=Paradise, As I Recall It=

Back then, I was living on a small tropical island. It was so isolated and remote that it didn’t even appear on maps. It was the kind of island where Adolf Hitler, John Kennedy, Elvis, and Marilyn Monroe would have been living if those stories in the National Enquirer were true.

All the natives practiced some kind of magic. They didn’t think anything of it; it was second nature to them.  At the café you’d see saltshakers floating across tabletops and coffee cups levitating to lips. Cats could talk because they were really people. Coconuts were conjured out of thin air with bored-out holes from which straws emerged, ready for languorous sipping. The magic must have rubbed off on me. Without even trying, I found I could perform a few nifty tricks of my own.

One rainy season a Catholic priest washed ashore looking like a great black beach umbrella turned inside out. There’d been a shipwreck, he explained, though no evidence of a shipwreck was ever discovered. It was a miracle that he’d survived, so he said. He never tired of describing the long days and nights at sea, the thirst, the sun, the sharks and how his faith had seen him through. Clearly he’d been sent to the island by God to free us from the evil demons who’d  taken possession of our hapless souls. The island people, being an easy-going lot, didn’t object. They nodded, they smiled, they conjured more alcoholic coconuts. “Okay mon,” was the general sentiment. "As you say then." 

They'd lived with magic so long that it no longer seemed very magical. They were up for something new. Undergoing a Catholic exorcism seemed just the thing. Why not? It became a fad, like getting an ankle tattoo or your hair braided with shells. Soon the island wasn’t half so magical as before. In fact, it had become downright dull. People  spent a lot of time saying things like “Pass the salt, please?” instead of just floating it across the table like in the old days. They left being a cat to the cats. Inevitably, a McDonald's went up. A Burger King quickly followed. The good times were over. It was time for me to leave.

I waited for the next helicopter to arrive with the latest supposedly dead celebrity. I turned myself into a tse-tse fly and snuck myself aboard for the return trip. Back in New Jersey, I regained my human form. It was the last bit of magic I ever did. Somehow, I had lost the knack. As easily as it rubbed off onto me, the magic had rubbed right back off again. Who knows where it goes? People will tell you that there’s something not quite right about me. They can't put their finger on what it is. It's a feeling. They start to say it, but don't. They're afraid they'll sound crazy. So everyone ends up keeping my secret. I took a job selling life insurance by phone. I get by.