Into the Magic Shop

by James R. Doty, MD

  I recognized the bigger kid, the one who was throwing the punches. He was two grades above me, and both my brother and I had been pushed around, hit a few times, and even spat on by him and his trusty sidekick. They were a gang of two and pretty much ruled Lancaster in the afternoon between the hours of three and five during the school year. Obviously they were operating on extended summer hours because here it was not even 10 A.M. and I could see one of them punching and kicking a kid while the other yelled and laughed. I couldn’t see who it was because the kid on the ground was curled up and had his head down. His arms were wrapped around the top of his head trying to protect it. For a second I thought it might be my brother but then remembered he had actually been home when I left.

  I’m not sure what it was that made me get off my bike and start yelling at the boys. I was used to defending my brother, a habit that I would carry with me into adulthood, but I didn’t go looking for fights, and certainly not with these guys. They didn’t hear me at first, and as I walked toward them, it was like I could feel every punch and kick they delivered to the boy on the ground and my heart started to hammer in my chest. I took a deep breath and yelled again for them to cut it out.

  “Stop it!”

  The big guy was hunched over the kid, and when he heard me, he stood up tall. He gave me a snarly grin and then kicked the kid on the ground one more time in the stomach. It made me flinch and feel like I had just been kicked in the stomach myself.

  “Who’s going to make me?”

  Their attention diverted to me and I saw the kid on the ground roll onto his back and start to get up. It was a kid I kind of knew from school. I couldn’t remember his name, but I knew his family had transferred here last year. His dad was out at the air base. The kid’s face was bloody, and his glasses were in the dirt next to him. He had to be half the size of all three of us. I was as tall as these older kids, but they outweighed me by at least thirty pounds. I watched as he got to his feet and started staggering toward the church. I couldn’t blame him for getting the hell out of there.

  “You going to take his place?”

  The two boys took a few steps toward me, and I felt my mouth go dry and my ears start to buzz. I tried taking some deep breaths the way Ruth had taught me, but I couldn’t seem to get the air to fill up my lungs.

  This was not going to be good.

  “So, you think you’re a hero? Some kind of freaking hero?”

  I didn’t say anything. I tried relaxing my legs and my hands like I had learned in the magic shop. I bounced up and down on the balls of my feet and cleared out my thoughts. If I had to fight, I would. I wasn’t going to run.

  “I’m going to kick your ass and then we’re going to take your bike.”

  I still didn’t say anything. I sensed the sidekick moving behind me a little, but I just stared straight at the guy who liked to punch and kick. He was the one who called the shots for the pair. He moved his face so close to my face that I could see some sort of white gunk in the corner of his mouth. It was getting hotter out by the second and his face was sweaty and dirt-stained.

  “Unless you want to kiss my feet.”

  I thought of Ruth and Neil in the magic shop. They would be waiting for me to ride up right about now. Would Ruth think I had skipped a day with her when I didn’t show up? Would anyone find me out here bleeding? Did the other kid go to get help? Did this guy wake up, have his cereal and milk, and just run out of the house ready to beat people up all without even wiping his mouth? All these thoughts started racing through my mind, but I just stared at the dried white gunk and pretended it was the light on a candle.

  “Kiss my feet.”

  I looked up and into his eyes and spoke for the first time since I had told him to stop beating the other kid.

  “No.”

  He reached out and grabbed the front of my T-shirt.

  “Kiss my feet,” he threatened. His mouth began to make a smile like someone who knows he has power over another. His face got right up to mine and I could smell and feel his breath. I closed my eyes for just a second and in that second something was different.

  I opened my eyes and looked directly into his. I stared deep into his eyes, the way we do when we’re trying to really understand something or someone. “You can do anything you want to me, but I’m not kissing your feet.”

  He laughed and looked to the side at his friend. I saw him raise his eyebrows and then he looked back at me. I stared at him, without blinking. He lifted his fist and cocked it behind his ear. I didn’t flinch. I just kept my eyes locked on his and in that moment I didn’t care that he was bigger than me or that there was some other kid’s blood on his fist. I wasn’t going to back down. I wasn’t going to give him the power to make me afraid. And I wasn’t going to kiss his feet or anyone’s feet. Ever.

  And for a second our eyes locked together and I saw him, and he knew I saw him. I saw his own pain and fear. A pain and fear that he tried to hide with his bullying.

  His gaze broke from mine and he looked at his sidekick and back at me. “What a waste.”

  He let go of my shirt and pushed me a little so that I stumbled back a step but I didn’t fall down.

  He looked at me again for the briefest of moments and turned away. “It’s too hot. Let’s get out of here.”

  I felt the other kid give a little push against my back, but it was more for show than anything else. I could tell he wasn’t sure what had just happened. They both started walking away, and I could see the other boy talking to the bully. I knew he was asking why he didn’t beat me up. The bully pushed him and said, “Shut up.” Neither of them looked back.

  I took a few more deep breaths and watched them as they walked away before I turned toward my bike. I wasn’t exactly sure what happened or even why I did what I did but I felt good. Suddenly I realized I was late and Ruth was waiting for me. I hoped she didn’t think I had just blown her off. I got on my bike and raced as fast as I could to the magic shop.

