It was Merlyn LeRoy VanRune’s birthday.  Merlyn felt every day of his ninety-two years, hell he felt every moment of them. When it was suggested that “getting old isn’t for sissies,” he no longer considered it a joke. He was living proof that to get old was an uphill battle worthy of a warrior.  It was a battle in which he lost ground day by day. Every bone and tendon now had a voice, and they actively proclaimed exactly how much they objected to Merlyn’s lifestyle. If he sat, his back complained, if he walked his hips or knees complained. When he watched TV his eyes blurred sending a message to his brain that they were aggrieved. His dark wavy chestnut hair was still wavy but sparse. The color had turned to pewter. When his daughter suggested they have a birthday party, he petulantly retorted, “Why would I celebrate this creaking body that consistently betrays me? It will only complain more…sending me dispatches via tweaks and snarls.” 

All things considered, Merlyn was in pretty good shape for his age. When he was seventy-five he had kicked the smoking habit at the behest (read constant nagging) of his wife, Trixie.  According to his doctor, he had “the heart of a fifty-year-old”. Doc Winter hadn’t mentioned if the fifty-year-old had other mitigating issues.  His prostate was gone so it didn’t bother him anymore.  He was exactly the right amount of deaf – he only heard what he wanted to hear. His appetite was good – he enjoyed red meat and vegetables, none of that vegan, vegetarian shit. He had one shot of whisky before dinner and one glass of wine with dinner and a small brandy before bed – moderation, always moderation, a word he disdained when he was younger, seemed to fit like a glove now.

Merlyn was a magician when he met Trixie. At the time he had contracted with the Frontier Casino in Las Vegas, he was forty years old and a confirmed bachelor. He was a rolling stone traveling the world doing magic shows. He started out in a sideshow at a circus, then worked in a variety of venues as he perfected his magic act. He performed many times at the Magic Castle in Los Angeles and had been accepted as a member of the exclusive Academy of Magical Arts. Finally, he had a gig in Las Vegas – the big time.

When Merlyn was hired at the Frontier, he needed an assistant and Trixie auditioned for the job. Trixie was twenty-three, long-legged, with a shapely body and the face of an angel. She was a palm reader, fortune teller, and astrologer who practiced magic on the side.  It was love at first sight. They both knew it, but Merlyn tried hard to ignore his feelings. He liked his vagabond life and never entangled himself in romance for more than a week or two. Trixie predicted their marriage the day he hired her.  She said their mating was foretold by the stars and they had no control over the stars. Merlyn, mesmerized by Trixie’s beauty and talent, capitulated.

They were married within a month and performed their act together. Five years later Trixie became pregnant and announced that Merlyn would have to change his profession, settle down, so they could have a stable home for their offspring. It sounded to Merlyn like she was planning a litter. He cringed, balked, and recoiled from the idea. Gently, in her magical way, she told him it was a fact, and he would get used to it.

So Merlyn became a realtor, a salesman of properties in southern California. He was the most successful realtor in Coachella Valley due to his charming salesman patter and the magic he performed for prospective clients. They were enthralled and he sold more homes and land in the area than anyone in history. As his client list grew so did his income. He and Trixie were very wealthy. They built a magical mansion in La Quinta. His business card read “Miracles for Sale”. It was a job he loved until he was eighty-five. The year he retired, Trixie died suddenly of pancreatic cancer after forty-five years of marriage, leaving him alone again. Merlyn was at sixes and sevens. She was the sun he revolved around and the years after her desertion were long and painful. He withdrew more and more into himself.

Their daughter Dora was an only child despite Trixie’s efforts to have more. Dora was married and lived 150 miles away. After retirement, Merlyn didn’t want to be around anyone and even begrudged Dora her monthly visits. Dora was at her wit’s end. Her father had fallen three times in two months. The last time he landed in the hospital with a body full of bruises and a mouth full of curses. His left knee was sprained but hadn’t broken. He could no longer live alone.  When Dora and his doctor insisted he needed to be in a monitored environment, his surly temper turned truculent.

