I didn’t mean it. I think I don’t
mean most things I do, but you have to believe I didn’t mean that.
It’s like this, you know: we do things, and there is always this
voice saying: do more. Act out. Don’t walk around that person,
shove them out of your way. Stick out your arm in front of the kid on
a skateboard. Take scissors into someone just because you can. It’s
the voice we always keep quiet, that we shove aside and never tell a
single soul about. I forgot once. It slipped past all the – all the
barriers we make with laws and rules. I shoved the old lady in my way
on the sidewalk harder than I should have.
She was in my way. Old broad dawdling
along taking up half a damn sidewalk, so I shoved her aside. She hit
the ground before her walker went down, the snap of breaking bone
like a broken firework – no, just bones. Her hip, an arm. I froze.
I could have run after that. I didn’t. I called myself some names
I’ve never called anyone, not ever, reached for my phone to dial
911. Hands shaking. I was shaking so bad. There’d be police
charges. Law suits. I knew that.
That’s when I heard him. A boy,
couldn’t have been more than 10, in jeans and a t-shirt in winter,
dragging – an older brother? Uncle? Dunno: he looked to be in his
twenties but he was bland, unremarkable. You could have dropped him
in the middle of a cubicle farm and he’d have blended right in. The
kid was pale, with bright eyes, glaring up at me. Adults can’t get
angry like kids do: they put everything into it.
“You broke the bindingth,” the kid
said, like that. He lisped, odd for a kid that old. I told him to get
to his therapy class and get lost. I did Karate as a kid, you know.
Until I was fifteen, before I discovered girls and – well, you know
the rest officers. You’ve seen it enough. The kid was faster than
I’d ever been, grabbing my arm and squeezing it.
I yanked free. I didn’t hit him. I
could have.
“Jay.” That’s what the man said,
and I’d almost forgot him but the kid just went scared-still and
backed away from me, saying: “He hurt her,” furiously.
“I saw.” The guy’s voice was dry
and he just looked at me and said: “You’re staying, Martin.”
I don’t know how he knew my name. But
I was, and nodded. There was something about him, about his voice.
Like he knew I’d do the
right thing and if I didn’t – I don’t know what. It wouldn’t
have been good. That was in voice too.
There was steel under it.
He crouched down
beside the old lady and put a hand on her arm. He moved gently, and
the kid was watching intently, practically dancing from foot to foot.
Can I get a smoke or coffee, something? A donut? Fine. Okay. The guy
touched her, she gasped and I saw bone snap back into place. Leg,
hip, clothing mending itself, the walker’s dents fixing as well.
Coming together like nothing had ever been hurt.
“You
healed me,” she said, and her voice was small and strange, as if
she didn’t want it, or was scared at the cost.
“You wanted to be
healed.” He smiled, and the smile was so kind it hurt. People don’t
smile like that. They just don’t. And he said her walker had walked
to be fixed to. That even a magician can’t heal someone if their
need and desire is against it.
“Like Emily,”
she said, and he nodded. I guess she knew someone who took their
life, kid or something? I don’t know. I guess she thought he did.
The old lady
spotted me then. I think she needed to break away from kindness
without limits. She grabbed her purse and the magician said no. But
he said it like the kindness, in a way that couldn’t be ignored.
“He didn’t run
away. We all make mistakes,” the magician said then, and his eyes –
holy God. I’ve never seen eyes like that and I never want to again.
They were too old. Other things, but old. I don’t mean like he’d
lived centuries, just that – that he’d seen too much. Done too
much. Like soldiers with that stare that goes through you because
they’re seeing the past. Or a future of more wars. Only worse.
The
boy squeezed the magicians hand then, tight, and the magician shook
his head as if clearing it. He let out a breath. “He stayed. He was
calling 911 and he stayed to take responsibility. That is all bravery
is. And he won’t do harm
again,” he said, and I swear his voice was deeper, stranger,
weighted. Like
he was making sure I couldn’t? I
don’t know. I just know I fell back, turned, and ran. No one
stopped me. I ran here, to the station. I think he might have made me
do that.
I think that’s
the least of what he could have done, so here I am, telling you about
it all for the third time. I guess you can’t arrest me and none of
this would stand up in any court. I don’t want to meet that old
lady again, though. Or the kid or the magician.
I tried to kill a
fly earlier. Couldn’t. I guess I’m going to go buy vegan
cookboooks. Leave town. Find a new life. Try and forget what I saw in
the magician’s eyes. If I’m going to do anything, it’s going
to be that. Whatever he can do, it’s not worth eyes that end up
like that.
Can I go yet?
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