Blind Date With a Demon

The late afternoon light slanted across Columbus Circle, turning the stone edge of Central Park gold. Though most people could appreciate this aesthetic–Augustin Fontenot could not–because he had been born physically blind. That being said, he perceived the spiritual world as clearly as you or I register this one.

The older man stood on the sidewalk for a long moment, one hand on his wooden cane, the other fingering the rosary in his pocket. The air smelled of grilled Lamb, frying dough, and exhaust. At fifty-seven, the other abled Black Cajun widower had not wanted to go on this date, but his friend Rafi had worn him down.

After several weeks of being harangued, Augustin gave in to his friend’s persistent badgering. It had been ten years since Vercie, his wife of thirty-six years, had gone home to be with the Lord. Tonight, he would once again be entering the chaos of the dating scene. This ritual was something he was most definitely NOT looking forward to.

The restaurant where the date was supposed to take place was called The Garden Gate. It was a modest Italian place just off 59th. Augustin pushed open the heavy glass door as he arrived. A wave of garlic, warm bread, and perfume washed over him.

The moment he stepped inside, a cold spike drove straight through his chest. Someone was sitting alone near the window just to his left. He could tell that much — the faint shift of weight, the soft exhale, the almost imperceptible rustle of fine fabric. A woman. Still. The kind of still that the living rarely managed on their own.

He was blind to everything else about her.

But layered over her, writhing like smoke and broken glass, was the demon. Ancient. Hungry — and very amused at this situation. It coiled across what he sensed beneath it: something small and luminous and trapped, a human spirit pressed down like an ember under a stone, still burning, still there — which somehow made it worse.

What struck Augustin even more was the trace of the human beneath it all: a sharp, intelligent mind that had formerly been curious and ambitious, now exhausted and trapped. He sensed fragments — late-night books, broken relationships, a hunger for power, which had opened the wrong door years ago.

The tired Cajun widower wasn’t having any of this nonsense tonight: “Oh… Hell no,” Augustin muttered, voice low and thick with Louisiana gravel. He turned sharply and pushed back out the door.

“Augustin?” Her voice followed, smooth as honey over broken glass, with a faint Trinidadian lilt. “Wait, cher… please.”

She caught up to him on the sidewalk, gracefully walking in her heels. “I know how this looks,” she said, a touch of tired humor in her manner. “A woman my age is still doing blind dates. But Rafi spoke so highly of you -- a man of real faith, real depth. I thought maybe... someone like you might understand complicated lives.” For a moment, the human woman seemed to surface, almost hopeful, before the demon’s presence surged again.

Augustin kept walking, the cane tapping hard. “I see you”, he growled. “Both ya’ll in dat dere vessel. De woman and de ting riding ‘er. Go back to whatever pit you slithered out of, foul and unclean spirit.”

Yet she continued following, steadfast, but no longer purely aggressive. “You think I chose this?” she said in a soft voice. “You have no idea how long it’s been since I sat across from a man who wasn’t afraid of me... or trying to use me.”

Augustin moved toward the cluster of food trucks at the southwest edge of Central Park. The rich smells of cumin, charred corn, and fresh cilantro led him to the bright truck with the glowing cross:

There it stood, like a beacon of light in the midst of the darkness. He saw it. A food truck with the name HOLY GUACAMOLE. It registered in the spirit even more obnoxiously bright than in the physical realm.

The menu boasted a Kosher-Mexican Fusion • Mahi-Mahi and Fresh Fruit Tacos • Craft Cerveza and a host of mashup sides to boot.

Recognizing the one standing in the open window of the food truck, he cried out. “Lawd…” Augustin breathed in awe. “Lawd, is that really you?”

Manny J. Christo (Christ in human disguise) looked up, eyes kind and ancient. “In the flesh, little brother. For tonight, anyway.”

The demon inside the possessed woman hissed at the kiKingf creation, but there was a strain in its reaction now. Knowing who it faced, the dark entity decided it was better to remain silent in its contempt for him than to be cast out openly and publicly in the middle of 21st-century New York City by the King of Kings himself.

Manny stepped out with two plates. “Both of you, take a seat. And chill out.”

They sat at the small metal table. The woman’s hands trembled slightly as she smoothed her dress — a very human gesture. The demon inside her was terrified of Manny’s presence, yet the woman beneath seemed almost relieved.

Looking at the terrified spirit, Manny opened his mouth and said, “Peace,” gently. “Be still.” His voice was calm and gentle, as it had been in that boat on the sea of Galilee, nearly two thousand years ago–speaking as one would in soothing a crying baby.

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The demon wanted to go rigid, but found itself unable to be anxious, as its master had brought it to a place of peace and rest, with his simple, loving words.

Manny sat with them, giving them a wide, wry smile as he handed each one a cold bottle of cerveza. “This date is part of my plan–enjoy.”

Augustin stared at his plate. “Lawd… Why did you set me up with this demon on purpose?”

With a sigh, Manny spoke: “Do you not recall that I commanded you to love your enemies?”

“But Lawd, that didn’t mean demons!”

Shaking his head, the KiKingf the Universe answered his wayward disciple in a disappointed tone.

“I know who I meant when I said it then, and it still holds the same broad scope today that it held back then.”

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Taking a sip of cerveza himself, he continued.

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“Augustin, who would you call your greatest enemy?”

