The Basement - 5
Mr. O'Leary returned to his desk, rummaged through one of the drawers and finally pulled out a box of pencils. He walked back down the rows of desks and gave one pencil to each pair of students before returning to the front of the class. He dropped the box in his trash bin and began to pace again, a favorite habit of his while teaching. "As I was saying before, imagination is the key to making spells work. We'll take turns trying this out. Everyone with a pencil please hold it up, between your thumb and index finger." The students obliged, holding the yellow pencils up for their partners.
"The rest of you please do as I say and we'll see if we can move those pencils! First, close your eyes and clear your mind of everything. Try to imagine a room with nothing in it but your partner and yourself; a blank slate with no windows, no doors, no distractions. Everyone got it?" The students nodded in agreement. "Good! In your room, your partner is holding the pencil, just like they are in the real world. Can you see it?" He looked around the room, noting how their faces looked as they tried to imagine the scene before them. Some kids looked serene; others like they were concentrating hard, their brows furrowed and their eyes darting back and forth underneath their eye lids. Still others looked like they were on the verge of passing out. Mr. O'Leary took a mental note of these ones, just in case they did require medical attention after the exercise.
Calvin's face showed no signs of any activity, a sign that he was either not participating or that he was already well-versed in this form of magic. Calvin did see the pencil, to be sure, but that was all he saw. There was no room, there was no Eva. There was only the pencil. It was similar to the candle that he had successfully pulled from his father's hand the day of his birthday; the day that his power finally manifested.
Calvin's sixteenth birthday had been the usual fare for a teenage boy. There were decorations and presents, video games and movies, and pizza for dinner. He had invited Richie and Kate over earlier that day, and they enjoyed and afternoon of playing in the sprinklers in the backyard and reading comic books in the tree house he and his dad had built the summer before. Later that evening, after all the pizza and cake and ice cream had been eaten and his friends had gone home, Bruce Freedman sat at their kitchen table, a single candle in his hand. Valerie was busy putting away the leftovers and cleaning the place up. She hated leaving messes, and insisted that the house was her domain and she, as its ruler, would not have it messy for any longer than necessary. Bruce held the candle up, turning it slowly between his fingers. Blue and white wax spilled from the tip of the candle, frozen in mid drop as they solidified. The burnt end of the wick peaked out the top. He thought for a moment, not noticing that Valerie had stopped and was now looking at him. He blinked a couple of times as he breathed deeply, finally noticing his wife and returning her look. A slight nod passed between them, and Valerie returned to cleaning.
Bruce called Calvin into the kitchen.
"Yeah, Dad?" Calvin asked as he came around the corner from the living room.
"Have a seat, buddy. Did you enjoy your day?"
"It was awesome! Richie gave me that new game I wanted, and Kate got me some new books and a personalized pen set. And Richie was getting crazy with the sprinkler it the backyard." Calvin waved his hands around, trying to mimic the scene of Richie dancing and jumping and rolling between the streams of water. "Oh, and thanks for the pizza and cake, they were delicious!" Valerie smiled as she heard her son talking about his day.
"That's great, son. I'm glad you had a good day, you deserve it. Birthdays only come once a year." He smiled warmly at his son. "There is one last thing we have to do, though. Wouldn't be a birthday without it." He held up the candle.
"Yeah, I know," Calvin said, suddenly much more serious. "I'm going to get it this year, I can feel it."
"We hope you do," Bruce replied. For the past four years he had brought his son to the table and held up one of his birthday candles, to see if Calvin would be able to move it or not. Each time it had ended in failure, and in tears.
"Dad, if I can't do it this time what am I going to do?" Calvin knew that there was a small population of people that couldn't produce magic. They were looked upon by everyone else much like homeless people; with general avoidance and mild disdain. They weren't necessarily shunned from society, but a lot of options for success were suddenly cut off to them, just because they couldn't move a pencil or read a mind here and there or see the future in any capacity or any other forms of magic that existed to everyone else. He tried to put these thoughts out of his head. Surely his parents would protect and support him, right? Surely they would.
Surely those other people had parents of their own, though, at some point in their life. Had their parents tried to protect them, to support them? Had they done everything they could for their children, despite the fact that they'd never be able to make much of themselves on their own? Maybe it was too much for those parents, but Calvin believed his parents were better than this. They'd never let him falter, even if he couldn't do magic.
Bruce Freedman looked at his son, his dark brown eyes darting back and forth between Calvin's equally brown eyes, and for a moment Calvin saw a hint of doubt. Before he could process it, though, the look was gone, and fatherly Bruce was back. "We'll try again next year, in that case," he replied.
