I’m not even kidding: this is this morning’s waking dream.
THE ASSISTANT: “I always come back, at the end of the day — whichever day it is, Friday or Saturday, the 23rd or the 24th — to see if I can find a trace of the magic that’s powered this last month, in the almost-darkness and the silence. The tree and the twinkle lights reflect in the dark windows and it looks enchanted, doesn’t it, this space that just a few minutes ago was teeming with humanity.
Children see and feel it, that magic, and adults pretend to for the sake of the children although there are some adults who still can, and do. You can tell the difference. A rare few.
I keep hoping… but that special little something eludes me so I work twice as hard at pretending that it’s real and everyone around me is pretending as well and we all know we’re pretending but we can’t say anything, and it all gets a little surreal until really we’re just going through the motions with no intimacy or joy. It’s just a set piece, it’s all rote.
But I keep trying, Bumble. I work at your store every year like I have for centuries, it seems, because even if I can’t find the magic in myself I can reflect it from others to others like the moon reflects sunlight and that seems to be enough for people. I can’t generate my own but I can lead people to theirs, and yours. And I guess that’s not such a bad thing, in the end.”
BUMBLE: “No. It’s not such a bad thing.”
::BUMBLE smiles a small twinkling smile as THE ASSISTANT turns out the remaining human world lights. In the silence, BUMBLE and THE ASSISTANT look out over the shabby little shop and through its windows to the snowy scene beyond.
Only the festival lights abide now, to beguile and guide through the long dark night, and to fade in the new day’s sunrise. We see then, along with THE ASSISTANT, in the light of the new day the shabby little shop will have replaced its stock of child’s delights — ’til the first thaw, at least — with hot chocolate and warm croissants filled with chocolate or almond or raspberry or marmalade; mulled apple cider and thin peanut butter samwiches; caramel espresso and vanilla steamers (not to be confused w/ the clams of the same designation) and inside out grilled cheese samwiches or a Monte Cristo if you’re really hungry, with creamy tomato or hearty onion soup on the side and sometimes, late at night, an onion tart fresh from the ovens before they’re shut down for the night. How all that food could fit into the shabby little shop along with ice skates to rent and a sound system to pipe music all around the skating shore and warm mufflers and mittens and boots of all sizes to buy THE ASSISTANT never tried to fathom. It was an accepted fact, like blue skies, electricity, and the phases of the moon just like how at festival time it appeared, filled with toys and games and dolls and chemical sets and any book a child could think of.
::BUMBLE smiles at THE ASSISTANT::
BUMBLE: “Off we go then, my friend. Lots to do before the sun comes up, hm?”
::BUMBLE winks::
::THE ASSISTANT smiles faintly in reply::
ASSISTANT: “Do you need my assistance?”
::BUMBLE makes a shoo-ing gesture with big, burly hands, smiling broadly. This is clearly a favorite moment, being on the brink of change like this::
BUMBLE: Gracious no. Get along, I work faster alone. Have a good sleep and come back tomorrow morning for a private Monte Cristo and a friendly bowl of soup before the afternoon wave of brand new skaters arrives. I’ll be sure to have plenty of arnica on hand and will handle the boo-boos personally if you’ll be in charge of the hot chocolate. It’s especially good when you make it, you know.
::THE ASSISTANT smiles very slightly and flushes a barely there pink. Standing up, they stretch up their arms to the ceiling and for a moment it seems that they grow to fill the space — but then in a blink we see again our familiar ASSISTANT in their dark green overcoat, 1900’s patent leather button boots, and 1950’s fedora style hat with the little golden feather in the dark green band. It must have been a trick of the festival lights after all::
::THE ASSISTANT turns to leave::
ASSISTANT: Good night, then, Bumble. Have fun.
BUMBLE: Good night, my melancholy friend. Sweet dreams, eh?
::THE ASSISTANT stops, and smiles:: Is that an order?
::BUMBLE at the back of the shop, facing the floor before him, arms raised like an orchestra conductor, lowers his arms and smiles sadly:: No. Just a wish for my old friend.
::THE ASSISTANT stands taller for a moment and we see a much happier smile on their face than we have all evening:: For tonight then, because you wish it, may it be so.
::THE ASSISTANT walks out of the shop and as the festival lights fade we see BUMBLE beginning to conduct what appears to be an invisible orchestra. Objects start to move, apparently under their own power, then vanish accompanied by faint magical effects sounds and lights::
CURTAIN.
