Somethin' Stupid

I can make things levitate.

Sure, you might be thinking, as you sit in the audience of one of my magic shows, coat strewn across your lap, crumbs of popcorn or whatever greasy overpriced food you’ve been persuaded into buying clinging to the corners of your mouth. Sure, you can. I can use thin string and background workers too. Not that impressive.

But then how do I take your green-rimmed glasses right off your face, lift them into the air, then place them right back down on your head again? How do I peel the leaf off of you that’s been clinging to your hair or jumper since before you walked in? My magic is real.

And it’s stupid.

It was seven years ago when it all began. It was a stormy night –as all villain stories start –and claps of thunder paired with fat droplets of rain pelted down from above. The sky was dark, with not even a sliver of sunlight peeking out from beneath dense, almost black clouds. In one hand, I clutched my purse, a broken umbrella and my car keys, in the other, a Granny Smith apple. It was large, waxy, tart, I assumed, but I never got to taste it. And on one side, there was a large gash where jagged teeth had torn away a chunk of its flesh.

Not my teeth.

I was taking it home, convinced I had somehow obtained evidence of the existence of some creature that had previously been refuted by the scientific community –some mash between wolf and bird, with sharp canines but a tiny, winged appearance. Or maybe whatever had bitten the apple had killed the bird. I’d found it with a tiny, delicate feather jammed inside. Either way, I was convinced I was onto something. Finally, I’d be able to do something with my goddamn life, as my father put it, a grouchy man with wispy salt-and-pepper hair that looked it could blow off from a sharp gust of wind. He’d wanted me to go to medical school, I think, although he hardly talked anymore, his voice thick and gravelly from a lifetime of smoking. He voiced his disapproval through disgruntled mutters of disapproval and glares sharper than the tiny, red army knife he kept in his pocket, for reason still unknown to me. Either way, my discovery was sure to put a smile on his face, although I wasn’t sure that was still possible. Maybe years of keeping his face slouched and sullen meant his waxy skin had hardened like that and he was no longer able to smile.

I had the animal pictured in my mind –a terrified fusion of a petite hummingbird with massive, wolf-like canines that devoured mice and spiders and other insects that I hated. And Granny Smith apples.

Then my body got set on fire.

Well, not really. But my eyes flashed white –like they were filled with a milky, white smoke –and my body felt like it had been hit by a wall of fire. I was violently thrown to the ground, or so I thought, a sudden, searing heat coursing through me, like being inside a bass speaker. My insides were like a furnace, no, a kiln, as electricity shot through my body.

And then I collapsed to the floor like a discarded ragdoll and everything faded to black.

I awoke, alone, on the side of the road, my hair sodden around my shoulders, tiny stones and gravel digging into my knees and forearms. My ears were ringing, my head pounding as if it would implode, which I was scared it might. My skin burned, and was burned. I heard a deafening crack of thunder from overhead. And I shuddered.

I didn’t remember what happened after that, really, it was a haze of noise, of rain, of pain. But I felt charged, like a battery, like a flame doused with gasoline. I calculated that I’d been unconscious for about seven or eight minutes, but that was just an estimate.

I passed out on the sofa at home, oozing rainwater from every pore, my mind foggy and disoriented, like a laptop rebooting from shut-down.

I didn’t realise until much later that my Granny Smith apple was gone.

I don’t know for sure what happened to my apple. But now –dressed in a velvety cloak and hat –I hold another one. I raise it above my head. And then I lower my hand.

The apple doesn’t fall. There’s a wave of oohs and ahhs from the crowd as I gently float it through the air towards them, as if it was supported by an invisible cushion. And I feel it again: the charge, the fire, the energy. The lightning. I smile. The apple dangles in the air, teetering, for a minute or so before I retrieve it and drop it back into my hand.

It was about a month after the lightning strike that I realised I could make things float. It wasn’t that normal superhero-awakening type thing, no, I didn’t save a life or catch someone’s cat from the tree.

I knocked over a wad of lettuce on my kitchen bench.

I’d been using it to cook with, I think, then it inexplicably rolled away from me as I tried to grab it, as if there was an invisible force between us. I reached to grab it again, but the lettuce scooted away from me and dropped off the end of the bench. As it fell, I reached out, as if I could catch it, although knowing I was much too far away. But I didn’t hear the wet thump of it hitting the floor. When I turned to look, the lettuce was floating, levitating, barely an inch above the floor.

It stayed like that for seven and a half minutes. I watched, awe-struck, running my hand in the air beneath it, waiting for it to fall. Then, when it did, I picked it up, and tried again.

