Yesterday, at work, I was writing a story about magic during the Second World War.
I had only a few minutes, so I wrote on a piece of paper and folded it before putting it into my pocket. Then I went back to work.Later, I reached into my pocket to continue writing.
The paper was gone.
I checked my pockets again. I looked around me, under the things on my worktable, and everywhere I could think of. Nothing.
Then I noticed something else in my pocket.
A ten-cent coin.
I stared at it.
The coin was supposed to be in the little bin where we kept our work pens. I had no idea how it had gotten into my pocket.
For a moment, I just stood there holding it.
Then I looked into the box in front of me—the box I had been working with.
And there was my paper.
It was lying there as if it had never disappeared at all.
I picked it up and looked at the words I had written about magic.
I smiled.
Perhaps there was a simple explanation. Perhaps the paper had slipped from my pocket, and the coin had somehow followed the opposite path.
Or perhaps not.
I kept the ten-cent coin.
After all, when you are writing about magic, you learn not to ignore small things.
Sometimes magic does not arrive with thunder or a bright light.
Sometimes it is only a missing piece of paper...
and a ten-cent coin.
