Show & Tell, Part I

What happens when your child's power surpasses your own?

I took a deep breath as I popped another capsule of pain reliever into my mouth. Tipping back the bottle of water, the capsule slid smoothly down my throat. Man, this job is atrocious. I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead, silently urging the drug to start working its magic. How ironic: mixing medical science with magic.

The thought made me open my eyes again, and the scene in front of me made me wish I had spent a little more time with them closed. I groaned, slightly louder than I had intended; a scoff sounded from behind me, and I turned to see one of the random parents glaring at me. As I opened my mouth to comment on the groan, one of the many obnoxious and uncontrollable children ran by me, spilling his cup of soda on my tuxedo. While still looking at the parent, the liquid soaking through the jacket and into the white shirt underneath, I groaned a little louder.

Glaring a moment longer then rising quickly from her chair, I saw the parent storm toward the host parents. "That man you hired is a downer to the party!" that particular parent would gripe and complain; the hosts, however, would merely shrug and run after the latest child to hang from their two-thousand-dollar chandelier.

As far as I was concerned, I was there for the money. Of course, it used to be for the entertainment of the children; but with all the advances in technology, as well as the growing sense of killing the illusion with "that can't happen"s, the entertainment portion of it became tired and not worth it. When children would flat-out tell me they didn't believe in what I did, how they could "see up my sleeve," my heart would slowly become less and less concerned with playing the part. Years had passed, and it grew into solely being about the money.

That being the case, why not go into some other kind of profession? Then, as I still do to this day, I had my reasons.

The primary reason was my daughter, Sarah. She was always the first person that came to mind whenever I had to make a decision. How would this affect Sarah? was automatically the first question asked in any and all situations. Being my pride and joy, the last thing I ever wanted to do was bring any kind of harm to her. The thought may seem overdramatic to some, but those some are more than likely not of the parental grouping.

I had been thinking about Sarah, that fateful day, when Jolly the Clown approached me with a cell phone. "It's for you, Danny," Jolly said, his red, foam nose bouncing as his make-up encrusted lips moved. "It's Sarah's school."

I took the phone and went into one of the fifteen spare bedrooms in the mansion. Ironically, none of the miscreant children attending the party had made their sugar-frenzied way into that particular room. Lifting the phone to my ear, I said, "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was that of Miss Garland, my daughter's guidance counselor. Her sing-song voice carried over the phone and chimed into my ear. "Mister Lynn? This is Miss Garland, Sarah's guidance counselor."

I nodded, but remembered I was talking on the phone; not face-to-face. "Hi," I said, "is everything okay?"

I don't remember ever handing the phone back to Jolly the Clown, after Miss Garland had finished telling me why she had called. He looked at me and said, "Is everything okay?"

Looking at him, I noticed his face was drawn with worry: I must have had a look on my face. "Yeah," I told him. "I need to pick up Sarah from school. She's-" I couldn't think of what to say. "- not feeling well."

Jolly nodded, his curly green hair moving forward and backward in an exaggerated way. Understanding came to his face as he said, "Caught that stomach thing that's been going around lately?"

I blinked, making my way back into the present. "Probably. Must have caught something from me," my mind started to work again, "what with all these children I am constantly surrounded by."

"One of the hazards of the job," Jolly responded. "I was out for a week and a half, after that spell of chicken pox. Worst thing: I thought I'd already had it! Oh well."

He started to walk away, back into the midst of the crazy, uninhibited children. "Tell Sarah I said hi!" he called over his shoulder. "And I hope she gets to feeling better!" From somewhere on his person, something honked.

I waved, but I didn't think he saw it.

After a moment of blinking and shaking my head to clear it, I went into the mansion's foyer. My hat and coat had been stashed there, along with my bag. As I was placing one of my arms into the coat, the host father came storming into the foyer, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Where do you think you're going, pal?"

I put the other arm into the coat and adjusted it. "My daughter needs me at her school. I'm goin-"

"You're not going anywhere!" the father screamed at me.

It was one of those moments I would normally erase from memory: the image of the parent, mouth opening and closing, gobs of spittle shooting from all corners and always managing to fall somewhere on my person. However, this particular day was different. The father's face grew red, and I found myself not caring; Sarah needed me, and this rich parent could spoil his child some other way; with a clown, a petting zoo, one of those inflatable moon things, and some pop singer performing "Happy Birthday" off-key, they could afford to have the magician leave early.

"We paid you for six hours," the parent checked his watch. "And you've only been here for three and a half!"

I simply shrugged, leaning over to pick up my bag. When I stood back up, I said, "Take it up with the agency." With my hat placed firmly on my head, I walked to the door. "I'm gone."

Walking to the car, I muttered to myself; nonsense that nobody but myself - and sometimes not even myself - would understand. It was like that on the drive to Sarah's school; even so as I walked down the empty hallways. My recently-polished black shoes clicked on the tiled floors.

Miss Garland was sitting next to my daughter when I entered the main office waiting area. Sarah was holding a brown paper bag in her tiny hands. I looked at it and found that my mouth had gone completely dry. Oh, God... it's in there. I cleared my throat and walked up to the two of them. "Hey, Sweetie," I said, trying to sound calm and relaxed, but I wasn't even fooling myself.