She researched options and found Restview Haven. It was a five-star resort-like retirement community. She knew she couldn’t have him live with her family. Merlyn was a master of negative confrontation over every small thing of which he didn’t approve and he didn’t approve of much. At Restview he would have a luxury apartment with two bedrooms (in case she wanted to stay over a night or two), two bathrooms, a full kitchen, a study and three large walk-in closets, and maid service and laundry service weekly. He could have meals brought to him twice a day if he chose not to mingle with other residents. Someone would check on him first thing in the morning, in the early afternoon, and again in the evening, besides mealtimes.

Merlyn moved into Restview Haven, a move engineered by Dora. He was not happy about it. Now instead of his own company, he was confronted with a plethora of ancients who had even more complaints than he. He withdrew into his own apartment refusing to go to the community dining room for meals. He opted to make his own from a cache of deli meats, rye bread and mustard that was delivered from the market or pizza from Eddie’s Pizza Palace. Dora, tried everything she knew to pull him out of his funk, but his only response was “leave me the hell alone unless you want to be disinherited.”

On this ninety-second birthday, he grudgingly agreed to go to lunch with his daughter, son-in-law, three grandchildren, and great-grandson LeRoy (named for his great-grandpa), age two. Now he was back at Restview. The luncheon celebration was everything he feared it would be, Happy Birthday singing, a tasteless cake that was smeared all over his jacket by the two-year-old, and crummy food. Even his glass of Burgandy tasted bitter.

He decided to sit for a while in the large common room near the lobby to read his newspaper before going up to his apartment. He picked an area in a secluded corner with large potted trees on either side of the overstuffed pastel brocade loveseat where he sat, reading and glancing at people as they came in. He was engrossed in the real estate section of the paper when he felt a presence near him. He looked up to see a boy staring at him shifting from foot to foot.

“Can I help you, young man?” Merlyn inquired. “Aren’t you supposed to be with someone?”

“I’m here with my great-aunt Lula. She’s visiting her sister Lottie. She’s my great-aunt too but she smells. Aunt Lula said I could come down here and sit and wait for her for a while if I didn’t raise a ruckus. I’m not raising a ruckus, and I’d like to sit with you.”

Merlyn sat squarely in the center of the wide loveseat with pieces of his newspaper on either side to discourage anyone from joining him.

“Well, I don’t know. Wouldn’t you rather sit in one of the big chairs in the center of the room, where your aunt can find you?”

“No. I think I’m s’posed to sit with you.” The boy moved the papers all to one side and plunked down on the loveseat next to Merlyn.

“Why me? Who told you that?”

“Jus’ know it,” said the boy. “My name’s Bobby Cox, what’s your name?”

Merlyn looked around the room. People were coming and going and not paying any attention to him or the boy.

“I like that you are an old person and you don’t smell,” Bobby continued. “I’m very sensitive so stuff like that is important. You look interesting and I’d like to talk to you.”

With that somewhat convoluted complement, Merlyn thought he could entertain a few minutes with the boy. If it became insufferable, he could always leave and go to his apartment.

“OK, for a few minutes. How old are you, Bobby?”

“Well, that depends. I’m eight years old now but I’m older in another life, but not as old as you.”

“Another life? How old do you think I am?”

“Oh, probably close to a hundred. But it is just a number. My great-aunt says I am precocious and sometimes beyond my years. I like stayin’ with Aunt Lula. She lives in a big house with lots of collections.”

“Why are you staying with your aunt? Where are your parents?”

“My dad’s a big shot and travels for his job. This time he was going to Swiser-land and Mom wanted to go along but they didn’t want me under their feet. As if. Why would I go under their feet? I stay with Aunt Lula when they go places for more than a week or two. I’ll be with her for a month this time, but I don’t mind. They’ll bring me something from Swiser-land, and maybe take me when I’m older.”

