Savage Tales

shift.
    "The magician," he said, and laughed.
    "Dad, who is he?"
    "Listen, you," I said to the man. "Get away from me and my boy or I'll get the cops."
    "The cops?" the man said.
    And this time he had it. Perhaps it had only been a dress rehearsal before. A test to see if anyone could be made to vanish.
    From over his shoulder I saw a teenager with a cell camera aimed my way. "It's that magician! Hey, do a trick, man!"
    Perhaps the kid didn't see the gun aimed at my chest. So many swirling objects circling around me: my son, the man in turquoise, the teenager with a camera, and spectators realizing something was happening. A moment in history. Their history, my history, our history melding into one ground of being.
    And my boy to remember this forever.
    I stepped into the way of the gun and reached out for it. I felt every inch of it covered by the camera, and I could see it covered with a million hits as it spread across the internet.
    My greatest trick.
    I ask again:
    Which is better?
    1. To make something from nothing?
    Or
    2. To make nothing from something?

WHAT W ERE YOU SAYING

    When I got home from school, mom said I had a job with the Davis kid.
    "I have a date, I can't," I said.
    "With who?" said mom.
    "No one you know," I said.
    "No one anyone knows. You get over to the Davis's house right now, young lady."
    "How can I babysit if you're going to treat me like a child? Don't you see the irony in that?"
    My mother didn't see the irony. My mother never saw irony. A half hour later I was at the Davis's.
    "He's been really energetic lately," said Blair. "We think it's because of the Baby Mozart CDs we've been playing."
    "What's a CD?" I said.
    "You are hilarious," said Joseph.
    "What fun are you two up to tonight?" I said.
    "We have reservations at the aquarium," said Joseph.
    "Like sounds like too much excitement for one night," I said. "Are you sure you don't want to spread it over two?"
    "Sissy, you should be a comedian," said Blair. "You always say the funniest things. That's what I always tell Joseph. Why is she babysitting for us when she could be making millions or even billions of dollars in Hollywood or Broadway? Don't I always say that, Joseph?"
    Joseph looked confused and changed the subject with all the tact of a vulture.
    "Sissy, has anyone ever told you you have the loveliest eyes?" he said.
    "Now you're just patronizing the girl," said Blair. "Just because she's not pretty doesn't mean you should make fun of her for it. She has other notable features, like her sharp wit. It's as sharp as a kitchen knife. Ouch! I think I just cut myself on her wit."
    It was becoming too ironic in there and I wished that they would leave so I could air it out. They did.
    Alone with the kid, I put on a horror movie and let him roam free like a free bird like in that song "Free Bird," which is probably about a free-spirited baby and a free-spirited babysitter, although I've never bothered to listen to the lyrics.
    About ten minutes into my film I realized I had seen it before, and nothing deflates my horror movie experience than the swiping away of uncertainty brought on by a repeat viewing. I stopped the film.
    Bored, I looked through their house for anything of interest. A glance at their bookshelves revealed an unhealthy fascination with 1950s spoon catalogs. I didn't bother to open those. I ratted around some more and checked the fridge for any rare treasures, but these people were unremarkable in all avenues of taste.
    At some point I opened a drawer and found under some envelopes a key. It had an antiquated look and I had to wonder what it could have opened. I walked through the house several times looking for a treasure chest to which the key might fit, until I noticed a small jewelry box in the bathroom off the master bedroom. It had to be Blair's, and I admit to no hesitation in opening it.
    Inside were necklaces, rings, earrings, all old and crusty looking as though inherited from a forgotten but careful grandmother, and each item looked like it hadn't been worn for several centuries. I was disappointed until I saw a small silver ring with a red jewel, which held my interest for reasons unknown to me. I couldn't stop looking at it, and before long I had rationalized to myself that taking it – borrowing it, as it were – was not big thing. After all, I would be babysitting for the Davis's again down the line, and I would return it then. I just wanted to take it out and air it. After all, it fit my middle