Do angels wear miniskirts?May 01 '06 Write an essay on this topic.The Bottom Line A strange, life-changing event in the 1970s makes the author wonder about about Angels, and God moving in mysterious ways? A strange, life-changing event in the 1970s makes the author wonder about about Angels. * * * Long ago in the 1970s, I was going to Manchester University in England, and lived in the twin-city of Salford. Every night that I went drinking in the Student Union, which was often, the evening ended with the same internal debate about how to get back to my digs. I could take a Manchester Bus to Old Trafford and walk a fair distance, or I could walk a similar distance down Market Street to Salford bus depot, and get a bus home. Finances prevented the common sense approach of taking a Manchester bus to the Salford terminal. In fact, finances normally settled this issue in its entirety and I walked all the way home, a journey of about 90 minutes. By not talking a bus at all, I could stay out later, and have a little extra money for another beer, or a tasty bag of Fish &Chips on the way. It was a no-brainer really, except in bad weather. Now the first part of my journey was pleasant enough, since the center of Manchester was a rat's warren of narrow streets and interesting stores. I rarely went the same way twice. However, as I reached the Salford side of town, I ran into the Docks, a huge bricked off area by the river that I could not cut through. I almost always went the same way here, down Quay Street to the docks, which took me right past Grenada TV studios, and the outdoor sets in their back lot. This was the most interesting option available through a deserted industrial wasteland, until I reached Regents Road in Salford, and my favorite chippie. However, the central part of my story is about one night, when my route varied slightly. It was a fairly routine walk home when, as I was approaching Quay Street, two young ladies crossed my path. They looked to be about my age, had blond hair, and were wearing the clumpy shoes and miniskirts that were the fashion of the day. They crossed the road in front of me, and turned down the road that ran parallel to Quay Street, but a block earlier. Well all roads lead to Rome, and this street was just as direct a route for me, even though I had never been down it before. Now it did not take my half-stewed 20ish male brain long to debate whether or not I wanted to follow 30 feet behind two cuties, or just head home the normal way. I turned right and tagged along behind enjoying the view. Uncool, I know, but when you are that age, your hormones think for you. The walk was scenic but uneventful, until I was about 70 percent of the way down the road. At that point I heard a distinctive Crump! sound. It was not that loud, but it was unusual, and it echoed oddly. I paused, wondering what it was, and then I continued my walk. The two girls turned the corner at the bottom of the street and out of my sight. A few second later, I turned the corner too, but I was surprised to see that they were not there? Now I was disappointed I must admit. This bit of road was the most dreary section of the entire trip, and was definitely in need of the extra scenery. The unbroken brick wall of the docks lay on the far side of the street, and only the brick gable ends of the terraced streets lay on this side. There were no doorways, no alcoves, no shops, no windows, no nothing. It was all a bit of a mystery. There was no way at all that those girls could have disappeared, No cars passed. Even if one had stopped for them, I would have seen it when I turned the corner. I was only 40 feet or so behind. The only way was if they had sprinted, and I do mean sprinted, down the street to the next block. However, in a street lined with brick walls on concrete paving, those clumpy shoes -- assuming for a moment that you could actually run while wearing them without breaking an ankle -- would have made a noise like a horse galloping. There is no way that I would not have heard it. I must admit I looked around for them as I walked, and tried my best to figure out where they had gone, but I could never come up with a workable theory. This is all very forgettable so far, right, but now is where it gets weird. The next day the college was all abuzz. A terrorist bomb had been set off in Manchester but luckily, no one was seriously hurt. And where was this bomb, you ask? Well, it was on Quay Street, right outside an avant-garde furniture store called Habitat. I listened with interest, and then it hit me. It was this bomb going off that I had heard the night before. I could not afford a watch back then, but the timing of when I left the bar, and the walk across town sounded about right. The next time I made that walk, I once again followed the earlier street, and counted the paces to where I heard the bomb. The following trip, I paced the distance to the Habitat store instead. They were the same distance. I checked it twice more to be sure. Now the Habitat store was the very last interesting store on the walk, so I always stopped to look in the window. To my mind there is no doubt at all that if I had not followed those girls, I would have been standing right outside when the bomb went off, and I would have been killed. I lived in that area and went to the college for over five years. I never saw those girls before or after that day. I made that same walk on literally hundreds of occasions. I had never previously seen any girls on that stretch of road, nor did I ever see any again. Deserted industrial roads late at night are not that safe for young ladies, not even in England. I did not see those girls before I reached that point, even though they must have crossed town like me since there were no pubs, bars or clubs in that area. I had been zigzagging, so you would think I would have seen them earlier. It was as if they appeared, walked down that one stretch of road, and disappeared again. Wherever they came from, they saved my life. Now it has been almost forty years since this happened, and I may have messed up a detail or two in the story above. Twenty years ago, I would have remembered all the street names, not just one or two. Sometimes I think that the shorter girl may have had dark hair. However, the important facts have been related to the best of my ability. So, as I get older my mind often returns to the events of that night, and I come back to the same old question. Was this divine intervention, or was I just incredibly lucky? So sometimes, do angels wear miniskirts? * * *  |
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