Repeated efforts told me I could only levitate objects that were green, like the lettuce, and only for exactly seven minutes and thirty-four seconds before they fell to the ground. It was bizarre, inexplicable, unfathomable. Yet it was real.

‘I can levitate things,’ I told my dad once I had mastered the skill. ‘Look. Watch.’ I grabbed a tennis ball –a murky combination of green and yellow, a risky move –and threw it to the air, catching it without hands. I moved it through the air and dropped it through his lap.

Dad grunted. ‘What? What trick are you playing on me?’

‘No trick!’ I exclaimed. ‘I can make things float!’ I lifted the tennis ball again and raised it above his head, dropping it into his hands.

‘You bet’st not be lying to me, Lacy. Another o’ your tricks and my blood pressure ain’t comin’ down a second time.’ Dad grumbled.

‘I’m not lying, I swear. You can see it, can’t you? I can make things float!’

‘Make this float,’ he snorted, jerking his head towards one of the cushions on the couch. It was light, fuzzy, and grey.

‘I can’t,’ I said, frowning. ‘I can only do things that are green.’

Dad guffawed. ‘‘Course you can’t. ‘Course you get a get a gift like this and it’s just somethin’ stupid.’ He chortled, turning back to his book, ignoring whatever I made float in front of him like it was ordinary. I felt my heart sink. Of course it was just something stupid. What could I ever do with something green and seven minutes and thirty-four seconds? My power was useless.

The ground begins to shake while I’m onstage. A quiver, a tremble. I frown. This isn’t part of the show. But the audience is loving it, watching, eyes hungry with anticipation. I pull out another object from my bag –three objects, actually –tennis balls, old and crusty enough that the fuzzy exterior looks more green than yellow. Tennis balls have always been on the brink of my ability, if I can pick them up, it’s in a weakened state, and I can’t hold them for very long, as if they sap me of my power.

‘Lacy,’ I hear someone hiss behind me. I turn, and one of my backstage workers is staring at me with a frantic look on her face. ‘Lacy, stop, there’s an earthquake.’

So that’s what the trembling is. I feel it intensify, like I’m standing on a boat above a roaring ocean.

‘Sorry folks, it appears we have an earthquake occurring right now. We’re going to have to end the show here.’ I say into my microphone. There’s a wave of disappointment that sweeps through the crowd, followed by the collective murmuring and clamour as people get up from their seats and begin to leave the building.

The shaking gets to a point where I can barely hold myself upright. My vision is blurry –I can’t focus on anything when I’m practically vibrating. The ground rumbles. Suddenly the side of the venue collapses, and something, a tree, maybe, like the huge, ancient oak tree that stands beside the venue, crashes through the wall.

It’s like I’m seeing it in slow motion. People scatter, like a school of fish as the wall crumbles into a pile of bricks and rubble. The tree groans as it falls. I gasp. Someone’s still on the floor, pinned beneath a row of seats.

My heart races. My palms have gone clammy. But my muscles have tensed up. I can’t move.

I wanted to join a circus after finding out about my ability. I discovered a travelling group who had ‘freaks’ on display –people with abnormal, disfigured body parts or skin that looked like literal glass –but no one like me. I wasn’t a ‘freak’ anyway. Just someone who could make things levitate. There had to be a better place for me and my new ability.

I considered firefighting –I could save people pinned beneath heavy objects with my power, couldn’t I? But fires were orange, red, yellow. Not green. I’d be useless.

I’d given up, returned to normal life, working, studying, occasionally floating a green apple or my toothbrush (I’d begun to acquire quite the collection of green objects around the house) for my convenience, when a poster advertising a vacancy for performers in a theatre caught my attention. It was mostly used for plays, but demand had sunk as of recently, and the venue needed a new flow of income to sustain itself. Dancers, singers, musicians, contortionists, and magicians were among the few that were listed at the bottom. That was when I had the best idea of my life.

When I open my eyes, it’s like the world has held its breath. The earthquake has stopped. People are frozen.

So is the tree.

I exhale a massive sigh of relief, my chest deflating like an overfilled balloon. The person beneath the tree scrambles out, gasping, mouth agape.

‘Jesus,’ someone whispers.

I slowly lower the tree to the ground. A round of applause fills the room. I feel my cheeks grow hot. I’m panting, pumped with adrenaline, charged like that first strike of lightning. I’m proud.

‘Thank you, thank you,’ I say, bowing deeply.

I can’t wait to tell Dad that somethin’ stupid just saved someone’s life.