Calvin closed his eyes. He tried to ease his mind, as his dad has taught him. He imagined the candle in his mind; imagined the blue and white stripes, the burnt wick. He could see the wax drops running down the side, and he held this image as he reached forward. He could almost feel a spark run through his hands to his fingertips, sending his nerves dancing. He opened his eyes.
Nothing. Nothing happened.
Calvin was devastated. His dad let out a small sigh, but held the candle firm in his hand. His mom had stopped cleaning by this point and was standing half turned, watching over the shoulder of her red blouse. Calvin could see her wipe something from the corner of her eye. A tear?
No, he thought to himself, I will not fail this time. I will move that candle if it takes all night. He breathed in slowly, deeply, and closed his eyes again. His nerves were still on edge, and he could feel every brush of air passing over his hands and arms, every thread of clothing clinging to his body, every strand of hair lightly tickling the back of his ears. He was suddenly fully conscious of his breathing, and his heartbeat. Thud thud. Calvin conjured the image of the candle once again.
Thud thud. The blue and white stripes, and the slightly burnt wick poking out the top.
Thud thud. The wax tears caught in mid fall down the side of the candle. He slowly reached forward again.
Thud thud.
Bruce felt it first. A slight pulling sensation, coming from the candle itself. Almost so slight that Bruce thought he may have imagined it, as if an afterthought of escape from the piece of wax held between his index finger and thumb. A second, stronger pull put all feelings of doubt to rest, though.
Thud thud.
Calvin opened his eyes. The candle shot out of Bruce's fingers and straight at Calvin's face, but that wasn't what surprised him and his parents the most. No, that would have been the fifteen other candles that had leapt out of the garbage and were now on a collision course with the back of Calvin's head. He ducked from the blue and white missile in front of him, but the other host of candles ended up running into Bruce, the table, Calvin's chair and anything else past the void where Calvin's head used to be.
Calvin sat up slowly, his eyes wide. He looked at the scene before him. Bruce had frosting marks on his face and polo shirt. Candles, which had, a second ago, been in the garbage bin were now strewn across the table as if someone had tossed them at his father, and both of his parents had a look of absolute shock. If this had been any other situation Calvin was sure he would be getting in a load of trouble immediately after. Instead, Bruce regained his composure, grabbed a napkin off the stack on the table and wiped the frosting off his face. "We'll have to work on your aim," he said as he tossed the used napkin on the table. Valerie snorted and began to laugh. Calvin and Bruce couldn't help but join in, and as laughs gave way to tears of excitement and joy Calvin realized it was a perfect end to the best birthday of his life.
"The rest of you please do as I say and we'll see if we can move those pencils! First, close your eyes and clear your mind of everything. Try to imagine a room with nothing in it but your partner and yourself; a blank slate with no windows, no doors, no distractions. Everyone got it?" The students nodded in agreement. "Good! In your room, your partner is holding the pencil, just like they are in the real world. Can you see it?" He looked around the room, noting how their faces looked as they tried to imagine the scene before them. Some kids looked serene; others like they were concentrating hard, their brows furrowed and their eyes darting back and forth underneath their eye lids. Still others looked like they were on the verge of passing out. Mr. O'Leary took a mental note of these ones, just in case they did require medical attention after the exercise.
Calvin's face showed no signs of any activity, a sign that he was either not participating or that he was already well-versed in this form of magic. Calvin did see the pencil, to be sure, but that was all he saw. There was no room, there was no Eva. There was only the pencil. It was similar to the candle that he had successfully pulled from his father's hand the day of his birthday; the day that his power finally manifested.
Calvin's sixteenth birthday had been the usual fare for a teenage boy. There were decorations and presents, video games and movies, and pizza for dinner. He had invited Richie and Kate over earlier that day, and they enjoyed and afternoon of playing in the sprinklers in the backyard and reading comic books in the tree house he and his dad had built the summer before. Later that evening, after all the pizza and cake and ice cream had been eaten and his friends had gone home, Bruce Freedman sat at their kitchen table, a single candle in his hand. Valerie was busy putting away the leftovers and cleaning the place up. She hated leaving messes, and insisted that the house was her domain and she, as its ruler, would not have it messy for any longer than necessary. Bruce held the candle up, turning it slowly between his fingers. Blue and white wax spilled from the tip of the candle, frozen in mid drop as they solidified. The burnt end of the wick peaked out the top. He thought for a moment, not noticing that Valerie had stopped and was now looking at him. He blinked a couple of times as he breathed deeply, finally noticing his wife and returning her look. A slight nod passed between them, and Valerie returned to cleaning.
Bruce called Calvin into the kitchen.