  • • •

  I WENT bursting through the door, out of breath but ready to tell Ruth and Neil the whole story of what had happened on my way to the shop. I had stood up for myself and had stood up for a little kid who couldn’t defend himself. For probably the first time, I felt like a hero. Ruth had to forgive me for being late once she realized what I’d done.

  “Ruth,” I called out. It was strange; neither she nor Neil were at the counter. “Ruth! Neil! I’m here.”

  Nothing.

  I headed back toward the office and that’s when I heard their voices. Ruth and Neil were arguing. I had never heard them argue.

  “He’s just a boy.”

  “He’s going to remember this for the rest of his life. You have to make it right.”

  “It’s too late. The damage has been done. I’ll explain it all to him when he’s older.”

  “Damage can and should be undone.” Ruth sounded angry.

  I had never heard her sound like that and it worried me. Had I done something wrong? Were they that mad about me being late? None of it was making sense. What damage had Neil done to me? What was he going to explain to me when I was older?

  “Neil, everybody makes mistakes. I certainly made my share with you. But I’m telling you it’s not too late to fix this. You’ll regret it if you don’t. Trust me.”

  Everything got quiet. I didn’t want them to walk out and see me eavesdropping. I walked back to the front of the shop and opened the door again and called out their names. Maybe they wouldn’t know I had overheard them.

  “Hello,” I called out. “Ruth, I’m here.”

  Ruth walked through the office door. Her eyes were red like my mom’s, so I knew she had been crying.

  “Jim,” she said, “you’re late.”

  “I’m sorry. I had a little problem on my way here.”

  Ruth looked me up and down. “Is
that blood on your shirt?”

  “Yes,” I answered, “but it’s not mine. Don’t worry.”

  Ruth laughed. “That worries me even more. Come on back.”

  I walked past Neil, and he mumbled hello but didn’t look at me. I wasn’t sure what I had done or what he had done, but it must have been bad. It seemed like he hated me now.

  Ruth had me sit down in the chair and walked me through the relaxation exercise and then asked me to chant my mantra in my head. I started, but I couldn’t stop replaying the conversation I had overheard. What mistake had Neil made with me? What was so bad that Ruth would be crying? I couldn’t take it anymore, and I certainly couldn’t tame my thoughts right now.

  “What happened? What did I do? Why is Neil mad at me?” I blurted out all three questions with my eyes still closed and then I opened them to see Ruth looking at me with a puzzled look.

  “Why would you think you did something?” she asked.

  “I heard you and Neil arguing about me. I heard you through the door. He hates me.”

  Ruth continued to stare at me and then she just nodded her head.

  “You heard all that?”

  “Yes,” I said, miserably. I knew Ruth and Neil had been too good to be true, and I was pretty sure this was my last day at the magic shop.

  “Really, now? And what did Neil say about you?”

  “He said . . .”

  I thought about it but couldn’t remember exactly what Neil had said about me.

  “Yes?” Ruth prompted.

  “It was something about . . . something about the damage being done.”

  “And you heard your name?”

  “No, not exactly,” I said. I couldn’t remember them saying my name, but I knew it was about me. I felt even more miserable. Was Ruth going to lie to me and tell me they weren’t fighting about me?

  “Jim,” Ruth said gently, “we weren’t talking about you. We were talking about my grandson.”

  “Your grandson?”

  “Yes, Neil has a son, and it’s complicated and sad, and I miss him.”

  “How old is he?”

  “He’s around your age.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s with his mom right now. But that’s not important. What’s important is why you thought our argument was about you. Why you would think Neil hated you.”

  I didn’t really know what to say to that. I had just assumed they were talking about me.

  “Jim, everyone has situations in their life that cause them pain. The situation with my grandson and my son hurts my heart. It’s like a wound. Now, if I cut open my knee what am I to do? I can give it some attention—clean it off, bandage it up, and make sure it heals properly—or I can ignore it and pretend it’s not there, pretend it doesn’t hurt or sting and just pull my pant leg down over it and hope it goes away. Is that the best way to heal it?”

  “No.”

  Once again I wasn’t sure exactly what she was talking about.

  “It’s the same with the wounds in our heart. We need to give them our attention so that they can heal. Otherwise the wound continues to cause us pain. Sometimes for a very long time. We’re all going to get hurt. That’s just the way it is. But here’s the trick about the things that hurt us and cause us pain—they also serve an amazing purpose. When our hearts are wounded that’s when they open. We grow through pain. We grow through difficult situations. That’s why you have to embrace each and every difficult thing in your life. I feel sorry for people who have no problems. Who never have to go through anything difficult. They miss out on the gift. They miss out on the magic.”

