On the first night of karaoke, my angel appeared.
She leaned over and said we should do a duet.
I hesitated –of course I did. Karaoke and I have a complicated history. But then I thought, Why not? I had already come this far. She chose the song. I knew it, but not intimately.
“I Got You, Babe.”
We sang. We laughed. We flubbed each other’s parts and occasionally our own. Nothing about it was polished, and everything about it was right. That night didn’t produce a performance it produced a friendship.
We were thousands of miles from home and somehow found each other anyway. Which is funny, because we could have crossed paths back there in her hometown, a town I know well, one I frequent often since I live just beyond its edges. The universe waited until we were both far enough away to introduce us properly.
She danced slow songs with me. I was always too nervous to try and spin her, and my hesitation made us laugh even harder. She never made me feel awkward for it. She just stayed.
She became my drink provider –my unofficial bartender and guardian against empty hands. Spicy margaritas. Samuel Adams. Something mysterious that came in a jar. She made sure I was fed, hydrated, and present.
We shared big laughter and quiet tears. Conversations that went late. Moments that didn’t need words.
She was the angel sent to bring me courage not by pushing me forward, but by standing beside me while I tried. By laughing when I stumbled. By reminding me that joy doesn’t require perfection.
A heart of gold.
Exactly the angel I needed.
