Angel Muse

"Are you coming tonight?" Jasmine’s bright smile was the epitome of dental perfection. 

The innocent question flowing off her tongue was like a cold wind stimulating over-sensitive nerves. How could I say no to attending a book release party that she had arranged—for me? 

"Uh, yeah, of course." 

Her frown dripped sympathy the consistency of refrigerated honey. "Aren’t you excited?" 

Visiting a proctologist was more appealing, but I managed to force a smile and reply with well-faked enthusiasm. "Yes. Yes I am." 

She rolled her green eyes, the kind that mesmerized men and caused jealousy in women. We had been friends since the beginning of college. She was the social bee and I was the queen awaiting the bounty of social fodder. "I know you don’t like parties, Liz, but c’mon. This will be amazing, okay? I promise."

Over the years, I had learned that her idea of "amazing" rarely fell in line with mine. A relaxing evening on the porch with a fine dram of Brandy and my pipe was what excited me. Jasmine loved socializing. It was her ultimate happy place. Me, I never even owned a Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram account. In her opinion, that was pure blaspheme. She then took it upon herself to create such accounts on my behalf. Who knows what happened to them after that?

"I’ll be there," I assured her. 

"You should wear that blue dress; you know, the one with white lace?"

Images of a Mac truck and a Volkswagen Bug colliding flooded my mind. Jasmine bought that dress for me to wear to a party once. I had tossed it into the bin after it attracted more attention than I had ever wanted to endure. 

"I found it in the trash. You must have placed it there by mistake. I had it washed for you. It’s hanging in your closet."

Perfect. Could I even fit into it anymore? A nightmare was manifesting before my eyes. Having nothing else to wear to such an event, I nodded and smiled. "Thank you." 

"Sure, sweetie." Pausing to leave, she placed her hand on my arm. "Hey, relax. Everything is going to be perfect."

If there was such a thing as Polly Anna incarnate, she was it. In truth, when you looked up positive in the dictionary, Jasmine’s image was right there, bigger than life. I was pictured as the antonym. 

The party was scheduled to be at the clubhouse; the apartment complex’s social hub. I’m not sure who all were invited, seeing the only friend I had managed to keep through college was Jasmine. I would be surprised if my agent, Ted showed up. I was certain he had better things to do than fly from New York to Colorado Springs for a maiden book-release party with few guests; none of whom were distinguished by any sense of the word. Still, it would be nice to put a body to his name and voice. 

I heard an excited chirp from the living room. "They’re here!" Jasmine squealed, clapping her hands and jumping like a child who had just cracked open a piñata filled with chocolate. She grabbed one of my books from the box she had torn open, caressing the hard-cover image as if it were gold. "It’s beautiful." 

I walked over and accepted my first copy of Thinking Blind; my journey between sight and blindness. I still had a bit of sight left in one eye, but it was little more than light perception now. The book was much heavier than I had expected. How could someone like me have so much to say about going blind? Would anyone even find it interesting? 

"I know that look," said Jasmine. "Don’t you dare start doubting your mad skills. This book will touch the lives of many. It did mine." She took the book from my hands and offered a warm, lingering hug. 

"Thank you," I whispered. 

"Come sit," she said. "You need to sign these for the party." 

I made my way to the kitchen table and sat. "How many did you order?" 

"Ted ordered a case of fifty books." 

"Fifty books? How many people are coming tonight?"  

"Last I checked, thirty-two people confirmed."

My chest constricted and the meager breakfast I had managed to eat earlier threatened to make a reappearance. How was I going to negotiate my way around thirty-two people when walking to the coffee shop was a challenge? I took the pen from her hand and proceeded to sign each book she placed in front of me. My fingers shook so much, the signature probably resembled a child’s. 

"All done," she said, placing the last book in the box. "I’ll have Ben bring these to the clubhouse for us. I need to check on the food and chairs. The band is going to arrive at 3:00 to set things up."

"Do you need help?"

"I got it, sweetie. This day is about you. Relax. Take a long hot bath in an hour or so. That will relax you a bit. Maybe have a glass of wine or something." 

It would take the entire bottle, and that wouldn’t end well for anyone, especially me. 

