Black Coffee
By Robert Lamb

The young waitress, bottle blonde, was back again. “Made up your mind yet?” She sounded impatient and indifferent at the same time.
Just coffee, I told her. Black. No cream.
“I need something stronger,” Jenny said. “Do you serve wine?”
The waitress nodded, chewed gum, checked her nails. Red.
“Chardonnay,” Jenny said. “House is okay.”
The waitress, wordless, went away. Jenny studied the wall at my back, her solemn hazel eyes fixed on a pastel wallpaper. I studied Jenny studying the wall at my back. We were the only customers in the place.
“What?” she said, meeting my eyes at last, defiant, distraught.
“Nothing.”
“Well, it’s hard.”
I said I knew.
“No, you don’t. It’s not your mother.”
I said I knew whose mother it was.
Jenny went back to staring at the wall.
The waitress brought our drinks. She put the wine in front of me, the coffee — with cream — in front of Jenny, and left the bill on the edge of the table. The wine was a blush, not Chardonnay, but when I started to call the waitress back, Jenny stopped me. “Never mind,” she said.
Swapping drinks, I nodded toward the waitress. “Hope Miss Congeniality there doesn’t depend on tips for a living.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Jenny sipped her wine. “I don’t think I can do it,” she said, a pink flush rising at her throat.
“Well, go back over there and tell them that.” I nodded toward a big gray building across the street.
“I just can’t,” she said, sipping again.
“Look, if you can’t, you can’t. They’ll understand. You won’t be the first who couldn’t do it.”
“I don’t see how anybody could do it.”
“I could do it. I could do it because it ought to be done. When a thing needs doing, it’s best to go on and do it.”
“I’m not like you.”
“Then don’t do it.”
“I’d hate myself if I did it.”
“Then don’t do it, for Christ’s sake. Go on over there and tell `em.”
“I’ll finish my wine first.” She sipped again. “Maybe if I drink enough of this I can do it.”
“Do it and then drink,” I said. “Then you’ll have a reason to drink.”
“I have a reason now. Will you order me another glass?”
“I read somewhere that memory and judgment are the first things clouded by alcohol.”
“Memory would be okay,” she said.
“Suit yourself.” I started to call for the waitress.
“Wait!” Jenny said. “You’re right. I need a clear head for this.” She pushed the glass away. It was still nearly full. “What time is it?”
“Two-thirty.” I signaled toward a big white-faced clock on a nearby wall. You couldn’t miss it.
“How long did he say he’d be there?”
“Till three.”
She made a face. “Will you tell him for me?”
“Tell him what?”
“You know,” she said.
“No, I don’t know.”
She reached for my coffee. “Mind?”
I pushed the cup and saucer toward her. The cream, too. I didn’t use the stuff.
Stirring in the cream, she said, “It’s for the best, don’t you think?”
“What I think’s not important here,” I said.
She sipped the coffee, now a caramel-brown. “I can’t do it. She’s my mother.”
I reached for her wine. “All the more reason you should do it,” I said. “Should want to do it.”
“Was it this way with your mother?”
“No.”
“See.”
“Proves nothing.”
She shrugged. “You’re right. What time is it?”
I finished her wine while glancing at the clock. “Two minutes later than when you asked before.”
“Don’t be smart at a time like this.”
“Don’t be dumb at a time like this.”
She made a face again and heaved a sigh. “Okay. You’re right. I’ll do it.”
She started to get up. I thought I saw tears. “You sure?”
“I’m sure. As sure as I’ll ever be.” She got on up, smoothing wrinkles from her navy blue skirt as she rose.
I stood up, too. I left enough money on the table to cover the bill and give the waitress a good tip.

When angels talk
Nobody is courageous all the time. The unknown is a constant challenge, and being afraid is part of the journey.
What to do? Talk to yourself. Talk alone. Talk to yourself even if others think you have gone crazy. As we talk, an inner force gives us the security to overcome the obstacles that need to be surmounted. We learn lessons from the defeats that we are bound to suffer. And we prepare ourselves for the many victories that will be part of our life.
And just between you and me, those who have this habit (and I’m one of them) know that they never talk alone: the guardian angel is there, listening and helping us to reflect. What follows are some stories about angels.

Conversation in heaven
Abd Mubarak was on his way to Mecca when one night he dreamed that he was in heaven and heard two angels having a conversation.
“How many pilgrims came to the holy city this year?” one of them asked.
“Six hundred thousand”, answered the other.
“And how many of them had their pilgrimage accepted?”
“None of them. However, in Baghdad there is a shoemaker called Ali Mufiq who did not make the pilgrimage, but did have his pilgrimage accepted, and his graces benefited the 600,000 pilgrims”.
When he woke up, Abd Mubarak went to Mufiq’s shoe shop and told him his dream.
“At great cost and much sacrifice, I finally managed to get 350 coins together”, the shoemaker said in tears. “But then, when I was ready to go to Mecca I discovered that my neighbors were hungry, so I distributed the money among them and gave up my pilgrimage”.

The beggar and the monk
A monk was meditating in the desert when a beggar came up to him and said:
“I need to eat”.
The monk — who was almost reaching the point of perfect harmony with the spiritual world — did not answer.
“I need to eat”, insisted the beggar.
“Go to the town and ask someone else. Can’t you see that you are bothering me? I am trying to communicate with the angels”.
“God placed himself lower than men, washed their feet, gave His life, and no-one recognized Him”, the beggar replied. “He who says he loves God — who does not see — and forgets his brother – who does — is lying”.
And the beggar turned into an angel.
“What a pity, you almost made it”, he remarked before leaving.

Condemning one’s brother
Abbot Isaac of Thebes was in the patio of the monastery praying when he saw one of the monks commit a sin. Furious, he interrupted his prayers and condemned the sinner.
That night he was prevented from returning to his cell by an angel who said to him: “you condemned your brother, but you did not say what punishment we should inflict: the pains of hell? Some terrible disease in this life? Some torment in his family?”
Isaac knelt down and asked for pardon: “I tossed the words in the air, and an angel heard them. I sinned by being irresponsible for what I said. Forget my ire, Lord, and make me take greater care in judging my neighbor”.

http://paulocoelhoblog.com/warrioroflight/

http://www.warriorofthelight.com/engl/index.html