I don’t know how it started. But somewhere along the way people started sending me angel stories. So I started sharing them. Which only meant that I began getting more stories.
Currently, I still receive bundles of angel stories in the forms of messages, emails, and letters. As we speak, the spiders living in my USPS mailbox are getting squashed by angel stories that keep arriving.
Truthfully, I didn’t set out to be a writer of angels. In fact, I wanted to be a humorist. I began my career telling funny stories, trying very hard to make the occasional reader pee themselves.
But if there is one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s this: You must go where the angels take you.
Which brings me to my story. I was in a bookstore recently when I saw two Latina women shopping. They were in the same section I was in. In fact, they were looking at the same book I was looking at. The book was about angels, and it happened to be
in my hands.
I was thumbing through the pages when I noticed two five-foot women breathing down my collar.
Finally, the younger woman asked if I was going to purchase the book. I said, yes, I planned on it. Then I asked why she wanted to know.
“Because,” she said. “My mama wants this book. She is using it for research.”
Research? This got my curiosity piqued. I am a writer, and it is my job to get piqued. Sometimes I get piqued three or four times each day. It just relaxes me.
I asked what exactly the old woman was researching.
The old woman spoke in a booming voice not unlike the voice of Vincent Price from the 1953 film “House of Wax.”
“Los Ángeles,” the old woman said.
Then the elderly woman went on to tell me her tale. She spoke in Spanish and…