"Miss Garland," I greeted the woman with a gentle handshake as she stood to greet me in turn.

"Mister Lynn," she said. "May I speak with you in my office, for a minute?"

I looked down at Sarah, trying not to look at the bag in her hands. "Are you going to be okay out here, Sweetheart?"

She grinned, wide and toothy, nodding excitedly. "Yep!" I smiled back at her and proceeded to follow Miss Garland into her office.

I sat in the seat she offered me, in front of her desk, while she sat in the one behind it. Leaning forward, she said to me: "Mister Lynn, I don't know how to begin..."

I remained quiet; I had learned, before my wife died, that in certain instances the best answer is the one that doesn't come at all.

"I understand what you do for a living," she said, "and I can appreciate how it helps you in raising your daughter. However," she sat back a little, as if suddenly uncomfortable, "I cannot tolerate that kind of business when it involves the students. Especially when they are only seven and eight years old."

I nodded. "I completely understand, Miss Garland. And I apologize profusely for the stir this incident has caused today. Honestly," my throat went dry again, "I didn't think it would cause this much trouble. Had I," I quickly inserted, as Miss Garland had started to respond, "I would not have allowed Sarah to do that for Show and Tell."

She blinked, and I worried that it wasn't going to be a quick conversation, after all. "Tell me, Mister Lynn: what made you think that kind of thing was acceptable? Especially in an elementary school?"

I had to think fast; I didn't like the way this conversation was heading. Too many questions, and things would be ruined. "I'm sorry. I thought the children would find it neat."

Miss Garland sat back in her chair, her face giving away how hard she was thinking. "Well, the kids did seem to enjoy it." She leaned forward, once more. "But, please, Mister Lynn: I don't want this kind of thing coming into this school again. I don't want to have parents on my back about it. These things have a tendency to be blown incredibly out of proportion... believe me."

I simply nodded.

Miss Garland stood from her chair and extended her hand. "Thank you, Mister Lynn, for coming in today. Sarah is a very smart, very special little girl. I don't want to see her get into any kind of trouble."

"Me neither," I said, shaking her hand in turn, realizing that my palm had become incredibly sweaty. "And thanks for being so understanding."

She nodded and sat back in her chair. I took that as a sign of dismissal, leaving the office and meeting Sarah back in the waiting room. I accidentally glanced at the brown bag and nearly yelped; however, I managed to keep a semblance of composure. "Let's go," I told her, taking her hand, leading her quickly from the school, and into the car.

On the drive home, we didn't really talk. Every now and then, Sarah would look in the rear-view mirror at me, from her place in the back, and ask, "Daddy? What's wrong?"

I would glance in the mirror and shake my head. "Nothing, Sweetie. I just need to get home, okay?"

She would grin, satisfied with my answer, and proceed to look out of her window. The brown paper bag sat in her lap.

As I pulled the car into the parking lot of our apartment building, I could feel my heart beating faster. Reality was pulling me out of my swirling thoughts, and as I parked the car in our normal space, I came to a few decisions. I looked in the mirror at Sarah. "Sarah. Sweetheart..." I started, "what's in the bag?"

Her bright green eyes shone lovingly in my direction and her grin widened even more. "It's Hippy, Daddy!" she said.

I closed my eyes, taking another deep breath. It was then that I realized the pain reliever hadn't done its job: the headache was coming back, this time with a vengeance. "Sweetie, we buried Hippy in the back last night. It was after dinner, remember?"

Her reflection nodded and the grin stayed. "I know," she looked down at the bag, "but I dug him up this morning. Before you woke up."

I coughed, trying to make sense of things. "But... but why, Sarah?"

Her head tilted to the side, as if to say Daddy is an idiot. "'Cause he didn't die."

I couldn't take it anymore: I turned away from her reflection and turned toward my actual daughter. My head craned around at an odd angle next to the headrest. "Sweetheart," I said, "Hippy got into a fight with Jaws-" I couldn't think of how else to put it. "- and lost."

Sarah tilted her head to the other side. "Daddy, Jaws is a mean kitty, and he only hurt Hippy." She lifted the bag. "Hippy's okay."

I didn't want to take the bag, but I knew I had to; this had to be resolved. I tried to make sense of it: Sarah was seven, not old enough to tell the differences in animals, except for their species. She knew Hippy was a frog, Jaws was a cat. Other than that, it was understandable how my seven-year-old daughter would think that some random frog could be Hippy.

With that thought in mind, I started to relax. I took the bag from her, making sure not to shake it too much, and turned back to a comfortable position in the front seat. The bag sat on my lap, and after a few minutes of chanting it's not Hippy it's not Hippy it's not Hippy, I opened the bag and gently tipped it toward my open palm.

The frog hopped out and sat perfectly still on my hand. It wasn't until it hopped around and looked at me when my heart jumped to the roof of my mouth: the frog's eyes were different colors. One green, one blue, both blinking slowly, bored with the human currently holding him.

