The Mug, the Magic, and the Mistake

Even though my mind tended to stray in school, I know just a bit about physics, a bit about chemistry, a bit about biology and scraps of other sciences, enough to have some sense that the universe actually works. I've put together enough philosophy and religion to have some ideas about why it works. And like most people, I still have those days when it feels like the only purpose of the universe is to make my life go wrong. That's when I limp into my mental library and pull out a story or two about the mystery, magic and synchronicity.

One of those stories got lost for a while, one of the best, one that no writer would dare make up because it's too far-fetched, too full of coincidence. Perhaps stories about previous girlfriends are supposed to be forgotten after twenty years of marriage, but writers and storytellers are supposed to remember. And proper to remember or not, believable or not, it happened, even if I'm the only one who remembers, the only one who ever really knew the whole story.

I was twenty, just starting my two years as a college dropout, and selling vacuum cleaners door to door, trying to anyway. It was the year my brother, Gary, had died after 26 years with muscular dystrophy and just about two weeks before my grandmother would die as well. However, I had a girlfriend, much to Dad's relief.

It wasn't my first time in love. That was first grade, but this was the first time I had actually tried to do anything about it. This was also just after we had looked out the car window at the same time and both saw our first shooting star. Disbelieve if you wish, but I was there.

We drove up to Parkersburg one evening to do some relatively early Christmas shopping. She shopped, and I watched since that was what I could afford at that point. Her first nephew had been born just a week or two before, so she bought a silver mug at Things Remembered and had it engraved with his name and birthdate. Once that was ready, we started the 35 miles home.

Part way home, she decided to look at the mug, which is where things took a serious turn. When filling out the paperwork for the engraving, she had listed that day's date in place of her nephew's birth date. Ruined. Since neither of us had the money to buy a new mug, or anything else, (and because she had even more of a temper than I did at the time), she got angry and depressed.

I wanted to say something like, "Let's see what tomorrow brings," but it was one of those times when platitudes would turn anger to fury. Instead, I silently told myself, "Wait and see what tomorrow brings" even though there was nothing it could bring. Still, I calculated the minimum I would need for gas and the cost to replace the cup, and I waited.

Tomorrow brought a letter from my car insurance company. A few weeks earlier, I had discovered that they had not credited me for my driver's ed discount, and I certainly wanted that class to pay off in some way at least. They promised to credit my account and specifically said that I would be getting a credit, not a check. I got a check, a check that was just about two dollars over the amount I needed.

I dropped the day's plans and got ready for Parkersburg. Since it was such a perfect opportunity, I also started scheming. For my scheme, I needed the "bad" mug, and I needed to keep a certain girlfriend in the dark. Given her intelligence, curiosity, and pure stubborness, that wouldn't be easy without good planning.

I called her house, and when she answered, I simply asked to speak with her dad, not an explanation in sight. I told him that I was going to see about getting the wrong date buffed out and the right date put on, and would need to slip the mug out the house secretly. He thought buffing would leave a clear mark, and so did I, but he had a thing about being sensible. I didn't want to tell him that I was spending my little windfall in quite such a silly way, even if it was for his youngest daughter.

I had a plan for getting the mug out of the house, but sensible Jack was not without his impish streak. Since no one had real reason to suspect him, he slipped the mug out himself and met me up the road from the house. Step one was perfect.

There was no reason to expect trouble on the drive, but I've rarely owned a car that was especially reliable. No trouble. Better than no trouble. From the edge of Parkersburg to Grand Central Mall, there are quite a few traffic lights, enough to not bother counting. That day for the first time and the last time, I cruised through every single light green, no stopping, no slowing. I was beginning to think that I had Rod Serling as my co-pilot.

Even though I had never intended to get the mug buffed, I like to be truthful. To keep my karma balanced, I went to the jewelry store and asked about buffing. It would leave a definite, obvious flat spot. My duty was done, even if I made the jewelry store staff think I was dumb. They were strangers, so it was fine.

In the clear and heading for the home stretch, I went to Things Remembered to order engraving on a new mug. The clerk bent over and opened the cabinet to get one, and she found an empty spot instead. They were out of stock. Even if they knew when more would be in, I wouldn't have enough money to come back. I'd gotten tripped at the finish line.

However, they did have one mug still on display, and the person working decided that she could engrave the display mug if I would give them the mis-engraved mug to use for display. Since it was an even trade, she wouldn't even charge me. And just as I write this, I realize I should have gotten her name. Instead, my benefactor will always remain a stranger who doesn't know the story.

Getting the mug back in the house was the really easy part since I also knew it was the evening my girlfriend met with a group she was in, even if I've since forgotten the group. (Junior Achievement, perhaps, says a distant voice.) The real fun was set for later when some relatives and I would all be there to see her discover the switch.

I couldn't go. I have no memory why, but that was the one glitch. Instead, I called and told her dad to go ahead without me. I would have to settle for hearing about it later, which was good enough now that the things were in place.

It was her uncle who asked her to show him the mug, acting for all the world as if he wanted to tease her about it. She got it off the shelf, took it out of the box, and the date had magically changed to her nephew's birth date. My inner-knight-errant could feel worthy of his horse, shield and sword.

Perhaps that should have been where that story ended, but another part of me had an itch. There was a magical story sitting in the display case of Things Remembered, and nobody knew it. People were walking up and down the aisle as if it were an ordinary mug, and that just didn't seem right.

Somewhere, I came into a little more cash, although it wasn't from selling vacuum cleaners. (I only sold 3: one to some friends when I was only supposed to be doing a practice demo, one to my grandmother because grandmothers do such things, and one to my parents because parents do such things.) I went back and bought the display mug, even if it took some explaining as to why I wanted somebody else's engraving.

To me that mug was the only symbol of the story that would stay around. The "good" mug was headed for Oklahoma come Christmas. Perhaps we should be able to remember and believe without physical proof, but I wanted that mug. I wanted to show other people and tell the story for years to come, one of those family things that no one would believe. "But here's the very mug."

I gave the mug to my girlfriend, but she never quite understood, or I never quite explained it well enough. She thought that I was making fun of her mistake. Still, it didn't cause more than a ripple in our relationship. That would come eventually, and the shooting star could be interpreted in a different light.

Since I did such a good job fooling my girlfriend while replacing the mug, she wasn't there for the action, and whatever part she may remember if she tries is probably a bit distorted by time and our hard times. What became of the mug, I will probably never know, but when I stop to remember, at least I know the universe works. I'll leave the specifics for how and why to the different religions, but my personal grail is a mis-engraved silver mug from Things Remembered.

----------------------------------

Contact, Converse, Critique, Question
---------------------------------------

Would you like to know when the site gets updated? Drop me an e-mail, and I'll add you to the list. Much of my writing has been for the antiques site lately, but I have a long list of essays in assorted stages of revision for this site. The people who e-mail often apologize because they assume I'm swamped with e-mails. I only wish it were true. I'm a teacher from the marrow out, so give me questions. I'm a writer, so I also need an audience. Sometimes that means applause, sometimes rotten tomatoes.

From time to time, a student decides to use some of my ideas, or perhaps they even quote me in a paper. Great, I'll take what fame and traces of immortality I can get. However, I should also warn such students that my ideas are not always the things that your teachers want to hear. I'm a stubborn idealist, and that puts me at odds with quite a bit of education theory and literary criticism. Sure, I think I'm right about some things, and I'm sometimes convinced of my own brilliance, but don't jump into the fire blindfolded.

FDP

E-mail me at ginfor@earthlink.net