The Illusionist

“It's all just a trick, you know,” said the man in the white coat. “A deception.”

He had warm eyes that sparkled in the reflection of the stage lights, and his smile, despite his cynicism, managed to hold onto that boyish sense of wonder so many others had lost years ago, that same wonder they all payed thirty-five bucks a ticket to reclaim, if only for an evening.

“Yeah, I know,” she replied, not sure if she should be offended. “Why? Do I look like the kind of person who believes that guy in the eyeliner can really cut a girl in half and put her back together?”

“Of course you know, but the question is...,” he paused for dramatic emphasis and turned to her with a grin. “Do you know?”

“Yes, I know he's not really magic.”

“It's not just the magic,” the man said. “This. The lights, the performance. All of it is a lie. No one here actually believes it and he knows it, but every night he steps on stage and calls himself a magician and every night we pretend to believe him.”

She turned away from him, determined not to let him ruin the performance for her. The magician's assistant wheeled a cabinet onto the stage and, with the help of the magician, made a grand show of demonstrating how solid the ornate box was.

“Of course, we don't call it lies. We call it an illusion, because lies hurt. Lies are malicious, made to keep us from realizing how awful the world is, to hide an evil, like a fresh coat of paint on rotting wood. But an illusion, that's the opposite isn't it. It's a deception created to make the world more beautiful, to convince us that there is still goodness and hope and wonder.”

He paused, expectantly. The magician stepped into the box, once more demonstrating the cabinet's sturdy construction. She turned to the man in the white coat, waiting for him to continue his rambling, but instead he sat staring straight forward, engrossed in the show. He didn't even notice her. She huffed to herself, wishing he'd leave her alone. Still, she felt compelled to ask the the begged question.

“Is that why you come here? To be convinced?”

“Me?” He broke his gaze from the stage as though surprised, and shook his head. “Nah. I already believe there's goodness in the world. I come to watch others believe.”

“And you don't think talking the whole time, saying things like 'It's all lies' and 'The dove was up his sleeve,' you don't think that ruins the illusion?”

“A little, I suppose, but it does prove my point doesn't it?”

The magician's assistant, a shapely brunette in a black sequined leotard, locked the cabinet shut, and rotated the box to show it from all sides. To further illustrate the wooden box's impenetrable nature, she wrapped a chain around it and locked it as well.

“Which is?”

“You said yourself you know this guy isn't really doing magic, but you hate when someone points it out. Deep down inside, you want to believe there are still amazing people in the world, and you'd rather accept an optimistic lie than a pessimistic truth. You want the illusion. We all do.”

She thought about it for a moment, sighed, and watched the cabinet.

“There's no shame in it,” he continued. “When I was a kid, my mom left us and my dad never really got over it, so mostly I had to take care of my brother. Wasn't fun a lot of the time. But every time a magic show came to town, I made sure I scraped up enough money for my little brother and me to go see it. I was too old to believe in magic, but he wasn't, and it was enough for me to watch him believe for the both of us. He's flying into town in the morning, going through a nasty divorce. I thought I'd take him to see this guy, but wanted to make sure the he was good. I could watch him believe in something wonderful again.”

She cast a sideways glance at him and smirked, then applauded when the assistant unlocked the cabinet and revealed it to be empty.

“I know, it's corny, but I just can't buy into all of this. Am I really supposed to accept that this guy with the lip ring and makeup and fishnets can disappear at will and that this... this douche bag looking guy... wouldn't use it for selfish ends? That's not going to convince me that the world is a wonderful place. But seeing all of these people, being surrounded by hundreds of strangers who want to believe in that kind of goodness and honesty, even for a little while? That's the illusion I came here to see. A room full of people trusting in the goodness of humanity.”

“You're right,” she chuckled. “It's corny. But it's sweet. I never really thought of it that way.”

A chest that had been hanging over the stage throughout the whole show lowered, and the assistant undid its lock. The audience gasped and applauded when the magician stepped out. All except the man in the white coat. He looked at the crowd and smiled. She caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye and couldn't help but smile too.

After the show, he bought her dinner at a little greasy spoon he used to go to with his brother. The burgers were fatty and delicious, the meat juicy and well seasoned and the dressings fresh. She told him about her childhood as an army brat, and he told her about his brief tour in Afghanistan and his medical discharge. They talked about their favorite movies and caught a midnight showing of Casablanca at an arthouse cinema downtown. Afterward, they hopped the fence and walked out to the old pier where they had both gone fishing as kids, and they wondered if they'd met years ago as children. There, on the withered wood over the gently lapping waves, they made love and watched the sun rise in each other's arms. She sighed and he held her closer.

As they got dressed, he glanced at his watch. Six thirty-seven. He frantically grabbed at clothes and threw them on, fumbling at his belt.

“What's the matter?” she asked.

“My brother's flight. I'm running late...” He shoved his feet into his shoes, not even bothering to put on his socks or tie his laces.

She picked up her pace and also hurried to get dressed, sliding into her underwear and jeans. “I'm so sorry,” she apologized. “This is my fault. You even said last night he was arriving in the morning.”

He grabbed her shoulders and held her for a moment, staring deep into her eyes. “None of this is your fault. I should have paid more attention to the time.”

She smiled and after a moment, they broke off their gaze and scrambled for the last of their clothes, darting along the old pier, along the damp sand to his car. When they reached the magic club, he quickly hopped out of the car and opened the door for her.

“Look,” he said, “I know this was way more impulsive than either of us expected and we don't really know each other that well, but I would really like to see you again. Coffee or lunch or something. No pressure.”

“Yeah,” she smiled, adjusting her shirt. “Yeah, I'd like that. When?”

“I don't know. My mind's still frantic about my brother, but if you'll give me just a second...” He leaned into the car and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a scrap of paper. He snatched a pen from the cup holder and handed it to her.

“Pardon if this is a little forward,” he joked, his sweet eyes showing the same boyish wonder, “but could I have your number?”

She smiled and scribbled a few digits, then offered the paper and pen back to him. “You will call me, right?”

He scribbled his own number down on the bottom half of the scrap and tore it, giving her half as he shoved the other in his pocket. “If I don't, you call me and give me an earful about it.”

He gave her a quick kiss and hopped back into the car, racing off toward the airport, waving in his rear view mirror as he drove. She smiled, and the warmth of it radiated over her body, setting her aglow. In her own car she sat and did a little dance. Then she pulled out the slip of paper to add him into her phone. She uncrumbled the scrap, and her heart sank as she read the ten familiar digits in handwriting she'd known all her life. In his hurry, he'd accidentally given her the wrong half of the paper.

She thought about going to the airport, but didn't want to come off as a stalker. She would feel out of place interrupting a close family reunion. She could go to see the magician again, but he never said what night he was taking his brother. She couldn't afford to go every night, and even if she could, the auditorium sat a couple thousand. She had no guarantee she would find him. Perhaps if she just waited outside when the show let out, they would meet again. And if not, she would content herself in knowing the world still had at least one decent guy left in it, and that was something wonderful to believe.