Francisco hated living in Tucson, he hated driving to the strip mall every day over the endless tangled miles of asphalt and overpasses.
He loved being in the shop, he loved the special decks of cards and rope boxes and the top hats that snapped open with an authoritative flick of the wrist.
He loved the movies, too, not the hokey how-to DVDs, but the classic Hollywood pictures about magicians. Chandu the Magician from 1932 and the 1953 production of Houdini and even Presto, Pixar’s short featuring a very annoying rabbit. He had a big collection of movies, they were always running on the TV at the end of the glass case that held not just the expensive tricks, but the stuff that was easy to shoplift.
He loved the kids that came in, mostly nerdy boys, but sometimes, a girl. Kids liked Francisco, they trusted him. The boys, he teased with good nature and called them stage names. But he was serious with the girls. He steered them away from the flawed, easy to debunk tricks because boys want to fool people, but girls need unexplainable secret powers to get by in the world, he knew this from growing up in house full of sisters and mothers and aunts.
He was happy in his shop, but the sprawling city of Tucson, with its endless subdivisions, wore on him and he tired of the glow of streetlights, how could there be magic when it was never really dark?
His shop is now in a converted shipping container across the street from the gas station. It was a fireworks stand, out of use for most of the year and bearing a permanent for sale sign. Francisco likes the idea of having a shop, but mostly, he runs his business online. He does okay, he earns enough that his house is paid for and he can visit what’s left of his family in Hermosilla a few times a year.
On days when it’s not too hot, Francisco rides his old bicycle from his little house in the subdivision where he lives. First, he stops in the gas station to get a large soda, and then, he crosses the street to his shop. He props open the door and the little cafe window that faces the street. He’s got an older TV in there, and a DVD player, and comfortable chair and he spends two hours, maybe three, watching movies and performing card tricks for no one.
He’s excited if one of the kids from town stops by, but he’s perfectly happy if they don’t.
This story is an illusion. None of it is true, I made it all up. The little shipping container magic shop, though, that’s real. It’s on the shoulder of a little town called Vail, across the street from a gas station and a subdivision that sits behind a head-high terra cotta wall.
I love stories made up of things you see or a glance from a stranger…good stuff.
My other half and I love to make up stories about people we don’t know – this is right in line with that impulse.
Also, “. . . but girls need unexplainable secret powers to get by in the world,” – that is the best sentence I will read all month.
Oh, poor Francisco! Most of us living in Tucson love it for its small town vibe and laid-back attitude. Endless tangled miles of asphalt and streetlight glow? I think Francisco has never been to California… or Phoenix. I hope one day he gets to visit Kitt Peak to see the amazing stars or Sabino Canyon to see the saguaros and other natural wonders of the desert.
I’ve been to Tucson a few times — my Dad called it home until he passed away last year, and while I did enjoy the surrounding nature and I thought the downtown was cute, I found the urban planning had a lot to be desired and that there was very little one could do without a car. I’m sure Francisco would hate LA and Phoenix too, but suggesting Tucson doesn’t have the sprawling asphalt and subdivisions, well… I’ve seen those things right there in Tucson with my own eyes.