood wide-eyed. Then, regaining a little composure, I said, “And God loves you. What denomination are you?”

He smiled broadly. “I’m a Christian.” Without waiting for acknowledgment, he turned and strode to the parking lot, unlocked the door of a black car, got in, and started the engine.

I opened my hand. On a tie-tack back, a tiny angel shone up at me. Its gold halo sparkled, and its diamond-cut glass skirt billowed with assurance.

How Did He Know that Beneath the Façade I Felt Depressed?

I stared after the car pulling away, and my eyes teared. How did he know to choose me, a stylish woman looking like she had it all? How did he know that beneath the façade I felt so lonely and depressed I hardly knew what to do?

The man had sounded so sure in his declaration of God’s love for me. Could I believe him? I cradled the delicate angel. Was it really possible? Her wings, like welcoming arms, opened in unlimited love.

How did He know that this was exactly the reminder I needed?

All heaviness lifted and my anger dissolved. I couldn’t wait to invite my husband to dinner at our favorite restaurant, and I knew we’d really be able to talk.

He appeared from around the corner. I waved and smiled. “Hi, sweetheart. You’re just in time for the next cab.”

P.S. At my desk next to my computer screen, I still have that little angel, shining up at me.

* * *

Author, editor, writing coach, workshop leader, and academic mentor and nag, Noelle Sterne has published over 600 stories, essays, writing craft articles, spiritual pieces, and occasional poems in literary and academic print and online venues.

Eons ago, she published a children’s book of original dinosaur riddles (HarperCollins), in print for 18 years. More recently, her handbook to assist doctoral candidates is based on my professional academic practice (PhD, Columbia University): Challenges in Writing Your Dissertation: Coping with the Emotional, Interpersonal, and Psychological Struggles (Rowman & Littlefield Education, 2015).

In her spiritual self-help book, Trust Your Life: Forgive Yourself and Go After Your Dreams (Unity Books, 2011), she draws examples from her academic consulting and other aspects of life to support readers in reaching their lifelong yearnings. Continuing with her own, she is draft-deep in her third novel, with more clogging her files.

For more information on Noelle and her work, please see her website.