kiwords

“Everyone grab coats! Get in the car!” I was moving fast, bellowing orders. In the scramble I saw Max scoop up the cape. Silky red, spangled with gold stars, it’s been knotted around his shoulders a lot lately. He’s recently decided he’s a magician, see, so he wears his cape, and blue gloves that once belonged to a Power Rangers costume, with a hole in the palm of the left one. Add one black, plastic wand, and you are a magician.

The cape is quite ragged, if you look closely. It’s just a length of fabric, not hemmed or anything, so it’s fraying all around its edges. I don’t hem, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have any idea how to sew such a slippery fabric, so I choose instead just not to focus too hard. If you stand back, it’s a vision in capelyness. It flows around his ankles with grace and panache, and perfectly accompanies his magic acts, which usually end with him shrieking, “DARNIT!” and dissolving in giggles and running out of the room.

Running gracefully. With his cape swirling at his heels.

So this was the cape he grabbed (instead of a jacket) on the way out the door. I stopped him.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” We were heading out on errands, you see. Library, allergist’s office. People would look at him. Sometimes that’s ok, sometimes it’s not. It’s like his hair. The longer it gets, the more people notice it. It’s gorgeous, thick and wavy. People often sigh, “oh, his hair is so NICE,” and you can tell they’re dying to touch it. It begs to be touched. And sometimes he raises his chin and says, “thank you,” with a small smirk of delight. Other times he stares at his shoes like he’s contemplating murder, then complains during the walk back to the van about how he hates it when people do that THING when they TALK about his HAIR. One never knows.

“Yes, I am wearing my cape,” Max answered me, with just a hint of the stubborn.

“That’s fine, if that’s what you want to do, but you need to know that it’s a little unusual, and people will look at you and probably make comments. Is that ok with you?”

He looked at me like I was speaking Swahili.

“OF COURSE that’s ok with me.”

I hesitated. I wavered.

Ok, fine then. We were off.

Everywhere we went, people did look at him. Some were startled, a few were knitted-browed-concerned, but mostly people smiled. As he walked past, people would watch him with a far away look, as though they were remembering the feel of a cape fluttering behind them, remembering striding out like that, bravely being someone else for the day.

I trailed behind, watching him light up his corner of the world. If he ever does get that wand of his to function properly, I know what I’ll ask him to do. The magic I want is to always, always know. Know for sure when to tell him no, and when to tell him to rock on.