"You’re welcome and have an
absolutely magical day!" he articulated like a true
performer. Hanging up, I found myself thinking that he was
really a nice guy in a crazy sort of way. However, I knew that I
wouldn't be able to get in touch with anyone from the Society of
American Magicians at this late hour. It was already past eight
o'clock. Anyway, did I really want to make a long distance call
just to find out where this magician came from? I could write
the society a letter from my office or wait until spring. Then
the timer went off on my microwave, and putting the question far
behind me, I settled in for a dinner of Salisbury steak, mashed
potatoes, and evening news.
The days that followed passed more like years
as the winter cold and flu season came and went. The extremely
plodding pace I credited mostly to the monotony of my bleak
existence, the same each day: work, television, sleep; work,
television, sleep. Some days I would really mix it up: sleep,
work, television. Once in a while, I did manage to create a
little mental diversion by further searching for the elusive Max
Vi.
However, all attempts to find the magician
were futile. When he vanished from the street festival, he
really vanished into thin air. I’d contacted practically
every professional magician in the state as well as the Society
of American Magicians, and the International Brotherhood of
Magicians, but to no avail. This particular magician was at the
very least an unknown, maybe a figment of my imagination, or
perhaps he just plain didn't want to be found.
There was one bright spot in my searching: I
may not have found Max Vi, but I uncovered an old friend. The
search, reviving my interest in the art of magic, prompted me to
take a weekend to visit my mother’s house with a distinct
purpose – a scavenger hunt. My mission was to go though the
attic looking for that old box of tricks I had collected as a
boy.
Mom wasn’t too enthusiastic about me
rummaging through her attic, but eventually she consented and
said she’d even accompany me (whether I wanted her to or
not). Reaching the pull rope, I pulled down the access cover. A
mixture of dirt and bits of insulation pelted our faces as I
did. Taking care to properly unfold the collapsible wooden
ladder attached to the back of the attic access, Mom determined
she’d go up first. We both agreed that the ladder might
fall apart if we both got on at the same time. Her real concern,
of course, was that if she fell, hopefully I would be there to
catch her. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that if she
fell on me, it would probably kill both of us. However, she didn’t
fall, and we both made it into the attic without incident.