“What kind of collection does your aunt have?”

“She collects trains of all sizes, some really big and some really tiny but they all look like real trains. She collects buttons and keeps them in jars all around the house. She collects glass insulators. Do you know what those are?”

“You mean the glass bulbs that used to sit on top of telephone poles?”

“Yeah, they’re blue or green. I never seen them on telephone poles but that’s what she told me. She has a big glass cabinet of them. And she collects matchbooks from everywhere. Do you know what a matchbook is? It’s a cardboard folder that has rows of cardboardy matches inside and a scratchy place to strike the match. She has them from every city in the world, mostly from restaurants. Some have pretty pictures on the covers, some are very plain, but she can tell me stories about the places where she collected each one. She collects corks from wine bottles and frames them in picture patterns – collage she calls it. She collects stamps from all over the world and writes to people in faraway places so they write back with stamps on the envelopes. And guess what?”

“I can’t begin to guess, Bobby. Tell me.”

“You never told me your name. You have a quarter in your ear.” Bobby reached up behind Merlyn’s ear and produced a quarter.

That was a trick Merlyn had used for his daughter and her friends when they were children. It took him by surprise to have this youngster play it on him.

“You must be a magician. My name is Merlyn.”

“Merlyn is the name of a famous magician. Did you know that?”

“Yes, I do and I’m a magician too.”

“Well, that must be why I’m s’posed to sit with you. Can you show me a trick?”

Merlyn reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. “I’ll make this coin disappear.”

“Oh. that one. It’s easy. Can you do a harder one?”

“I’ll have to go to my apartment to get something that I can show you.”

“OK.”

Merlyn went to his apartment to get some cards, a pencil, and a rubber band for a couple of easy tricks he could show Bobby.

When he returned Bobby was gone. Merlyn went back to his apartment feeling lighter. The next day he went to the reception room again with his magic kit hoping Bobby would come in with his aunt. After a couple of hours reading his newspaper, he retired to his apartment disappointed.

The following day, there was a knock on his door. He opened it to find Bobby.

“I have to go to the bathroom. D’you have one in here?”

“Of course, come in. How did you find my apartment? Does your aunt know where you are?”

“I told her I’d be with the magician.”

“You go to the bathroom and then we’ll go downstairs to the reception area so she can find you when she wants.” 

“It’s okay if I stay here. She’ll find me.”

“No, I want to be in a public area, so she doesn’t have to hunt for you.” Merlyn wasn’t ready to have anyone, let alone a child, invade his personal space.

Merlyn and Bobby spent an hour downstairs in the same nook where they met. Merlyn showed Bobby some magic tricks. Then the receptionist paged Merlyn to say he had a phone call. His daughter tried his cell phone, but he didn’t have it with him, so she called the main switchboard to track him down and tell him it was important that he call her immediately. Merlyn went upstairs to get his phone. Dora told him she had scheduled an appointment with his orthopedist early the next morning. When he returned downstairs, Bobby was gone.

Merlyn met Bobby three more times that month, always in the downstairs common room in their cozy nook. Bobby shared some of his magic tricks and Merlyn showed him more. Merlyn practiced magic in the common room as he waited for Bobby. Other residents gathered to watch his magical exhibitions. Merlyn began to make friends with his neighbors. His outlook improved, his temper leveled out and his old charm returned. 

Bobby didn’t show up for several weeks. Merlyn asked the residential manager if he could contact Lottie. He didn’t know her last name but maybe it was Cox. He wanted to find out if he could see Bobby again, even if they met somewhere else. Mrs. Binghamton said there was no one named Lottie living at Restview Haven. She tried Carlotta, Charlotte, and other names that could be shortened to Lottie, but no one had heard of Bobby Cox. No one remembered someone named Lula visiting Restview. No one with that name had signed in as a guest. No one remembered a little boy coming or going with an old woman. But magic had returned to Merlyn.