Empirical Miracles
by
James Ph. Kotsybar

The magician on the television
invited his audience to discern
how he worked his prestidigitation,
and little Timmy was eager to learn.
The magician said, ”Belief is the key.”
And 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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