Magic Trick, 2023
That the show fell on the first of December was the product, primarily, of convenience. Still, it seemed appropriate, it being the first day of advent. Advent/event. In anticipation, posters bloomed round every corner - an explosive beginning to predict a silent end that comes both sooner and later than you expect. I hope there’s some magic in between.
Months later, it’s difficult to form a clear picture of the night itself. I piece it together through disjointed fragments, missed memories, and forgotten conversations. It might’ve been foggy that night, or maybe that was the night before.
(In bed, I struggle to get comfortable. My body aches and I remember the two women, about my mum’s age, who said they ‘might go’. I count sheep until they’ve all gone home.)
A good magician never reveals his secrets. Both sheep and rabbits have stumps for tails. I wonder if they’ve had them snapped off like mine.
But the night itself – we spotted posters on the way into town, although I admit it wasn’t until half eight that I realised the magic show was in full flow, or maybe it was already over.
Whatever we did that night, I think we had a good time, and I was still a little tipsy as we made our way home. I heard someone suggest chips through the fog that might (not) have been there. I’d broken my tail before, but the pain was still a surprise.
The cyclist was gone before the ground arrived. Stunned, blind, and sawn in half, I turned to walk the wrong way home.