EARLY BIRD

I came and went all day yesterday, swimming early, returning a computer monitor for a refund then to a computer class across town. Changed from the car to pickup and picked up my power-washer at the small engine repair shop; my day was like riding a yoyo. It was when afternoon and evening found each other, I sat down and closed my eyes. When I opened them, even if it was only for a couple of minutes, I knew I had been off the grid. In the kitchen, the counter top was screaming, “Put stuff away and clean me.” Dusty window sills and picture frames were screaming too. Jackets and sweat shirts on the backs of chairs wanted to be hung up and they were yelling at me. The carpet chimed in, “Run the sweeper before I choke.” In the bedroom it was like a pen full of barking dogs. I thought to myself, ‘Where do I start?’ 

Then out of the ‘blue’, the voice of that 11-year old who lives inside my head, the one who gives me unsolicited advice and mocks my intelligence; he says, “Let’s get out of here.” So, how can you argue with that? I’d been running all day, why stop now? Earlier, on the radio, I heard a public service announcement for family night at the Plaza Branch Library. At 6:30 they were having a magician. I hadn’t seen live, up closer magic in a long time so I dug out my keys, fished a jacket off the back of a chair and headed out. I arrived a half hour early, not thinking of course. I wanted a good, front row seat. Normally you arrive early to get a good seat but no parent or grandparent wants to sit with little kids, with nothing to entertain them for any length of time. I was the only early bird. 

I chose a seat on the far-right front row. At about 6:20, they all swooped in like starlings on my bird feeder. A lady sat down, leaving an empty seat between us. She was grandmother-ish with a 6-ish boy in tow. She wore an old, out of style, camouflage jacket. Her hair wasn’t really red, it was dyed vermillion, pulled up on top of her head with a rubber band. The boy was excited and they talked. She asked questions that made him think and she listened closely to everything he said. As the show was about to begin, she went through an obviously well worn check list about his behavior. She concluded with, “You know, if you have a melt-down, we will have to leave.” His enthusiasm went dry for a moment and he nodded his understanding. The program started; my neighbors kept up an endless stream of questions and answers in both directions and I sensed that the show had two venues, the one on stage and the one two chairs removed. 

After the magician produced a real-deal, white rabbit the boy couldn’t contain himself. He had to stand up, inching toward the steps that led up on stage. She restrained him verbally with no anxiety, not threatening. The magician needed a volunteer and the boy really, really wanted to be that volunteer. But it had to be a girl. He was fraught with disappointment, almost too much to be contained but he managed. They did the rope trick where he cuts the rope into pieces and the volunteer holds the pieces. Then when she gives them back he magically restores the rope to a single piece. Still standing, still shuffling his feet toward the stage, my little neighbor was beside himself. He wanted to be up on the stage so bad it hurt. When it came time for a boy volunteer, he didn’t wait for the magician to choose one; he started up the steps. Lucky, we were over on the far side of the stage where nobody was watching. The lady was able to call him back but he was distraught. Stamping his feet, waving his arms, crying; all he could do was protest. The “M” word come up, melt-down, and he collected himself a little bit but it would’t last. He wanted to be the volunteer and another boy had been picked. He inched forward only to be called back. In a last act of disappointment he threw himself down in the empty seat between his grandmother and myself, he missed the chair. In a heap on the floor he launched into a tirade. He wasn’t injured but I’m sure it didn’t feel good either. They had words, I looked around and nobody was watching us. The audience was watching the magic and laughing. It was like our own little time warp, our own little bubble. For almost an hour, I was torn between competing performances; one rehearsed, the other spontaneous. 

I could end the story here but it’s not the end. I can’t be sure but I am a storyteller and I make things up. I’m guessing but I guess that vermillion hair grandmother or neighbor or friend spends a lot of time with the boy. I have friends who would have taken her to task for not beating his ass but it was clear to me, he was’t a spoiled brat. She understood, he was doing the best he could. Sometimes you have a life and sometimes it has you. I never had to bear the burden of caring for an autistic or schizophrenic or otherwise broken child. It's always protracted, dealing with those demons comes after the fact and we never catch up. I’m still guessing but I guess the end of this story is in doubt, too many question marks between the magic show and Ever-after. What I took home wasn't rabbits in hats or ropes that repair themselves, it was the magic of ordinary people who become the person that someone needs, rather than the one they would rather  be.