I woke up, cleaned up, packed, and headed to the city. I made my way to Times Square, stored my bags, and marched and chanted briefly. I got my bags, argued with a man on the subway and regretted my lack of compassion and composure when I got to Grand Central. I took a train to New Haven, and read most of the way. I left three magic books on the way. A woman saw me leave a magic book at Union Station. She grabbed it, chased me down, and said, “you left your notebook.” I said, “did you read it?” She said, “of course not.” I said, “open it. What’s there?” She read, and then I snuck around a corner out of her sight. She looked up, and for her, I vanished. Her mouth was agape. She hugged the notebook and mouthed the words, “thank you.” I smiled. Got my rental car, checked in to the Mariott near Yale, then got on the road for West Hartford. The radio station in the car played 80s and 90s hard rock, “102.9 THE WHALE!” I laughed so much on the drive. I got coffee at Duncan donuts and left two more magic books. I went to a cafe next to the theater, had coffee, a burger, clam chowder and a dab of ice cream, and left 1 more magic book. A quick trip to get a congratulations card, wrote a message, then got to the theater. Mingled. Listened. Talked. So AN AMAZING PLAY READING. Annoyed a woman in the audience by taking too long to ask a question. Left three magic books in the theater. As expected, white people ignored them. And then a Black LGBTQ+ man found one, read the inscription, and kept the book. People of color and LGBTQ+ people of color seem to understand the magic books. I’ve never seen a white person understand it unless I gave it to them directly. I decided to reveal myself to the man at the theater, and point him towards two more magic books that white folks left confusedly on a shelf. He said, “wait, you did this? You made these?” I said, “take those other two books. Help make brave spaces for people who need it. It’s not about me. It’s about you.” I hope the magic helps him and whomever he encounters. I drove back to New Haven, went for a walk, and ran into a man who said he knew me. I didn’t recognize him. He thought we studied at Oxford together. I just smiled and got pizza.
It was a good day. A wonderful day. And the best part was the part I didn’t talk about, the beautiful play I saw that seriously belongs next to Tom Stoppard’s work on a shelf.
I hope I land a new job soon. Something to help me keep going until I can get my work published. Something to help me keep doing things like make magic books to help people.