Mark and All the Magical Things

by Jeff Elkins

  The blue halo began. At first faintly, then building strength.

  Mark bit his bottom lip and leaned in closer for a better look.

  He was there, in his kitchen, sitting at the table. There were two salad plates and two glasses of red wine in front of him. He was watching for something in the other room.

  Mark racked his brain trying to place the memory he was seeing. He didn’t recognize it. Staring closer, he noticed gray flakes in his hair. “Gray hair?” Mark said to the tile as he rubbed his head. “I don’t have any gray hair.”

  Anne came walking into the scene. She plopped into the chair with a sigh and rolled her eyes. “I think that’s got it,” she said.

  The graying Mark smiled and took her hand. “You ready for the main course?” he asked.

  “God, yes,” she said.

  The Mark in the tile jumped up and ran to the stove. Putting on two oven mittens, he opened the stove, withdrew two plates, closed it, and then brought the plates to the table.

  “Oh my gosh,” Anne said. “This looks amazing. When did you learn to do this?”

  “Well,” Mark said, taking a seat. “I remembered you talking about your grandma’s amazing Shepard’s Pie. So I called her.”

  “And she answered the phone?” Anne said smiling in a way that crinkled her nose.

  “She found me charming,” Mark said, refilling their wine glasses.

  “Bullshit,” Anne said, laughing.

  “She said anything for her little Annie,” Mark said, sipping from his wine.

  “That sounds more like her,” Anne said.

  Mark held up his glass for a toast. “You are just as beautiful as our first date. Here’s to five more years.”

  Anne picked up her glass and clinked it with his. “To five more amazing years,” she said, and they sealed the toast with a kiss.

  But the moment was ruined by a faint screaming coming from some other room. Anne looked down and closed her eyes. “I’m going to kill her,” she said.

  “My turn,” the graying Mark said as he stood. “Eat up,” he added. “While it’s hot.” Then he walked from the room.

  Anne took a bite and savored the swallow. She chased it with a drink of wine. Turning in her chair to face the direction Mark had walked, she called, “Tell your daughter she’s lucky she’s cute.”

  The tile went white again.

  Mark leaned back and stared at the wall, his mouth hanging open. After moments of silence, he nodded his head with excitement and said, “Wow. That’s some strong magic.” Standing, he pulled up his pants and touched the tile with one hand. Closing his eyes and looking to the sky he said, “Thank you.”

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