Greasy, limp black hair hangs in front of her once cherub face, nods up and down, as she leans forward on the table squinting her eyes because of the rising sun.
I stroll into the kitchen, refill her cup and place it in front of her.Reaching under her dirty blue stole she retrieves a bottle of bourbon and pours some into the coffee as a halo of smoke appears from the cigarette dangling from her lips.
"You're looking a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you," I say flopping into one of the deck chairs.
She sighs sipping the coffee.
Taking this as a sign she needs mental space, I keep quiet. She's dirty as ever, broken wings are more brown than white and the robe has fallen on her right shoulder.
"I look better huh?" she mutters then spits a loogie over the deck.
"Well, you don't smell," I clarify.
Rolling her eyes she takes a shot of bourbon and chases it with bourbon laced coffee.
"What are you doing here so early?" I ask, cleverly changing the subject. "You normally don't make an epiphany until the bars are open."
As she reaches inside the dirty blue stole again, Winston, the Little Gay Dog, barks and snarls at her which makes her grunt. The evil sound scares the little dog and he darts inside and hides under the bed. Laying at my feet, Goddess opens one eye and watches before sighing heavily and falling back asleep.
My Guardian Angel unfolds a note. It reminds me of the notes Sarah's girls bring home from school, more wadded up than folded. She spreads it out on the patio table which serves as my desk.
"It's from God," she says.
I take my bare feet off the railing and sit up straight. "Really?" I ask.
"Do you want me to give you the damn message or not," she snaps.
I fold my hands on the table prayerfully and wait.
For dramatic effect, she takes another sip from the cup and a long drawl from the cigarette. Finally picking up the crinkled note she reads it slowly.
"Every little thing gonna be alright."
I wait.
She crumples it up and puts it back inside her stole.
"That's it?" I ask.
She sips the bourbon.
"That wasn't God," I say. "That was Bob Marley."
She shrugs her shoulders and stands.
"But," I begin and she immediately cuts me off.
"Listen," she replies. "I've known both for a long time and Bob will be the first to tell you that it was God who gave him the idea. That's not the point though. You and Sarah have a lot going on. You're in the creation process remaking your lives as they should be. God likes that. Life is always about creation. If you're not changing, taking risks, transforming, walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death and all that shit, then you're not living. You're just existing which is nothing more than dying slowly. God likes creation people. You two have made the A List."
I've never heard her say so much and am taken aback.
"So," she continues, "every little thing's gonna be alright."
"Alright," I say and she instantly disappears and just as she does, I hear three little birds sing.
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