"Daddy?" Sarah said from the back seat, though it sounded like she had spoken from miles away. "Are you okay?"

My mind was racing, but I could tell I was starting to upset her. I looked up at her in the rear-view mirror and put on a wide grin. "Of course, Sweetheart." I lifted my hand, playfully. "Looks like we have Hippy back!"

She laughed and clapped, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching forward to snatch Hippy from my open palm. I didn't even try to stop her. Sarah had the frog, and got out of the car, running toward the back of the building to put Hippy back in his bowl.

I leaned forward to put my head on the steering wheel. I couldn't think of an explanation, and the only one that came to me seemed terribly odd, yet at the same time not odd at all. I thought things had finally finished, after Laura had given birth to Sarah. However, it had now looked like I was on a whole other playing field.

I got out of the car, deciding that, once Sarah was in bed and asleep that night, I would call Jesse and Walter; maybe they would know what to do. I know I didn't. And even if they didn't, I knew I wouldn't be alone.

As I walked toward the apartment, reality finally struck. I felt something inside grow weak from the realization, and I sighed heavily.

My daughter had taken a dead frog to school for Show & Tell... and had brought it back to life.

Reviews

[G. Cedillo]

great use of suspension, letting those ending lines hit like a punchline (or a soft hammer of profundity, i am not really sure which at the moment) but it was great. good characters thru out, i really felt tense during the guidance counselor scene - (i for one didn't know seven and eight year-olds EVEN had guidance counselors! maybe that speaks to my bachelorhoodness or my apathy of school days, meh) great read!
=g=

[Dameria]

wow. great story. i thought that something bad had happened to sarah, not even thinking her father's being a magician had anything to do with it. are you gonna write another chapter? you should, i would love to know more about Laura and Jesse and Walter. Keep writing

[Magnolia Belle]

A.J. Hi. I�m here for �A Union of Writers�. You had me hooked, wondering what was in the bag, what exactly was going on here. Good work! You keep your POV clear and your character is well developed. I could easily envision the setting at the rich man�s house with the kid swinging off the expensive chandelier.

I had a few questions, though, with things that didn�t make sense in the plot.

I thought things had finally finished, after Laura had given birth to Sarah. However, it had now looked like I was on a whole other playing field. You�re alluding to something, but it�s not clear to me. Did his wife, Laura have the same ability as Sarah does now?

I got out of the car, deciding that, once Sarah was in bed and asleep that night, I would call Jesse and Walter; maybe they would know what to do. I know I didn't. And even if they didn't, I knew I wouldn't be alone.
Who are Jesse and Walter? They get thrown in with no explanation at all. Are they Laura�s parents? His good friends? Who?

My last �critique� is on the use of passive voice when you don�t need to. (This is just my opinion, so please take what works and toss the rest.) I�ve copied over a small section to show you what I mean. It starts with them not talking on the way home, and then sounds like Sarah repeats the same question throughout the drive. I tweaked it a bit to show her only asking the question once, to fall in line with �not talking�.


On the drive home, we didn't talk. Every now and then, Sarah would looked in the rear-view mirror at me, from her place in the back, and finally asked, "Daddy? What's wrong?"

I would glanced in the mirror and shake shook my head. "Nothing, Sweetie. I just need to get home, okay?"

She would grinned, satisfied with my answer, and proceeded to look out of her window. The brown paper bag sat in her lap.

As I pulled the car into the parking lot of our apartment building, I could feel my heart beating faster. Reality was pulled me out of my swirling thoughts, and as I parked the car in our normal space, I came to a few decisions. I looked in the mirror at Sarah her. "Sarah. Sweetheart..." I started, "what's in the bag?"

You write well, with a good command of language and imagery. I enjoyed reading this!


Belle

[Greg the Bard]

The flow of this story is such that it is very to follow and read. I like it alot. The tension is suttle but it is there in the back ground which gives this write a edge. My imagination is stoked with "Are you okay?" which is simple but wide ranging for the father. Often I pick too much and with story I need to just say it is a great read. I'd recommend it to others heartly

[Twilight Dancer]

Wonderful, touching story! Easy to read - the transition was smooth and flowed well, along with mounting suspense. Great imagery also.
I was fearful about what had happed to Sarah at school - what was in the bag???? You definitely had me captivated! Excellent write! ... TD:)

[Silvia - Scribo, Ergo S..]

Splendid read ... story flows wonderfully ...love the characters in it, too. Yes, Sarah Beth is quite right: Let�s have the next chapter! xxx

[Lucky Me]

Sweet Andrew. I adore this story! We have to have a follow up. I want to hear how Sarah finds out about her special powers and watch her father freak out in the process. I could feel you identifying with both characters. The father worried about adult things and the daughter concerned only with the now. Let's see I particularly liked this sentence " "That man you hired is a downer to the party!" that particular parent would gripe and complain; the hosts, however, would merely shrug and run after the latest child to hang from their two-thousand-dollar chandelier."
I'm interested as to what other profession the father will pick up. Maybe the girl will learn how to turn rice into money or something and he'll never have to work again! ;)