by Jan Deelstra

Created on: March 04, 2009

A trembling ball of nervous energy blasted through the doors into the small Angel Store where Ruby was just closing out the day's receipts. Intuitively, she knew to give the pacing visitor some time to adjust to the soothing environment of angelic-wares. Ruby's daughter Leodie stood near the register, chatting with her boyfriend John about the movie they would see that night. As briskly as he had entered, the hyper-man, never making eye contact, quickly exited the new-aged store.

"I'm so sorry mom! If we hadn't been here he probably would have stayed and bought something," Leodie admonished.
"He'll be back," Ruby stated with calm conviction.

About thirty minutes later when the store was empty of distraction the man did come back. Still anxious and frenetic, he burst in and again circled the store contents. There was no fear in Ruby's heart; she knew this person was not about to cause harm or loss. Ruby insightfully waited for the right time to confront.

As he began to noticeably relax and slow down his pace, Ruby looked up from her paperwork and smiled. He took a quick glance around the room, gazed down towards the floor, then up to the ceiling, and finally when he had apparently run out of other places to look his eyes met hers.

With a kindhearted tone, Ruby gently said, "What is it? What is it that brings you here? Are you looking for an angel?" Ruby could see the gentleman was obviously in need. "The angels brought you here," she calmly avowed.
He stopped then, this bundle of tension. Motionless now, the nervousness immediately left the room. Looking up at Ruby, he inhaled deeply and in one quick motion (so as not to change his mind) he exhaled the words as a wheeze, "I'm an artist. I'm an artist and I'm going blind. I've got AIDS. I'm dying."

Ruby opened her arms and embraced him, supported this stranger securely as he sobbed out his grief. She held him and rocked him for a long period, and let love and acceptance pour from her heart into his. Steven uncontrollably wept a river of wet raw emotion into the chest of this stranger, an odd little red-haired angel-lady.

When the river had dried, he told her his story. He had lost forty pounds in rapid time, and was clearly going blind. As an artist in love with brilliant color, his impending blindness was especially haunting. The diagnosis was acquired immunodeficiency syndrome. Steven had AIDS. And Steven was dying. His lover had long ago abandoned, and his job as a teacher was no longer an option; his spirit was completely

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