Angels in Philadelphia

Page 40. Funny. Tell me a funny or odd thing that has happened in or around your car.

It was February 1997 and I was 8 months pregnant and recovering from the flu. This was the only time I'd ever had the flu, pregnant with my second child - pretty much a dizzying, stupefying hell on earth. My friend Mary down the street had come down with it a day or so before I did and at some point each day I'd phone her from my bed, my place of prison and unrest. The 8 lb baby I was carrying precluded any resting on my stomach and there was no rest to be found in laying on my sides which, I could only imagine from the relentless stabs of pain, must be a purple shade of black from the incessant and tremendous coughing. And because of the mysteries of physics and various laws of the universe, resting on one's back at 8 months pregnant can only be done with elaborate pillow strategies which I was incapable of executing in my feverish predicament. Even so I could dial the phone and groan into it. "Maarrry," I called to her, laying in her own bed just a block away. "Uhhh. What's it like today? Are you feeling better?" I hung on her every word, because what she had today, I'd have tomorrow. She was my lifeline and I needed her to give me that grain of hope every day. "Uhhhhh," she'd wheeze back, "Today my head has cleared a bit...headache's better...that cough medicine ended up helping a little...I had...orange juice..."

I have no idea how long I was sick in that dark, lonely bedroom. Time and passage of days was something I had measured and weighed meticulously and hopefully during my pregnancies, but this flu smeared any mental framework of weeks and future. Finally one day I found myself well enough to begin my return to the real world. I had an appointment with my midwife at Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia so I crawled out of the netherworld into the sunshine and cold. And there I was, operating a vehicle, crossing bridges, finding exits, paying tolls. I traveled up Spruce Street, leaning hard on the steering wheel, making a beeline for the parking garage. On a good day, Seth and I would park on Spruce if we were lucky to find a free spot, and just take a short skip up the sidewalk to the midwife's office. But this day, still fiercely weak and slightly addled, I had already decided to park in the garage so as not expend one modicum of energy trying to search out empty spots or cars with their reverse lights on or any other option I'd normally consider for a chance at a choice spot on the crowded city streets.

I was three car lengths from 8th Street, where I would turn and turn again directly into the parking garage, drive up at least three levels, park, drag myself to the elevator with Seth skipping along at my side, find my way out of the concrete maze all the while trying to remember how to get back, cross the busy street and cross another to get to the office. I sat in the traffic, staring ahead to make my turn when I happened to glance over at two lovely African American ladies dressed in colorful clothing and walking with grace and joy, smiling down the sidewalk. One held high a hot dog or pretzel she'd gotten from the vendor at the corner and the other, a beautiful middle aged woman, looked directly into my eyes and said something. All at once it seemed I was sucked into this happy, sidewalk, sunny-day dream sequence, having already stepped into my character's part without even knowing it. From behind my wheel, I perked up and looked at her questioningly. The pretty lady motioned to me and I put down my window. "Would you like this spot?" She pointed to the car parked between us on the narrow one-way street, just inches from my driver's seat door. This was so strange, I hadn't even been looking at this woman. Her eyes had sought mine to ask this question, this question she decided to ask a perfect stranger driving past her on a city street!

"Yes! I would! But I can't get into it now," I yelled over to her, "I'm already past it and you won't be able to get your car out." I was surrounded by traffic on three sides, there was no way we could manage the exchange. "I'll wait," she chirped calmly and happily, "you drive around the block." Is this woman kidding? This really was a dream. She is going to wait in her car until I drove around the block just so she can bless me with a parking spot? Had I coughed myself to death and gone to heaven?

I took her up on her unimaginable offer, still thoroughly awed and agape, and drove off. Turning left at the corner, I exclaimed to Seth with wide eyes, "Those women are angels!" He said, "Nuh uh. Angels have wings." "They are angels."

We drove around the block, excited with anticipation. I smiled as we turned corners, cut down the small alley we had discovered on our many trips to the neighborhood and waited eagerly for the traffic to carry us back to the spot. There wasn't a doubt that the women would be waiting there. I imagined them sitting in their car smiling, giggling quietly as they shared the Philly street fare, surely different from the food served on the grand corners of heaven. Old City...the clear February blue sky...soft pretzels...brightening the day of a sick, pregnant woman...what could be more fun for a couple of angels out doing God's work?

I pulled down Spruce again and they were waiting. Their car pulled out just as my car pulled up behind them in traffic. I drove directly into the spacious spot without even a worry of parallel parking. Seth and I got out, crossed at the corner and opened the door to my midwife's building.

I could only assume my angels drove on down Spruce a bit and then lifted up into the air invisibly, their car zooming heavenward while they chewed on pretzels with yellow mustard, maybe planning on getting some deep dish after their next stop helping out an old lady on the south side of Chicago.