* * *

I had to admit, the hot bath, a long meditation session, and a glass of Burgundy was exactly what I needed to prepare for the evening. I felt good and the dress still fit. I was ready for this—right? For the first time in months, I felt the light and energy I had felt while writing the book. Had it been that long since I had meditated and connected with the Angels?

Jasmine helped me with my hair and makeup. I didn’t like wearing the stuff, but she said that it completed the look. My hair draped down to my waist with my bangs pulled back in an attractive braid. 

"Do I have to wear these shoes?" I asked. 

She rolled her eyes. "For a little while, yes. I know you are just going to kick them off once we reach the clubhouse."

Shoes were her passion, along with clothes and hand bags. She had quite a collection. At least the sandals she loaned me now were low-healed and fairly comfortable—well, about as comfortable as shoes could be. I never liked wearing the things.

"Ready?" she asked. I nodded, grabbed my white cane, and followed her out of the apartment. 

As we approached the clubhouse, aromas of smoked meats, pool chlorine, cologne, and alcohol permeated the air. Conversation hummed all around us, as one person after another greeted us at the door. There seemed to be well more than thirty-two people here. 

I nudged Jasmine as she led me into the clubhouse. "How did you manage to invite so many people? I don’t know any of them." 

"You have a fan base, my dear, and quite a few members in your pre-release team of reviewers. They are all here." Of course she would have set that up. Her major was literary marketing and she loved all aspects of it. In truth, she was the one who found my agent, Ted. Jasmine was amazing. 

"I’m going to have to make you my official PR Manager," I jibed. 

She smiled. "Already self appointed." She led me to a man sitting at a table. "Ted, this is Liz. Liz, Ted." She pulled a chair out for me. "Sit and get acquainted to your agent." 

I held my quivering hand out. "Nice to meet you, Ted." The room was too dark for me to make out any details. He reached out to me, but it was more of a bump, and then he took my hand and gave it a gentle shake—similar to how I shook hands I could not see.

"Nice to finally meet you in person," he said. His voice was nice on the phone, but in person, it was literally silk on the wind. I reminded myself that this was a professional presence and kept my interest at bay. He cleared his throat. "You have quite the marketing manager there. Jasmine is an asset to us both." 

"She is a Godsend for sure," I laughed. "I don’t know what I’d do without her." 

We talked for a bit. Ted informed me that he, too, had lost his sight to Retinitis Pigmentosa and how my book brought back memories of what he had gone through during the first few years.

Jasmine placed two glasses of wine before Ted and me. "Kim Birmingham’s Barbera at your twelve." She lifted her glass and tapped the side to make a tinging sound. "Come on, raise it up for a cheer." 

Ted and I raised our glass and waited for Jasmine to ping the toast, “Slainté es tointé.” 

I followed up with, “Ura.” 

Ted said a simple, “Cheers.” 

The juice was bright and clean on my tongue. It was my favorite red wine. I allowed it to linger in my mouth before letting it slide down my throat. “Life is good,” I heard a quiet voice say in my mind. Archangel Uriel was present as I wrote my book. Without his assistance, I never could have written a single word. He was my muse, my mentor, my support. During that year, he had taught me not to fear and to believe in my higher self. It was nice to have him back. Then I remembered reconnecting with him during my meditation, asking for his support this evening—his courage. That explained my elevated mood and confidence. 

Jasmine got everyone’s attention and then asked each of them to come to the podium to share their thoughts on the book. What followed brought me to tears. 

One after another, people shared how my book had touched their lives in ways they couldn’t imagine. One lady shared the story of how I learned to thread a needle without sight. She had been a seamstress once, but gave it up because she could no longer see well enough to thread her needle. After reading my story, she gave it a shot and it sparked the beginning of her career. 

A young man described how simply using his other senses through awareness, he was able to improve his performance as an athlete. 

More and more people, all sighted I assumed, told how my anecdotes improved how they observed their world. My experiences touched people. Despite my doubts and fears. Uriel had been right all along. Write what is in your heart and the stories will touch others. 

By the end of the evening, I felt like a new person. I had even approached the podium and gave a small, hopefully inspirational speech about replacing fear with faith. I even danced with Ted, who told me I was radiant. I felt radiant. Jasmine was right, this evening was amazing. She had made it absolutely perfect. 

She handed me a cup of tea and sat across from me. I could sense her smiling. “I told you the Angels are never wrong.”