A Barstool, a Stranger, a Storyteller Win

I know I looked stunned. I was. I won $500 and the title of Long Beach’s Greatest Storyteller 2025 with this true tale.

Everyone seems to have that one friend who has seen a movie or TV show before you and gives away the ending. Right? Well, since my wife died, I’m that jerk these days with the spoiler alert that every one of us will die in the end. People want to believe we live forever, but when your most beloved person is gone, you go searching for answers.

I can’t say that I’ve always been driven by the woo-woo. But like most widowed people, I’m trying to figure out whatever may be beyond this world.

I lost my wife, Wendy, to colon cancer in October 2022. On the last day she was in a coma, I leaned in and whispered that if she could figure out a way to talk to me, I would figure out ways to listen.

So last year, on our wedding anniversary, I decided to meet a friend at a bar to shoot pool because I didn’t want to sit home alone. I arrived a little early, so I sat at the end of the empty bar and waited. Out of nowhere, a guy sat right next to me and asked if he could buy me a drink. It’s a gay bar, and I couldn’t figure out why he’d hit on me. Plus, there were at least 10 other barstools. Why this one?

I told him I was waiting for a friend.

He said he just wanted to talk to me and that as soon as my friend got there, he would leave. So I accepted, and the bartender opened the beer in front of me so there was no question about the drink.

He first talked about some topics I ignored, but he caught my attention by saying the last two years had been difficult for him as a screenwriter. Interesting, because my wife had been dead two years. So now, I’m listening.

He continued and asked me about favorite quotes. “Do you know who said, ‘If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start’?” I told him I didn’t, and he seemed a little perplexed, as if I should. Then he pulled out his phone, hit a button and audio from Charles Bukowski immediately played. That was an author Wendy read a lot. Now, he had my full attention.

This guy never asked my name, but told me his was Raphael.

I wasn’t thinking his mother was a Mutant Ninja Turtles fan, but instead—well, perhaps Archangel Raphael popping in on my anniversary.

So when he asked me what I did, I just smiled. He asked why, and I said that I was also a writer. He immediately asked what I dreamed about because every writer has dreams. I told him that since my wife died, I don’t have any dreams anymore.

He got all choked up and almost looked like he was going to cry.

And then he said that we had to write something together.

I was still a little freaked out by our meeting, but Raphael asked the bartender for a piece of paper and a pen and asked how I wanted to start the story.

Just days before, a medium told me that I should get a piece of paper and, at the top, just write “Chapter One,” and that’s how Wendy would start talking to me. I had tried. I went to the beach, I meditated and cleared my mind, and I sat with a pad of paper. Nothing came. So, I gave up the concept.

But this night, I thought, well, OK. Fine. If I’m going to play this game with a possible archangel, I told him, “Chapter One.”

Then he immediately wrote: “She used to ask me all kinds of questions. I loved being able to answer. I loved our conversations.”

I stared at him, ready to burst into tears. I asked him if he believed in mediums. He quickly said, “No, I have my own energy to talk to people. I don’t need to get energy from anyone else.”

Just as I thought that was a weird answer to my question, my friend Karina showed up. Because I was still taken aback, I simply went with her, thanked Raphael and walked away. I was starting to explain to Karina what happened, but when I turned around halfway across the bar, Raphael was gone. I looked everywhere and even asked Karina and the bartender if they had seen him because I wondered if he was a figment of my imagination. They admitted they saw him sitting with me, but neither had seen him come or go.

Now, I’m not trying to convince anyone of anything because I still have difficulty wrapping my head around it. But even Einstein said that energy cannot be created or destroyed, so it’s got to go somewhere. And perhaps it materializes on a bar stool to share a message from a loved one every now and then.