I suppose the real trick is to make something out of nothing. But a trick is a trick. So, of course, there has to be something to this.
Right?
Or like any trick, there has to be something behind it, or something unseen, or some kind of method to the madness.
I know there has to be something to this, or something that can somehow alter or mystify perception and just like a spark or a flame that comes from nowhere, POOF!
It’s magic.
There has to be “a way.”
There has to be something behind the magic to make this happen.
I never had a box of tricks or a magic set when I was a kid. I never had many toys either. Then again, I was not much for toys or Matchbox cars, and I never asked for them as gifts.
I was never spoiled and I never had much.
Maybe I noticed this.
I know I did.
I knew that I didn’t have toys like other kids.
I certainly noticed that I never had a collection of Matchbox cars.
There’s a story I have about Matchbox cars. But that’s a story for a different entry.
Either way, I noticed that I never had the same toys or collection of Matchbox cars because I remember how the other kids at school had an entire collection with special carrying cases and all.
But not me, I had a collection of maybe, five or six different cars, which were cool enough, but not as cool as the collections the other kids had.
Here’s a trick. . .
Here’s something I have always admired, which is that somehow, someone who has less, or somehow a person who is humble or doesn’t have “as much,” or if someone doesn’t fit the normal or the commercialized version or beauty, and that somehow, regardless of what they have, how much, how little, how fancy, or how beautiful, I’ve always admired the person who is comfortable with what they have.
I admire the underdog.
I admire the non commercial beauty and the natural beauty of a person. I admire the one who can have less and somehow, they seem to have more, or despite their humble background, or their differences with the masses, there is something more appealing about them, or something attractive, or demanding of our attention. Because of this, the world is a better place because of them.
I used to write stories about the kids in the middle of the room. I wrote about the kids who were neither good looking nor bad. Instead, they were mainly faceless or unnoticeable.
These are the unmemorable ones who live flat in existence. They are unthought of, unnoticed, and undesired, uninspiring, unremarkable, and seemingly unapproached and unincluded.
These are the socially vacant or the so-called social pariahs who are uninvited and more namely, these are the nameless, unrecalled and forgotten faces who show up to your 30-year high school reunion and say, “Hey, do you remember me?”
No.
By the way, this is my biggest fear, to be unmemorable or to be unremarkable and uninteresting, unattractive, and unwanted or undesirable.
Come to think of it . . .
I recall standing in the front section of some club on Long Island, a long time ago. The place was not one of my usual spots, but either way, the name of the place escapes me. I was talking to someone who I hadn’t seen in a while. Her friend was noticeable, pretty, and mainly quiet.
I said hello and nice to meet you. Not trying to look to impose or anything.
You know me, she said.
We went to school together, she told me.
Where, I asked.
At Woodland?
She smiled as if to understand the unfortunate memories and the fashion tragedies of good old Woodland Junior High School.
She was pretty. I would swear that I’d remember someone like her. However, I couldn’t seem to place her name or her face.
I’m sorry, I told her.
I told her that I don’t remember much from back then because I didn’t want to insult her.
She told me that it was okay.
She said how I would never remember her anyway.
She used to be very heavy and overweight.
She explained how no one talked to her, including me.
She also mentioned the mean things that people say when you’re fat and wearing glasses.
You were never mean to me, she said.
I was glad to hear this.
I was grateful that she said I was nice to her because I was unsure what her memories of me would be.
I may not remember what you looked like then, but you look great now, I told her.
So do you, she said, and while I still cannot recall her name nor can I place her face, I do remember what she told me.
She mentioned that people can change.
Only, the way she delivered this was more poignant or profound.
I suppose she knew enough about me to understand that I was nothing more than a small, weakling, and insecure, like anybody else.
People change, she said.
I assume she’s right.
I assume I was more impressed by the way she evolved and how she carried herself.
She worked for what she had. I make no mistake in saying this.
And I remember thinking, “Good for her!”
There is no trick better than a complete and total transformation of self, which is not to say that she was never internally beautiful or that I recall her being terrible or unsightly.
I’m sure she was beautiful in her own way. Only, I never paid attention to her in the past, so, I wouldn’t know and it would be dishonest of me to say that I remembered her.
However, what impressed me about her is the way she made her external beauty catch up to her internal beauty. She didn’t brag and she didn’t boast.
She just stood there, humble, but proud in a good way.
I think about what she pulled off.
I think this is one hell of a trick.
Life is life.
I used to go to the same places when I was a young adult. I remember the bullshit games of the single life, and trying to meet someone, or trying to impress them.
I remember the different bars and clubs.
I suppose everyone from the neighborhood went to these places too.
We all knew each other.
You’d see everyone at the same clubs or at the same bars and they would always sit in the same area.
There was a Thursday night spot at a place called Sprat’s. I remember this place very well.
