Friday Snippet 7.20.07
Okay, so this is actually before the snippet I posted last week. It will probably be kept in one form or another, because I like it and I think it shows a bit of Cynthia's character; however, it will probably not be kept where it is. (Just after this she gets on a plane home to visit her family for her birthday, and the plot slows down. It needs to be whipped into shape at that point.)
Reminder: this is draft material, has been copyrighted by the author, and is not to be reproduced anywhere or in any form. It may not be in the final draft, and will probably be altered if it does make the final draft.
“Jess, Emmy, come on. You’re holding up the line.” The hassled-looking mother ahead of me was trying to herd her daughters up to the ticket counter.
“But Emily said that there is no such thing as magic,” the younger girl moaned, refusing to move. “I don’t want to go to Disneyland if there’s no magic.”
“Oh, come on. Everyone knows that Tink’s not—”
“Emily, why don’t you take your bags to the man at the counter?” She shoved her eldest girl toward the increasingly impatient ticket agent. Several people behind me muttered as well, but I just smiled.
“It’s okay,” I said, kneeling down to be at Jess’s level. “I believe in magic.”
She looked back at me, eyes wide. “Fairies too?”
“Fairies too.” I pointed to the t-shirt I had chosen that morning: a snug black top with a picture of Tinkerbell and the word “Believe” painted across the front.
Jess’s eyes lit up as she turned to her mom. “Okay. We can go now.”
The woman threw me a grateful look as I stood up. She tugged the rest of the luggage and her younger daughter over to the counter, probably thanking her lucky stars that there were still people around who were willing to tell little white lies in order to keep children happy and quiet.
Little did she know that I wasn’t lying.
I do believe in magic, and I see it every day. It’s a part of my life.
I see the magic of Disneyland less often than the magic of Las Vegas: fortunes won and lost by old and young alike—though not too young. Too young and I’d have to report them for underage drinking, or underage gambling, or both, and just pray that I wasn’t the waitress who brought the drink.
Along with that are the couples who find love on the casino floor or who come to Vegas to tie the knot. And like every other good casino employee, I look the other way when that magic fails. The only difference is I wince while the others smirk.
The magic I enjoy the most is the type I get to see the least. Flashy, larger-than-life Vegas magicians are not something to miss. I’ve filled in for the show’s cocktail waitresses enough times to manage to see the whole show, little bits at a time.
And then there’s the magic I perform myself.
It isn’t a flashy kind of magic. You can see a dozen things that look more impressive by walking along the Strip for five minutes during the day. Two minutes at night.
No, my magic isn’t impressive, but it is real.
Unfortunately, the spells I really want are the flashy spells; the ones so rare they’re almost unheard of. Yeah, I get to be part of a small group who’s out there saving the world, but I was taught from day one to be unobtrusive. Hidden. Secret. Not charging after bad guys with lightning bolts. Assuming there even were bad guys.
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