The Magician

The Magician

I love my sister, but the bum that she married took off and left her with an eight-year-old to raise by herself. Why does a man do that to a woman as good as my sister?

“Peaches are located on aisle six, Sir, right under the sign that says canned fruit,” I tell a customer.

Last time my sister left the kid alone, he set the place on fire. Time before that, he let off a stink bomb. The neighbors called the fire department.

“No, we don’t carry tires, Ma’am,” I tell another customer as I stack cereal boxes into an inviting display.

My nephew's no juvenile delinquent. It’s just that the only thing his father left behind was a copy of the Magician’s Sourcebook.

“No, you can’t leave early, Simon,” I tell the boy who’s being trained as cashier. “You’re scheduled to work from 8:00 to 12:00, and I need you to work those hours.”

My nephew is running around loose in the store. Good thing I go looking for him. He’s got his hands all tied up trying to “Thread the Needle.” When he sees me, his eyes light up, and he says, “Uncle Clarence, look; I’ve almost got it!”

Kevin's hair stands straight up like an unmowed orange lawn. His freckled face is a dot-to-dot waiting to be penciled in, but his eyes sparkle with green effervescence. He makes me smile.

I groan as I catch myself doing it. The two seconds it takes me to come out of the spell is what he uses to show me his “Rope Handcuff Trick.”

I call Simon away from the cash register. The customer’s face darkens with irritation and then splits into a beam of laughter when he sees my situation.

“Ha! He’s got you good, this time,” says old Charlie, a senior citizen who always hangs around looking for mismarked cans he can buy. Charlie waves his cane at me and then turns to check out the candy bars.

Simon makes his way back to me, but he first takes a moment to nibble a couple of French fries like he’s starving.

“Boss,” Simon says. “I understand about not getting off early, but if you was to give me a little raise, I could . . .”

“Get this shoestring off my hands, Simon, or you’re going to join the 'Unemployee of the Month Club'!”

Simon grins, sets his bag of fries down, and wipes his hands on his shirt. “Okay,“ he says. “I just thought that tied-up as you are . . .”

“Not a good time to discuss anything, Simon,” I emphasize, as Kevin’s efforts to release me yank my wrists into two licorice twists.

Meanwhile, Charlie has unwrapped a candy bar and is chewing away. The look on his face, so serenely content in its ecstasy, makes me forget my situation, especially when Charlie slaps some coins down on the counter, picks up his can of peaches, and strides away with a “Catch you later, Clarence.”

“Charlie, you get back in here,” I yell, but Charlie’s hobbling away, his cane beating a rhythm faster than Gene Kelly’s in the middle of a tap dance.

Simon eventually cuts off the tie that binds, and I hobble off to check the amount Charlie left behind, while Kevin and my employee companionably munch fries and discuss magic tricks.

Later Kevin manages to knock over three jars of mayonnaise. The greasy slop oozes out, a dangerous slime trail across the aisle. I send Kevin for a broom and dustpan, Simon for a mop and a hot bucket of soapy water, and I circle the area with orange road-guards.

Charlie chooses that moment to drop in again. I’ve already paid for his candy bar so the cash register will balance. I greet him wearily, wondering what he’s going to pull this time.

“Been playing catch with the mayonnaise jars?” he asks, grinning like a jack-o-lantern ready to light up.

“Kevin did another magic trick,” I explain.

“Which one?” Charlie asks, leaning against the pillar of cereal boxes.

“Charlie, that’s not stable,” I yell just before the boxes teeter over.

Charlie starts to help fix the mess –something mighty risky for a guy unstable on his feet, but Kevin and Simon have returned with what I sent them for. I order them to restack the boxes and try to prevent Charlie from stepping in the mayonnaise mess.

A customer interrupts this process, demanding to know who’s at the register. I send Simon. The cash box is closed down when there’s no one there, but I know it’s still not good to turn my back on it.

Kevin stacks, Charlie watches, Simon rings up groceries, and I scoop up mayonnaise, all the time listening to Kevin talking about the “Vanishing Salt Shaker Trick” that didn’t work right.

That afternoon when my sister comes for Kevin, her eyes droop worse than her shoulders. She’s my younger sister, but her hair has been fading to gray, and her body’s taking on an old lady’s carriage. I shove a bag of groceries into her arms and say, “No trouble, at all, but leave the magic book at home next Saturday, Kevin. Okay?”

Kevin turns around. His effervescent eyes lose their sparkle, and he looks just like my sister. What can I do but say, “Nah, Kevin. I was just kidding. Bring the book. We’ll try some more tricks, ok?”

Kevin’s eyes light up again. His body wiggles like a puppy’s. “Thanks, Uncle Clarence! You’re the best!”

My sister mouths a silent "thank you" and turns to leave. It may be my imagination, but as she adjusts the bag of groceries and walks away, I think I see her shoulders rise just a bit.

I sigh, but then I smile.