Magic Sand
Norridge, IL. I received only one Christmas present from my grandmother and I’m fairly certain it was a timely mistake. Mom, sissy and I stopped by a week before the festive holiday, one we’d never spent together. My grandparents were always with Uncle Jersey and his four ghostly children who clung to the drapes whenever our car pulled into the driveway. We shared the same thoughts with our cousins, wondering who would possibly want to visit their family. Not us. His house was an hour away and we went there infrequently—only to get money he owed my dad or to see if we could rescue one of the dogs he’d inevitably shoot because one of his kids forgot to turn off the television.
Grandma took to Jersey’s kids. They all looked alike with their black hair and spooky blue eyes. I think she was wrapping one of their gifts when we came by unannounced. I had to pee so I went inside with my mom while my sister stayed in the car listening to winter songs on the radio.
She was feeling guilty or nice, I couldn’t tell; but my grandmother handed me a present that was loosely wrapped. She’d had barely enough time to pin on a piece of Scotch tape. I pulled back a gold corner and revealed a small blue plastic genie bottle. It was a toy called Magic Sand. Grandma brought me a glass of water and told me to pour in the sand and watch it grow. I spilled the blue grains into a fat pile that could’ve passed for a lazy anthill. The glob of nothing was scared of the water and hid beneath a layer of silver air. Small bubbles popped up and every once in a while a loose grain would separate from the cluster and float to the top.
Grandma handed me a wooden spoon to make a sandcastle. It was too difficult to try and build inside a juice glass. I pushed against the mound, making it nothing more than a big thimble. Somehow, I was missing the magic. I kept pouring and pouring until the bottle was empty and what I had before me was a glass half full of sand. A small clump stood on top, pretending to be a chimney.
The present was over. I didn’t know how to get the granules back into the bottle. Just like a tricky genie. I flushed the mess in the toilet, but not all of it went down. I shut the lid and walked back into the front room, waiting for my grandfather to find it and curse me with cholera.
Back in the family room, strings of stars twinkled on the plastic Christmas tree. Snow continued to fall, frosting the lawn. Up and down the street, the houses glowed with hanging crystals and statues of shimmering angels and pre-lit Santa Clauses. Every other window had a tree trimmed with colorful round and tear-dropped ornaments. I imagined other families opening presents; how they’d sit together ripping off bows and shredding various foil papers stamped with sleepy bells and melancholy snowmen. Tick-tock, it was seven o’clock and mom was still searching through fabrics in grandma’s sewing room. My sister honked the horn. She sat in the station wagon, ready for us to pull out of sight.