"Yeah, Dad?" Calvin asked as he came around the corner from the living room.
"Have a seat, buddy. Did you enjoy your day?"
"It was awesome! Richie gave me that new game I wanted, and Kate got me some new books and a personalized pen set. And Richie was getting crazy with the sprinkler it the backyard." Calvin waved his hands around, trying to mimic the scene of Richie dancing and jumping and rolling between the streams of water. "Oh, and thanks for the pizza and cake, they were delicious!" Valerie smiled as she heard her son talking about his day.
"That's great, son. I'm glad you had a good day, you deserve it. Birthdays only come once a year." He smiled warmly at his son. "There is one last thing we have to do, though. Wouldn't be a birthday without it." He held up the candle.
"Yeah, I know," Calvin said, suddenly much more serious. "I'm going to get it this year, I can feel it."
"We hope you do," Bruce replied. For the past four years he had brought his son to the table and held up one of his birthday candles, to see if Calvin would be able to move it or not. Each time it had ended in failure, and in tears.
"Dad, if I can't do it this time what am I going to do?" Calvin knew that there was a small population of people that couldn't produce magic. They were looked upon by everyone else much like homeless people; with general avoidance and mild disdain. They weren't necessarily shunned from society, but a lot of options for success were suddenly cut off to them, just because they couldn't move a pencil or read a mind here and there or see the future in any capacity or any other forms of magic that existed to everyone else. He tried to put these thoughts out of his head. Surely his parents would protect and support him, right? Surely they would.
Surely those other people had parents of their own, though, at some point in their life. Had their parents tried to protect them, to support them? Had they done everything they could for their children, despite the fact that they'd never be able to make much of themselves on their own? Maybe it was too much for those parents, but Calvin believed his parents were better than this. They'd never let him falter, even if he couldn't do magic.
Bruce Freedman looked at his son, his dark brown eyes darting back and forth between Calvin's equally brown eyes, and for a moment Calvin saw a hint of doubt. Before he could process it, though, the look was gone, and fatherly Bruce was back. "We'll try again next year, in that case," he replied.
Calvin closed his eyes. He tried to ease his mind, as his dad has taught him. He imagined the candle in his mind; imagined the blue and white stripes, the burnt wick. He could see the wax drops running down the side, and he held this image as he reached forward. He could almost feel a spark run through his hands to his fingertips, sending his nerves dancing. He opened his eyes.
Nothing. Nothing happened.
Calvin was devastated. His dad let out a small sigh, but held the candle firm in his hand. His mom had stopped cleaning by this point and was standing half turned, watching over the shoulder of her red blouse. Calvin could see her wipe something from the corner of her eye. A tear?
No, he thought to himself, I will not fail this time. I will move that candle if it takes all night. He breathed in slowly, deeply, and closed his eyes again. His nerves were still on edge, and he could feel every brush of air passing over his hands and arms, every thread of clothing clinging to his body, every strand of hair lightly tickling the back of his ears. He was suddenly fully conscious of his breathing, and his heartbeat. Thud thud. Calvin conjured the image of the candle once again.
Thud thud. The blue and white stripes, and the slightly burnt wick poking out the top.
Thud thud. The wax tears caught in mid fall down the side of the candle. He slowly reached forward again.
Thud thud.
Bruce felt it first. A slight pulling sensation, coming from the candle itself. Almost so slight that Bruce thought he may have imagined it, as if an afterthought of escape from the piece of wax held between his index finger and thumb. A second, stronger pull put all feelings of doubt to rest, though.
Thud thud.
Calvin opened his eyes. The candle shot out of Bruce's fingers and straight at Calvin's face, but that wasn't what surprised him and his parents the most. No, that would have been the fifteen other candles that had leapt out of the garbage and were now on a collision course with the back of Calvin's head. He ducked from the blue and white missile in front of him, but the other host of candles ended up running into Bruce, the table, Calvin's chair and anything else past the void where Calvin's head used to be.
Calvin sat up slowly, his eyes wide. He looked at the scene before him. Bruce had frosting marks on his face and polo shirt. Candles, which had, a second ago, been in the garbage bin were now strewn across the table as if someone had tossed them at his father, and both of his parents had a look of absolute shock. If this had been any other situation Calvin was sure he would be getting in a load of trouble immediately after. Instead, Bruce regained his composure, grabbed a napkin off the stack on the table and wiped the frosting off his face. "We'll have to work on your aim," he said as he tossed the used napkin on the table. Valerie snorted and began to laugh. Calvin and Bruce couldn't help but join in, and as laughs gave way to tears of excitement and joy Calvin realized it was a perfect end to the best birthday of his life.
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