Read Space Magic for Free Online Page A

vacuum cleaners, a faded rainbow of aqua and pink and beige plastic. “Mr. Tatyrczinski was one of my favorite clients,” Ms. Hernandez said. “He gave me a bust of Kennedy for my birthday one year. Kennedy was my hero, but I don’t think I ever mentioned that to him. Somehow he always knew just the right thing to do.”
    “Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe the junkyard knew.”
    “What?”
    “Never mind. Wait a minute, I just remembered something.” I walked down to the end of the row of appliances, paused a moment, turned left. There, on a battered chrome dinette table, was a jar of buttons. I opened it, dug around for a moment. “Here. I think Carl would have liked you to have this.”
    It was a campaign pin in red, white, and blue. It was a little faded, but still plainly readable: RE-ELECT JFK IN ’64.
    “This must have been some kind of joke,” Ms. Hernandez said.
    “Maybe. Or maybe it’s a little memento from a time that never was. A time that was better than this one.”
    “What a... a lovely thought. In any case, if I were your business lawyer I would caution you against giving away merchandise to friends and relatives. It’s a common problem for new business owners.”
    “OK, I’ll take three bucks for it. Naah, make it two fifty.”
    “It’s a deal.”
    We stood side by side and watched the sun set over the junkyard.

I Hold My Father’s Paws

    The receptionist had feathers where her eyebrows should have been. They were blue, green, and black, iridescent as a peacock’s, and they trembled gently in the silent breath of the air conditioner. “Did you have a question, sir?”
    “No,” Jason replied, and raised his magazine, but after reading the same paragraph three times without remembering a word he set it down again. “Actually, yes. Um, I wanted to ask you... ah... are you... transitioning?” The word landed on the soft tailored-grass carpet of the waiting room, and Jason wished he could pick it up again, stuff it into his pocket, and leave. Just leave, and never come back.
    “Oh, you mean the eyebrows? No, sir, that’s just fashion. I enjoy being human.” She smiled gently at him. “You haven’t been in San Francisco very long, have you?”
    “No, I just got in this morning.”
    “Feathers are very popular here. In fact, we’re having a special this month. Would you like a brochure?”
    “No! Uh, I mean, no thank you.” He looked down and saw that the magazine had crumpled in his hands. Awkwardly he tried to smooth it out, then gave up and slipped it back in the pile on the coffee table. They were all recent issues, and the coffee table looked like real wood. He tested it with a dirty thumbnail; real wood, all right. Then, appalled at his own action, he shifted the pile of magazines to cover the tiny scratch.
    “Sir?”
    Jason started at the receptionist’s voice, sending magazines skidding across the table. “What?”
    “Would you mind if I gave you a little friendly advice?”
    “Uh, I... no. Please.” She was probably going to tell him that his fly was open, or that ties were required in this office. Her own tie matched the wall covering, a luxurious print of maroon and gold. Jason doubted the collar of his faded work shirt would even button around his thick neck.
    “You might not want to ask any of our patients if they are transitioning.”
    “Is it impolite?” He wanted to crawl under the table and die.
    “No, sir.” She smiled again, with genuine humor this time. “It’s just that some of them will talk your ear off, given the slightest show of interest.”
    “I, uh... Thank you.”
    A chime sounded—a rich little sound that blended unobtrusively with the waiting room’s classical music—and the receptionist stared into space for a moment. “I’ll let him know,” she said to the air, then turned her attention to Jason. “Mr. Carmelke is out of surgery.”
    “Thank you.” It was so strange to hear that uncommon name applied to someone else. He hadn’t