"You're in the arms of an angel, may you find some comfort here"

One summer, on a dark and stormy evening, we -- two thirty-somethings -- walk into a chic sushi joint in the heart of Chicago. Dressed to be seen, we are giddy, slightly pretentious, and looking to make memories. We are led to a table in the middle of the dining room. One side has chairs and the other is a booth’s bench. We sit down across from each other, request drinks, and scan the menu. Shortly after our order is taken, we divert our attention from the waitress and to the room. We see a man sitting by himself. He seems to be just a few years older than us. He’s dressed in a suit, tie, and overcoat. My friend looks at me. “I bet you five bucks you don't have the guts to invite him to join us for dinner,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone.

I smirk and shake my head. “Clearly you don’t know me at all.” Without hesitation, I stand, straighten my skirt, and move forward, purpose leading my way. When I reach him, he’s taking a sip of white wine. I introduce myself and invite him to sit with my friend and me, pointing in the direction of our table. Within moments, the two of us return to where my friend sits.

We exchange pleasantries and talk about Chicago: the tourist spots, the historical sites, and the first McDonald’s, which isn’t too far away. Hours pass. We laugh, drink, and eat.

As we finish dinner, he looks at his watch, and admits it’s time for him to leave. We thank him for spending his meal with us. Moments after he leaves, the waitress returns and tells us the gentlemen paid the entire bill. Surprised by his generosity, I jump up and scan the restaurant, looking for him. He’s nowhere to be seen. On my feet, I rush toward the exit. He’s only been gone mere minutes, I’m certain I can catch him.

I open the door to the outside, the sky is black. The sidewalks are wet from the recent rain and the streetlights shine brightly through the fog. It’s like a scene out of an old movie. I turn toward the left and then the right. It’s eerie, yet peaceful. There’s no trace of anyone, let alone the mysterious character who likely exited just minutes ahead of my arrival at this spot. I’m tempted to run in either direction, but I don’t.

I return to our table trying to rationalize what I just saw. Immediately, she asks, “did you find him?” I answer no, revealing the mystical ambience outside. “There’s no sign of anyone. It’s like he disappeared into thin air.”

We think about it for a moment and come to our own conclusion, “do you think … he’s … an … angel?” one of us asks. Considering every possible alternative, we decide yes and go about our evening, silently thanking him for our dinner.