Magic by David Molina

 

Magic

It is the worst time for flying - Christmas Eve, pouring rain, wind gusts up to 60 miles per hour. My flight is delayed, then canceled. The departure gate is filled with cranky, sleep-deprived passengers with no hope of going anywhere. My backpack is stuffed under my seat. I keep my arms on my lap to avoid burly arms on either side of me.

Across from me is a mother with two children. Her special needs teenage boy is squirming and grunting. The mother and younger sister are gently trying to calm him. The frazzled passengers are exasperated by the boy’s noises and commotion.

This is bothering Burly Arm. He stares at the family and mutters, “Happy Crappy Christmas!”

Wishing a Crappy Christmas is neither necessary nor kind, but I wish him well, whatever his struggles may be. My grandpa would tell me to give a person the benefit of the doubt not only for the other, but as importantly for the benefit of oneself.

My grandpa is dying far across the country. I don’t know whether I will see him in time to say my goodbye. My grandma urged me to come as soon as I could. But I can’t afford this trip. I was laid off six months ago. She doesn’t know my rent is overdue, and of course I won’t tell her. If I tell her my circumstances, she would surely send me a check. But I cannot allow her to worry about me while she is caring for her dying husband.

My daughter Kelly knows how much the trip means to me. But I know she is in no position to help me. I paid her college tuition for her junior year before the layoff, but I have no savings left to pay for next year. I urged her to seek financial aid immediately.

A week ago, she called me. “Dad, I am sending you money. The college offered me emergency financial aid.”

“Sweetheart! Please don’t do that. I can make do. I picked up some hours of nighttime janitorial work at the high school.”

“When?”

“Just last week.”

There was a silent pause. “Dad, when do you get your paycheck? Because if you need the plane ticket right away, I can send you the money.”

My sweet Kelly. My success in raising a thoughtful, kind, and generous young woman relieves the ache of my failed career.

The Burly Arm guy suddenly stands up and walks across the aisle. He loudly berates the mother for her disabled son bothering all the “normal” people, before he scuttles off to use the restroom.

The mother sits next to her son and daughter, her shoulders slumped. She is more tired than anyone. I notice her young daughter caressing her mother’s hands and giving her a kiss on her mom’s cheek.

I can’t bear to sit and watch. I grab my backpack, and walk across to where they sit.

“What’s your son’s name?” I ask the mother gently. Her eyes look up at me, searching to see whether I, a stranger, is friend or foe. “Jimmy,” she offers, in an uncertain voice.

I reach into my backpack. “Jimmy, do you believe in magic?”

Jimmy’s eyes roll over towards me. He makes a sound, a grunt, but I can see his eyes focus on me.

I turn to his younger sister. “And you, young lady? Do you believe in magic also?” She nods yes. Then I turn toward their mother. “With your permission, would you let me to show them some magic? It may help pass the time.”

The mother hesitates for a moment. I produce two small red balls from my left ear. The little girl gasps, and her brother smiles. Before the mother answers, I begin to juggle the balls with one hand. The children are gazing in wonder. In a flash, I pluck a third ball from my nose. Now I am juggling all three. I can see that the mother is beginning to believe in magic, too.

I produce an assortment of handkerchiefs, magically appearing and disappearing up and down my sleeves and pockets. I make cards and coins magically disappear and reappear, the works. The mother, like her children, is in a state of wonder. I have to skip the smoke and flame tricks - this is an airport - but nevertheless, my routine keeps Jimmy happy, his sister amazed, and their mother magically younger. And to my eyes, all magically beautiful.

I can see the wound-up travelers sitting nearby are also watching my magic show. They momentarily forget their woes. Magically, for a few precious moments, my tricks transport angry old ladies and grumpy old men back to when they were kids. Back to when they believed in magic and Christmas. It lasts for just a few minutes, but it counts a lot. Particularly to the mother, I notice,

As I wind down my act, Burly Arms Crappy Christmas returns to his seat. I guess his trip to the restroom did the job. Or is it my magic that cut the Crap out of Christmas?

The departure screen flashes and resets. My flight will now be leaving from a different terminal. I feel a glimmer of hope for actually going somewhere, sometime today. Maybe even arriving on Christmas Day. Maybe in time to say goodbye to my grandfather. Maybe even to tell him how the magic tricks he taught me so many years ago are still being put to good use.

That would be the best gift of all.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder, turn towards the next terminal, and wish a Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good flight.