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Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Outside the Box the Down in the Dirt May-Aug. 2020 issues collection book		get the 422 page May-Aug. 2020 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

In Plain Sight

Alison Ogilvie-Holme

    Reality hits her at random. In familiar places. During unguarded moments. Like the other day at the coffee shop when Dinah was killing time between work and meditation class. While ordering her usual brew, an older gentleman stepped up to the cash beside hers. ‘Dad?’ her mind queried. Strange how the id clings to lost hope, before ego obtrudes. A full glance revealed only cursory similarities – receding white hairline and stocky build, but divergent facial features.
    “I’m sorry, Ma’am. It will take a few minutes for your tea to steep. We’re just making a fresh pot.” announced the teenage girl behind the counter.
    “No worries.” Dinah responded in her standard catchphrase. When did she become a Ma’am and not a Miss?
    Without warning, her eyes began to water. She once heard that looking up can staunch the flow of tears. Fixing her gaze on the ceiling, Dinah studied modern light fixtures, chrome producing a warped perspective. Time ebbed away and memory intruded on her immediate surroundings.
    When she was a little girl, her father loved magic tricks. Not the garden variety type, involving disappearing coins or retractable thumbs, but real, bona fide illusions. He performed the kind of stunts that hypnotised children and lulled grown-ups into a bewildered state of uncertainty, making them question the laws of physics. There was something almost mythical about this gentle man and his quiet ability to captivate.
    On a sticky, summer evening, cottagers gathered together along the beach. Hard rains had kept everyone indoors for what seemed like forever, and the weather was finally turning. A fire blazed in the open pit.
    “Does anyone know all the words to Camp Granada?” one of the mothers laughed.
    The family sing-along had been going steady for over an hour but attention was beginning to wane as the playlist shrank.
    “Maybe it’s time for a little magic instead.” suggested a bored father.
    Encouragement rang out from the crowd: Yes! Great idea. Pleeease, Daddy. What do you say, Earl?
    Dinah’s mother imbibed lemonade in stony silence, eyes carefully averted. She made no bones about her disapproval. According to Lillian, magic was the work of the devil; an act of defiance against God. Although her husband often downplayed his powers, explaining them away as a simple trick of the eye, she knew better. He was dabbling. And no good would ever come of it.
    “Alright, let’s see then. I need everyone to look at the empty lawn chair over there. Focus all your energy on making it move. You can even close your eyes and imagine it happening - whatever helps you to visualize the chair in motion.”
    The group was charged with anticipation. Nervous giggles punctuated the air. An older boy chanted, “Ommmmm.”
    “Now, on the count of three, we are going to move that chair, using our collective thoughts. Ready? 1, 2...3.”
    Dinah watched, open-mouthed, as the chair toppled backwards and landed upside down, narrowly missing the boy.
    “Holy shit!” he screamed, after ducking just in time.
    The party hastily disassembled with makeshift excuses. It was getting late. The kids were tired. Tomorrow promised to be yet another busy day. Lillian adopted a smug, ‘I told you so’ expression. In minutes, the beach was deserted, save for the upturned chair. Dinah could still picture that chair. How it lay there undisturbed for days on end. How it made her feel hollow inside like an empty stocking on Christmas morning. Fearful of hurting someone next time, her father never attempted magic again.
    Years later, Dinah was confronted with the cruellest irony. That her father should become lost within the labyrinth of such a brilliant mind, forced to navigate life without recall. She could not bear to imagine him sitting alone in his room at the home and staring blankly into space. Nor could she stomach the thought of regular visits from her mother. His solitude interrupted by some strange woman praying for eternal salvation while dousing him in holy water.
    “Ma’am...Ma’am. Your tea is ready...are you okay?”
    Dinah left her tea behind and slipped out through the nearest exit, bolting straight towards the Hyundai. There amidst the clutter of roving family life, base emotion took hold. A crumpled fast food napkin soaked up her uncorked tears. She grabbed a forgotten teddy bear from the backseat and squeezed tight. Biological age soon dissipated as a little girl cried for the Daddy who no longer called her by name or knew her by heart. Memories now vanished in plain sight.

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