Perking up with a renewed sense of accusatory gusto, the old Cajun man replied, “Why the devil nd his angels, of course, lawd.”

Manny leaned into the table, resting his forehead heavily against his fingertips as a sigh escaped his lips. He shook his head slowly. “How long, Dad, am I gonna have to deal with this willful blindness in my people?”

Looking directly into Augustin’s eyes, he said, “Loving and forgiving your enemies means loving and forgiving the fallen as well as other people.”

The woman leaned forward, the demon using her voice with mocking precision, quoting from the Book of Enoch — the ancient apocryphal text — chapter 14, verses 1–5.

“1 This book is the word of righteousness, and of reproof, for the Watchers who are from Eternity; as the Holy and Great One commanded in that vision.

2 I saw in my sleep what I will now tell, with the tongue of flesh, and with my breath, which the Great One has given men in the mouth, so that they might speak with it, and understand with the heart. 3 As He has created and appointed men to understand the word of knowledge, so He created and appointed me to reprove the Watchers, the sons of Heaven. 4 And I wrote out your petition. Still, in my vision, thus it appeared, that your petition would not be granted to you, for all the days of Eternity. Complete judgment has been decreed against you, and you will not have peace.”5 And from now on, you will not ascend into Heaven, for all Eternity. It has been decreed that you will be bound on Earth for all the days of Eternity, mocking Manny, the demon continued smugly. “Do tell, Son of God, how you can make that claim in a clear contradiction of what your own Father decreed should stand for eternity.” She defiantly looked at him with an incredulous expression, swirling the bottle of cerveza in a triumphant sense of “I got you.”

Yet even in this mockery, Augustin caught the exhaustion in her tone — centuries of fighting, of watching humans receive mercy while she remained chained to pride and regret. He was actually feeling a sense of empathy–almost.

Manny answered with compassion, “It’s all a matter of timing.”

“Timing?”

“Yeah, timing. Let me explain.”

“YOU have my undivided attention, son of God.”

Manny began, “The price had to be paid for humanity to be redeemed FIRST. After that, they were given authority to forgive YOUR sins.”

“But I thought…” Augustin began to speak before Manny raised his hand.

“Do you think I would allow ANY OF YOU the authority to abrogate my forgiveness for even one of you after I paid that price? That would be a clear violation of free will. Not one of you has the maturity and wisdom to say who has the wherewithal to be saved or not.”

With a heavy sigh, Manny pushed himself up from the table and locked eyes with Augustin. The ball is in your court now, little brother. Will you forgive this one or pass?” He then walked back to the truck, leaving the pair alone to work things out for themselves.

The woman — Elena — looked across the table at Augustin. For the first time, the demon’s hold was visibly weakened. Her dark eyes were wet. “My name is Elena Moreau,” she said quietly, voice cracking. “I was a professor… Folklore and Ancient Religions. I thought I was studying them. Turns out I invited one in. That was twenty-three years ago. I’ve watched myself do things I never wanted… hurt people I cared about.”

She laughed bitterly.

“And now here I am, on a blind date with a blind seer who wants nothing to do with me because I am a vessel for this–thing–that has taken up residence in me. Poetic, isn’t it?”

Augustin sat quietly, visions flashing through him: a brilliant young woman in a university library, late nights of research turning into dangerous rituals, the slow suffocation of her soul. He also saw flickers of kindness still buried inside her — small acts of resistance against the demon over the years.

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“I ain’t got de power to save ya,” he said finally, his Cajun drawl thick with emotion. “Only the blood got that powa. But if the Lawd is giving me a choice tonight… I choose not to hate you or the demon in you. I choose to stand in the gap.”

He took her hand. The contact sent a flood of images through him. The demon fought viciously, but Elena was trying to resist, afraid to accept the forgiveness being offered.

Elena’s own will — strengthened by the Presence of Lamby and Augustin’s reluctant obedience — pushed back, joining his in forgiving the dark spirit.

Augustin began to pray aloud, steady and fervent, clutching his rosary. “Jesus, defend us in battle… By yo shed blood o Lamb… grant us the strength to forgive this one. Even tho we are frail and full of strong emotions, not wanting to forgive, you said do it, so we do, in spite o our weak flesh.”

At first, there was a long silence. Then a soft, almost timid “Thank you.” Then it was gone. Elena slumped forward. When she lifted her head, the writhing shadow was gone. Tears streamed down her face. “We did it.”

Augustin answered, “No, Elena — His love and forgiveness, the grace He gave us to give — that’s what did it. Set both you and the demon free.”

She whispered. “I… I can breathe again.”

The older man exhaled shakily. “Since we’s already here, let’s eat… de food’s still warm.”

The couple began talking about other things, and an instant rapport developed.

A soft, warm chuckle drifted from the food truck. “Told you it was part of the plan.”

EKing glanced at Augustin, and he caught the quiet smile she offered — small, unhurried, like someone still learning what safe felt like.

As evening settled over Central Park, Augustin Fontenot sat with a freed woman, sharing mahi-mahi tacos under the quiet watch of the One who had arranged the impossible blind date. He still didn’t understand everything. But mercy had won tonight.

Unseen by most, a lone spirit, once lost to darkness, now redeemed, knelt before the King.

“Rise, Araqiel, my redeemed watcher. Welcome home.”

The redeemed one wept tears of joy.

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