Read Online The Understory by Elizabeth Leiknes - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Leiknes
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needed to not scream cock and balls at church.
After Hans motioned for Sarah to come up, he held a purple curtain hanging from a rod in front of her, hiding her from the audience. He then spoke quietly, turning to her so only she could hear. “I’m not going to use any fancy magic words here—”
“Words are overrated,” she assured him.
With no real instruction, Hans began to count with his fingers, so the audience could see.
One .
Sarah’s eyes widened when she whispered, “What am I supposed to do?”
Two , Hans indicated with his fingers.
Sarah’s panicked eyebrows danced. “Gism whore!” came out as a mean whisper, as she looked to Hans for some direction.
Three!
And when the audience watched Hans fling the curtain in the air to reveal what was behind it, they began to cheer. One boy said, “She’s gone!” and Wonder Woman cried, “She’s invisible!” spraying saliva on the girl next to her.
Hiding underneath the tableclothed card table where Hans had, in the split-second before the reveal, sequestered her, Sarah looked up, disappointed. “I’m still here.”
Hans thought about telling her, Magic can’t save everyone, but isn’t it great how we made the kids in the audience believe in something enchanted? But Sarah Hartsinger didn’t need any more words.
Once the crowd dispersed, Sarah snuck out from her hiding place, and as the others mingled, she slyly made her way over to Hans, who was busy not eating bad sheet cake.
She stared at his calloused hands. “How’d they get like that?”
“Fixing things,” Hans said, thinking of the difference between things that can be fixed, and things that can only be mended.
She nodded, and then smiled. “You’re a bad magician.”
“You’re a bad disappearer ,” he said with a smirk. And for a moment, she disappeared into the wallpaper. “But you’re an amazing singer,” Hans said, delivering the words with his strong, flawed hands.
With that, Sarah Hartsinger took shape and came to life. “Once upon a time,” she said, her soft voice employing mystery instead of vulgarity, “there was a girl who almost thought magic was sorta cool.” She glanced behind her at the roomful of guests, making sure no one but Hans heard her confession.
Hans let his plastic fork fall onto the paper plate. Through a smile and a sigh, Hans said, “A story? I thought you said words were overrated.”
He could tell Sarah wondered what he had against stories. And in that split second, he actually realized what it was. They’re fixed. Stuck. Once they’re written, they can’t be changed. Fixed sorrow on the page. Closed books of despair.
Sarah did not deny what she’d said—instead, she displayed the same knowing look Hans had seen earlier. She then closed her eyes, placed her hands on her forehead in true psychic form, and said, giggling, “You’re going to meet someone who makes you like stories again.”
“Is that right?” he laughed, placing his plate on the table. “And how do you know that?”
She laughed back. “Magic, of course.”
“So it’s not just for babies .”
Her smile was still there, but it softened, and when she raised her eyebrows, she became serious. “Keep your eyes open, Magic Man.” But as she studied him, watching a smile subconsciously take over his face, Sarah knew Hans had already met that someone, even if he didn’t know it yet.
“Yes ma’am,” Hans said, grateful Sarah’s instructive words had not devolved into an evil, semantic cluster of inappropriate body parts and fluids.
And as Hans Turner walked away, trying hard to keep his eyes wide open, the bright Arizona sunshine forced him to squint. For a moment, he switched his focus from the harsh, blinding beams to warmer, caressing rays, and he thought of a slightly broken woman living in her own slightly flawed tale. He thought of the artful curves of soft, cupid’s-bow lips reciting other people’s words, and wondered if she was living happily
After Hans motioned for Sarah to come up, he held a purple curtain hanging from a rod in front of her, hiding her from the audience. He then spoke quietly, turning to her so only she could hear. “I’m not going to use any fancy magic words here—”
“Words are overrated,” she assured him.
With no real instruction, Hans began to count with his fingers, so the audience could see.
One .
Sarah’s eyes widened when she whispered, “What am I supposed to do?”
Two , Hans indicated with his fingers.
Sarah’s panicked eyebrows danced. “Gism whore!” came out as a mean whisper, as she looked to Hans for some direction.
Three!
And when the audience watched Hans fling the curtain in the air to reveal what was behind it, they began to cheer. One boy said, “She’s gone!” and Wonder Woman cried, “She’s invisible!” spraying saliva on the girl next to her.
Hiding underneath the tableclothed card table where Hans had, in the split-second before the reveal, sequestered her, Sarah looked up, disappointed. “I’m still here.”
Hans thought about telling her, Magic can’t save everyone, but isn’t it great how we made the kids in the audience believe in something enchanted? But Sarah Hartsinger didn’t need any more words.
Once the crowd dispersed, Sarah snuck out from her hiding place, and as the others mingled, she slyly made her way over to Hans, who was busy not eating bad sheet cake.
She stared at his calloused hands. “How’d they get like that?”
“Fixing things,” Hans said, thinking of the difference between things that can be fixed, and things that can only be mended.
She nodded, and then smiled. “You’re a bad magician.”
“You’re a bad disappearer ,” he said with a smirk. And for a moment, she disappeared into the wallpaper. “But you’re an amazing singer,” Hans said, delivering the words with his strong, flawed hands.
With that, Sarah Hartsinger took shape and came to life. “Once upon a time,” she said, her soft voice employing mystery instead of vulgarity, “there was a girl who almost thought magic was sorta cool.” She glanced behind her at the roomful of guests, making sure no one but Hans heard her confession.
Hans let his plastic fork fall onto the paper plate. Through a smile and a sigh, Hans said, “A story? I thought you said words were overrated.”
He could tell Sarah wondered what he had against stories. And in that split second, he actually realized what it was. They’re fixed. Stuck. Once they’re written, they can’t be changed. Fixed sorrow on the page. Closed books of despair.
Sarah did not deny what she’d said—instead, she displayed the same knowing look Hans had seen earlier. She then closed her eyes, placed her hands on her forehead in true psychic form, and said, giggling, “You’re going to meet someone who makes you like stories again.”
“Is that right?” he laughed, placing his plate on the table. “And how do you know that?”
She laughed back. “Magic, of course.”
“So it’s not just for babies .”
Her smile was still there, but it softened, and when she raised her eyebrows, she became serious. “Keep your eyes open, Magic Man.” But as she studied him, watching a smile subconsciously take over his face, Sarah knew Hans had already met that someone, even if he didn’t know it yet.
“Yes ma’am,” Hans said, grateful Sarah’s instructive words had not devolved into an evil, semantic cluster of inappropriate body parts and fluids.
And as Hans Turner walked away, trying hard to keep his eyes wide open, the bright Arizona sunshine forced him to squint. For a moment, he switched his focus from the harsh, blinding beams to warmer, caressing rays, and he thought of a slightly broken woman living in her own slightly flawed tale. He thought of the artful curves of soft, cupid’s-bow lips reciting other people’s words, and wondered if she was living happily
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