For Part I, click here
A loud tapping is annoying to wake up to, especially when it is someone at the door, but even more so, when it isn’t. I follow the sound into the kitchen.
With one hand M holds his coffee. The other hits the table, over, and over, and over.
“What are you doing?”
“Magic. This is the first step.”
I sigh. “Dude, it was a trick. You can’t actually put your hand through a table.”
M frowns at his hand.
“Actually, not true. Theoretically your hand will go through the table eventually, if you do it enough times, or,” he smiles, “if you’re lucky enough.”
I shake my head.
“I’m going to go read.”
I lay down in my room and open “Diatribe of a Grandmother”. The tapping continues. After ten minutes I put the book down. I call from my room.
“M can you stop!”
There is a thoughtful pause in the tapping.
“No,” he calls back.
I get up and close the door. I put on some music, ABBA.
An hour later, halfway through the chapter on wearing pants without a belt, I hear someone screaming over the sweet lullaby of “Does Your Mother Know”.
I leap off the couch and run for the kitchen. Just before the door I realize the screams are not of agony or even horror. They are cries of joy. I get through the door, out of breath.
He stands over the table, gaping grin on his face. He is sticking his hand in and out of the table as though it were made of smoke. He looks up at me.
“HELL YES!” he cries and laughs. He begins dancing, dipping his hands in one after the other.
I watch, dumbfounded. The only thing that breaks the spell is a crashing sound from behind me. A shelf we’d built a few weeks ago crashes onto the stove.
I run to it and gather up all the spices. Belly comes running in. He watches me, waiting for something to drop. I begin scooping all of the toothpicks up to put them back in the canister when, suddenly, they vanish.
“No shit,” M says, from beside me. I turn. He is smiling. He points at the canister. It is full of toothpicks, neatly sealed.
I drop the canister and back away.
“How the hell are you doing this?” I ask.
M shrugs, “It’s simple really, the magician explained it but I didn’t understand at first. It’s luck. You just use your luck.”
“That makes no damn sense!”
M snaps his fingers. My body feels as though its crawling with mothballs for a moment. I look down. A neat blue suit is fitted to my body. I look myself over, blue tie, even blue checked socks tucked into a shiny pair of brown shoes.
M smiles. He snaps his fingers again and I watch his T-shirt morph into a long flowing red robe. He struts over to the bench. He twirls.
“M, The Great and Powerful!!”
He bows and sits elegantly onto the bench.
It breaks under his ass.
To be continued…