  I nodded at Ruth. I had spent a lot of my life so far comparing myself to my friends who seemed like they had everything. They didn’t have to stand in line at the grocery store and feel the pain as the cashier looked at you when your mom handed her food stamps. Or to wait in line at the government food bank for someone to give you a handout of powdered milk, butter, and a bland white block of cheese. They didn’t have parents who argued, got drunk, or overdosed on pills. They didn’t go to bed at night feeling like everything wrong was somehow their fault. They had cars and money and clothes and girlfriends and nice houses to live in. Ruth felt sorry for them?

  “Jim, the next trick I’m going to teach you is to open your heart. Some people have a lot of trouble with this. For you, it’s going to be easier.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because life has already begun to open your heart. You care, Jim. You care for your family. Your brother, your mother, and even your dad. You cared when you thought Neil was mad at you. You care enough to come here every day. I have no doubt about your ability to care about others—that’s part of opening your heart.”

  I thought about the boy who had been getting beat up that morning. I didn’t really know him, but I did care. I cared enough to stop my bike. I knew I cared because I could have been (and had been) that kid. I cared because I had felt pain and humiliation a million times already and it hurt. It hurt a lot.

  “The other part of opening your heart, and this is where you are going to have to really practice, is caring about yourself.”

  I cared about myself. That was going to be easy.

  “There’s a reason why you assumed our conversation was about you, Jim. You made a big leap from what you heard to Neil hating you.”

  “I just misunderstood,” I said.

  “Yes.” Ruth laughed. “We all misunderstand. Each other. Ourselves. Situations. It’s a good lesson to learn—that not everything is about us. I think I need to learn that same lesson when it comes to my grandson.”

  I nodded.

  “Each of us chooses what is acceptable in our lives. As kids, we don’t get a lot of choice. We are born into families and situations, and it’s all really out of our control. But as we get older, we choose. Consciously or unconsciously, we decide how we are going to allow ourselves to be treated. What will you accept? What won’t you accept? You’re going to have to choose, and you’re going to have to stand up for yourself. No one else can do it for you.”

  • • •

  I NEVER GOT a chance to tell Ruth about the first fight I witnessed that morning, and I never heard Neil and her fight again. Every day for the next week, she taught me to open my heart. She explained to me that so often the conversation going on in all of our heads is one that is hypercritical and negative. One that frequently causes us to react in a way that isn’t in our best interest. One that causes us to relive events over and over or to wish for things that might be or should be. So much so that we aren’t really here a lot of the time. We started that morning with Ruth having me say nice things to myself. How strange. Over and over I said repeatedly, I am good, it’s not my fault, I’m a good person. It was like I was another deejay at the radio station, but everything I said was nice and comforting. Every time I caught myself listening to the other deejay, I stopped and began the kindness mantra to myself.

  “I am worthy. I am loved. I am cared for. I care for others. I choose only good for myself. I choose only good for others. I love myself. I love others. I open my heart. My heart is open.”

  Ruth asked me to make a playlist of these ten affirmations and repeat them every morning, every night, and just anytime if it popped in my head, and especially after I did my relaxation exercise and tamed my thoughts. They were all kind of hokey, but I went along with it and was grateful she hadn’t asked me to say them out loud. Next, she told me she wanted me to send loving thoughts to myself, my family, my friends, and even people I didn’t like or who didn’t deserve it. She saw me look confused when she said to send loving thoughts to those I didn’t like or those who didn’t deserve it. She looked at me with a deep kindness and said, “Jim, oftentimes those who hurt people are those who hurt the most.” But it was hard. It was hard to think of the bully who had beat me up and somehow
think it was OK. It wasn’t and I still hated him and all the other people who had been mean to me and hurt me. But I kept trying. Over and over. And after a while I found that if I thought of them being hurt or being beat up and crying in pain and then what it felt like when it happened to me, it was easier. Easier when I began to realize that when I was angry with someone, it was usually because I was hurting on the inside. I was angry at myself for something. I had never realized that before. Her words kept coming back to me: “Those who hurt people are often those who hurt the most.” She was right. And that was her point. If you can heal your own wounds, you don’t hurt anymore and you don’t hurt others. Wow. Was being with Ruth somehow healing me?

  The week before, Ruth had told me that the last thing she was going to teach me was the power to get anything I wanted. I was ready to move on to that. I was getting a bit tired of talking about the heart. A lot of the time thinking about it made me hurt. It brought up so many painful things that I had spent a lot of time trying to bury deep down inside so they wouldn’t hurt so much. But I was finding that while it really hurt when they came up, each time it was easier and not quite as painful. And finally, while I could relive the event in my mind, the emotional response wasn’t quite the same. I could sit with it and not get lost in the hurt and the pain. I could sit with it and not blame myself or somehow think it was my fault. I could just be with it. I was finding that while the deejay was still there, I just wasn’t paying as much attention or the sound had gone down really, really low.

  Ruth was sawing my heart wide-open, and while it hurt at times, it also felt good.

  • • •

  ONE THING every human has in common is the first sound we hear. It’s the heartbeat of our mother. That steady rhythm is the first connection each of us knows, not with our minds, but the knowing is there in our hearts. The heart is where we find our comfort and our safety in the darkest of places. It is what binds us together and what breaks when we are apart. The heart has its own kind of magic—love.