THE MAGICIAN

You learn lots about romance while dating a magician. 

I met mine at my friend’s kid’s fifth birthday party. 

“You come to these things often?,” he asked, packing his vanishing chamber into his briefcase. 

“What, children’s parties?” 

“Sure.” 

“I guess?” 

He gave me his business card, an ace of spades with his phone number scribbled in disappearing ink. 

“Is this your card?” I asked, a flirty smile. 

“Yes.” He pulled on his top hat, missing the pun. “If you wish to be wowed, you know who to call.” 

*** 

My first date with the magician was a dazzling mess. 

He arrived 30 minutes late, peddling atop a penny farthing, his coat tails straddling the back wheel. 

“You’re late,” I teased when he sat down. 

He produced a bouquet of flowers from one sleeve, an apology. They were paper, but they smelled like roses. From the other, a long chain of silken handkerchiefs. 

“In case you’re compelled to cry,” he explained. 

And compelled, I was. Quickly. 

“I’m sorry,” I sniffed, pulling the never-ending chain hand over hand from his offered sleeve. “It’s just been so long since I felt close to someone.” 

Multi-coloured sparks glittered from our fingers as he took my hand in his.  

“A long time, indeed,” he said. His grinning teeth sparkled like all the stars in the milky way. 

“For you too?” 

“No.” He patted my head. “There, there.” 

“What can I get for you?” I jumped. It was our waitress. 

“What about…” The magician tipped his hat, producing a blinking white rabbit with red eyes. “Rabbit?” 

The waitress was nonplussed. “I know your kind,” she said. “We just have regular food.” She consulted her notebook. “And milkshakes. We have milkshakes.” 

*** 

The first time I fucked the magician, was in his Tower of Solitude. 

That’s what he called his bedroom. 

“Babe,” he said, lighting a candle with a snap of his fingers. “I’m gonna saw you in half.”  

He unbuttoned his trousers. 

Part way through, he paused and reached above my head to open the window. Sweat from his elbow dripped on my lips. 

 I liked the salty taste. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, quickly wiping the drop away. “That was supposed to be open already.” 

I shrugged. 

When he finished, he released a flock of white doves that disappeared out the open window. 

“What’d you think?” he asked, flopping down beside me. “Of the doves?” 

“Great,” I told him. “Very beautiful.” 

He smiled and pulled out a pipe, lighting it with his index finger. 

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a huge wardrobe against one wall. It was made of dark wood and all the hardware was ancient, tarnished brass. 

“My Cabinet,” he said, blowing rings of blue smoke, “of Curiosities.” 

“What’s in it?” I asked. 

“Secrets.” 

*** 

After I moved in with the magician, things started to go downhill. 

He practiced sleight of hand day and night. Or he’d walk around the house, arms cinched up tight in a straitjacket. 

“Watch as I escape the inescapable!” he cried. “Prepare for the unpreparable!” 

“Show me what’s inside the Cabinet of Curiosities!” I begged.  

He twisted out of the jacket and wiggled a white gloved finger at me. “A magician never reveals his tricks! You wouldn’t want to ruin the magic, would you?” 

He produced an old brass key from his waistcoat and pinched it between his forefinger and thumb. He held the key above his head and dropped it into his mouth, swallowing with a throaty gulp. 

I harrumphed and stormed away as he began to practice his contact juggling. What was in there? A magic mirror? A flying carpet? A tunnel to another world? 

One day, I just couldn’t stand him anymore. I turned away when he tried to kiss me goodbye and pushed his magic lamp behind the microwave before he could notice. After he’d pedaled off over the hill on his penny farthing, I crept into his Tower of Solitude. 

The cabinet stood in the shadows at the back of the room, heavy, imposing, dark. It reached from the floor, all the way to the ceiling. If it fell, it would flatten me until there was nothing left. 

I stood in front of the cabinet, holding my breath in the hollow, echoing silence. 

I rattled the handle. 

 Locked. 

I pulled harder.  

No luck. 

I ran to the kitchen and got the hammer from under the sink, and ran back to the cabinet and beat at the handle until the brass was bent and mangled and fell to the floor with a tinkle and a thud. 

The cat yowled and hissed. 

“Oh, shut up,” I told it, and pulled on the door again. 

The cabinet swung open, and I gawked. 

It was empty. Hollow. Just a regular cabinet with nothing inside. Not even a bag of measly magic beans. 

The front door opened and slammed. I gasped. 

“Honey,” called the magician, “Have you seen my magic lamp? I can’t find it!” 

He rounded the corner into the tower. His briefcase hit the floor with a thud. “Honey?” 

“I can explain,” I started. “Please–” 

But he just shook his head, his lips tight like I’d skipped to the punchline of his joke, or spoiled the end of his story, or told his dinner guests that the pie crust came from a frozen box.  

Or ruined the secret of his magic trick.  

His face went very white, and his breathing got quick and shallow. He was clammy. 

“Please,” I said again, quieter now. 

But he was already gone. He’d disappeared in a cloud of smoke. 

*** 

I miss the magician these days. I miss his tricks and his banter and the way we laughed together. I’m so bored and so lonely. Now I go on dates with non-magical municipal politicians, and non-magical electricians, and non-magical venture capitalists, and I feel nothing. They’re all pretty similar to the magician, just without the magic, of course.  

I wish I’d kept the cabinet closed. 

I wish I’d continued allowing myself to be dazzled and awed.