There were other places too. But as usual, I don’t like to do names or mention the names of places because I prefer the air of mystery. Plus, I like to hope that I inspire your imagination or cause you to think. I want you to create your own picture of what I write and I try to have you imagine what the scene was or to envision what the places might have looked like.
But that’s a different trick for a different time.
Either way –
The summertime was made for wild nights. Hot as ever, and at the clubs in Island Park, or on the water at a place called Paddy McGee’s.
Everything was about the outfit, where you sat, and with whom. The music was always a key thing, which was always noticeable to me. I loved the songs from the so-called juke box because it seemed as if they played the same songs at the same times of the night.
I remember this.
I remember my old friends as well.
We were young enough to care more about how tanned our skin was from the summer sun and wild enough to care more about going crazy than anything else.
Everything was about posture or the way you stood or how you dressed and how you looked.
And me?
I was never flashy.
I never drove a nice car. I never had a nice apartment. I was mainly a scrub. I had a blue four-door Chevy that was loud, beat-up, and unattractive.
I never dressed exceptionally well.
I suppose my outfits were like my Matchbox car collection. I had a few good ones, but I’d have to rotate this well enough so that I wouldn’t look like I always wore the same thing.
I was never exceptionally cool.
I tried though. But I was not fashionable, per se.
However, I can say that I’ve improved over the years. I’ve gained a little style.
But back then, I lived in the basement of my Aunt’s home.
It wasn’t like I could bring a girl back to my apartment. While my backseat did manage to have some success and good times with me in it, I was never comfortable.
I was always afraid to be that kid or that guy, or afraid to be that person who is mainly faceless or nameless, and unappealing.
I never thought I had much to bring to the table.
So, I pretended to be someone I wasn’t, which never works out well
(or for very long).
At the same time, I was more afraid of being unremembered or unremarkable. I always wanted to be beautiful. I wanted to stand out for a good reason. I wanted to be noticed for something beautiful, instead of some embarrassing moment where I tried to pull of my best James Dean approach.
Put simply, the only part of me that was remotely like James Dean was that I was a “rebel without a cause,” alright.
(That was a James Dean movie.)
I had no cause. No vision. I had little to zero confidence and mainly, I was crippled by the fears that I was not enough.
The most admirable magician to me is the one who can come upon the stage of daily life and walk into a room and this is their trick; they neither require attention nor care if anyone notices. Either way, this person is happy to be where they are. They are unafraid to smile or laugh or dance and enjoy the scene.
I love this trick.
I love the way someone (like you) can walk into a place and be unyielding and unafraid to speak up.
Sure, I speak up now.
However, I had to train and retrain myself on how to do this over the years.
I’ve had to address this, depending upon my mood, because there is no need to threaten or to instill fear or create an idea of unthinkable violence. I don’t have to create some kind of counteraction of unsure or unstable response, just in case, the response from others is poor or undesired, I can create chaps and make someone uncomfortable for not thinking more carefully about me.
Here’s a trick . . .
Do not react to insecure thinking.
I’ve been working on this for a long time.
I’ve been working on removing fear and ways to deduct this from my equation. I want to be healed in this sense because without fear, the world is nothing more than an infinite list of various possibilities.
What a trick this is to pull, right?
This is a good trick to pull.
Could you imagine?
Just a wave of the wand and “Ta-Da!”
You’re ready to take on the world.
I admit there are days when I am more comfortable than others.
I admit that there are times when old fears creep around the corner.
There are days when I look in the mirror and I see my old invisible scars.
I see the unsightliness, which is inaccurate version of truth.
But nevertheless, when you think of yourself in a certain way, you naturally assume that others think the same way.
My trick, if I can pull it off that is, would allow me to dissolve the fears in thin air, and just like that, POOF! they’d no longer exist.
Just know that despite the arguments or the bouts or the fights or whatever takes place in life, and despite your past (and ours) and despite what your fears may tell you, I have never met anyone as brave or as beautiful as you.
I will say this now and I will say this for as long as I live.
You inspire me.
If I could pull a trick, I guess I’d look to say presto-change-o and snap my fingers.
And POOF!
I could rid us from the past.
But that would only be a warmup to the main trick.
This is something that I do hope that I can pull off some day.
If I could, I would.
I would snap my fingers and say the magic words, and just like that, I would be more like you—a hero.
I know that like me, you might not know this or maybe you don’t see it.
And maybe the world has a way of tricking our vision.
Maybe this is why you never realized how beautiful you are.
But I am only a messenger on this trip.
And the message I have for you is true.
You are beautiful.
I don’t know how you pull off your trick,
but I’ll learn.
I promise you.
And when I do, trust me,
POOF and just like that, Ta-Da!
We’ll all be fine.
The Written Addiction 