The magician on the television invited his audience to discern how he worked
his prestidigitation, and little Timmy was anxious to learn.
The magician said, ”Belief is the key.”
So Timmy drew close to watch belief, with full attention to the mystery,
knowing this T.V. moment would be brief and knowing, “the hand’s quicker
than the eye,” watched only the magician’s face and eyes.
Since showmanship’s just believing the lie, the secret he learned was to
hypnotize oneself into a strong state of pretend, till, with dramatic
surprise, it happened.
The first time Timmy attempted the trick, he found that he could restore
something torn. He practiced for polish, to make it slick, to stand up to
potential sibling scorn. Although he and his brother got on well, he and
his sister were at constant war. To “show her,” it would have to be, “real
swell.”
This was magic that she couldn’t ignore, or so he thought, but when he went
to her with his magic, she wouldn’t even look, until he tore the candy-bar
wrapper. Then, all she asked about was if he took the candy from Mom’s
special hiding place and warned he’d be in trouble and disgrace.
And then she ran off to tattle on him. He should have known this was what
Donna’d do, that his chance of impressing her was slim, but there was
something right now that he knew was going to happen unless he could get rid
of the candy-bar confetti. Donna would make sure he’d “get punished good.”
Theft from Mom’s hiding place was not petty.
He closed his eyes and focused his belief that he could make the pieces
disappear, then sprinkled them like a crushed autumn leaf; they fell from
one hand to ... no longer here. Though Timmy couldn’t say where they had
gone, it was a life-saving phenomenon!
He lied, of course, and said she’d made it up. Since Mom could find no
evidence, he won; but Donna was entirely fed-up and vowed revenge upon him
“for this one.”
“It’s your fault for being a tattle-tale,” he told her, “and you missed the
magic trick.” But Donna insisted she wouldn’t fail to make him suffer, if
it made her sick.
Timmy took his magic act on the road to his brother’s room where he thought
there’d be at least a less dramatic episode if not a better audience to see
all the tricks that he was learning to do and this wisdom he’d begun to
accrue.
Though busy with term papers, Don agreed to watch a few minutes of Timmy’s
tricks. Don loved Timmy and knew how he could plead and how relentlessly he
could transfix. His experience with Timmy taught him, if he gave-in
quickly, work resumed. Besides he needed the break, so he thought, and this
would be amusing, he assumed.
So little Timmy, unaided by props or magical apparatus, performed a magic
act that took out all the stops and left his older brother quite
transformed.
“I don’t believe my sanity is gone; the kid’s performing real magic,”
thought Don.
A thousand thoughts at once inside his head made him feel both euphoric and
dizzy. He recalled what their Dad had always said, “When you feel
overwhelmed, just get busy.”
First, he’d have to think through priorities, and calming down was his first
choice and then maybe he should call the authorities. But, might Timmy be
made a specimen? This, assuming anyone believed him; either crazy or a
comedian is what they’d prob’ly think. No, it looked grim, Unless his
brother could do it again.
That’s it! He’d have to gather evidence before he’d get anyone’s
confidence.
He’d need another witness, and why not drag Sally into this, since she
possessed the video equipment he did not. Besides, she was his
“Damsel-Never-Stressed.” If anyone could calmy reason out a situation this
bizarre, surreal, it would be Sally without any doubt. There wasn’t a thing
he couldn’t reveal to her that she didn’t react to calmly and rationally and
in perfect control -- all of her emotions kept well in hand.
“Who’m I fooling with this rigamorale? When she hears, she’ll scream,
suspect alcohol,’ or worse. Even she’s not that calm a soul.”
More immediately, what should he say to the six-year-old wizard before him?
He decided it best to gain delay from this blue-eyed, tow-headed cherubim
who, though burdensome now, was his brother. He also knew he wouldn’t want
to see the heart attack this would give their mother, if sprung upon her as
surprisingly.
“Timmy, can I make a few suggestions? Your tricks are great, but your
routine could be worked on. Can I ask you a few questions about what you
can do and how, maybe? And would you mind waiting before you play magician
for anyone else today?”
With promises that Timmy was to star in a video of his magic act, Don got
agreement and dashed to his car, but Timmy’d missed the spirit of their
pact.
He’d agreed there’d be no demonstration, but not that he wouldn’t continue
to practice and indulge his exploration of his special talents and what he
could do. And Donna gave him opportunity, because of her revenging
persistence, to use his powers with impunity -- that is to say, it was in
self defense.
She tried to mount one of her sneak attacks, and Timmy simply froze her in
her tracks.
“Hypothermia,” the doctor called it. “I’m glad we could successfully revive
her, but I quite frankly have to admit that she’s very lucky to be alive.
“The cold source with which she came in contact was so quick that no ice
crystals were formed; all her internal organs are intact. Don’t ask me how
this could have been performed.
“And though we’d like to keep her overnight, just thank God,” continued Dr.
Brady, “she should suffer only minor frostbite. Your daughter’s a
determined young lady, and should heal very quickly without scar, but I’ve
never had a case this bizarre.”
By the time that Don and Sally arrived, the whole family had already left.
Mom phoned to tell him Donna had survived.
Of senses, voice and wit Don felt bereft. “O.K., Mom, I’ll see you when you
get home,” was the only response he could muster; his faculties went
somewhere out to roam; his mouth was dry, his eyes were lack-lustre.
Susan shook him to tell her what occurred.
Don tried to accommodate her demand, but his breath was short and his vision
blurred, and he found himself unable to stand. Although he had never
fainted before, he next was being picked-up off the floor.

* * *
The social workers interviewed the clan and found no indications of abuse.
Donna couldn’t recall how it began, and how she quick-froze no one could
deduce. Though there was gossip in the neighborhood, it died out quickly
since it made no sense -- vague suppositions no one understood, outside the
realm of their experience.
Since Sally hadn’t really seen a thing, and Don didn’t insist that it was
real, she let it go -- no point in worrying; just term-paper stress she
thought -- no big deal.
Don spoke about responsibility to Timmy on his new ability: “I don’t think
you realize what’s at stake, Timmy; this was more than just a scandal. I
mean, what if Donna’d died? For God’s sake, is that something you think you
could handle?”
Don was new to this sort of tutelage. He’d learned this “scared straight”
tactic from their Dad, but he didn’t consider Timmy’s age.
Timmy knew that what he had done was bad, and his tendency was to
misconstrue. In all earnestness to Don, he forswore: “Until I grow up and
get smart like you, I wish I can’t do magic any more.”
And as if he had cast a magic spell, his paranormal powers bid farewell.

* * *
Faced with the bright blaze of birthday candles, Tim focused on his wish and
for its sake took a deep breath, so that he could handle the conflagration
on his birthday cake. Twenty one today, college undergrad, well-balanced,
focused, mature for his age, he had worked hard for all that he now had,
even his humor -- fun-loving but sage.
Though he wouldn’t reveal what he’d wished for (since that’s part of what
makes a wish come true), if his guests had guessed, Tim’s wish was far more
than any would dare guess that he could do.
And from somewhere or when confetti fell -- small bits of candy-wrapper,
strewn pell-mell.
 
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