The Magic Carpet

By Chris Eboch

I first saw magic when I was twelve years old.

I didn’t believe in magic, but that didn’t make any difference.

I was at Grandma’s house with my dads, for Christmas. Grandma lives in a big, old house, much, much older than Grandma herself. She still has brown hair, with just a streak of white in the front. Grandma is pretty cool, way cooler than my dads. She never treats me like a kid.

We always arrive at Grandma’s in the evening, after driving all day. Grandma always greets us with hugs, and a plate of cookies. In some ways she’s just like a normal grandmother.

I get to sleep in the attic room, with the pointed ceiling. It’s spooky up there, but I like it. At home Dad has to practically drag me out of bed in the morning, but for some reason, I always wake up early at Grandma’s house, while my dads sleep in. So I always come down to the kitchen to eat leftover cookies and talk to Grandma.

But on this one visit, back when I was twelve, I woke up even earlier than usual. I got dressed and walked quietly downstairs, so I wouldn’t wake my dads. I see enough of them on vacation. Besides, they might complain about the cookies for breakfast.

When I passed the old library, I thought I heard something inside.

The door stood open a crack. I pushed it a little farther and looked through.

Grandma sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the room, facing away from me.

I figured she was doing her yoga. I was just about to say hello, when she spoke.

“Alacazam!”

I stood there with my mouth open, wondering what she was doing. I thought she knew I was there and was playing some kind of joke on me, but I couldn’t figure out what.

Then I noticed the carpet. She was sitting on an old carpet with fancy flower designs woven in red and gray. A couple of years before she had told me it was Persian, and I looked for Persia in the atlas and couldn’t find it. Grandma said Persia was now Iran, but this carpet was so old it really was from Persia. I thought it just looked worn out and beat up.

But the carpet didn’t seem worn out now. The colors looked brighter, and it seemed to shimmer, like it was trembling. And then, slowly, it rose up from the ground.

The carpet floated about a foot above the floor, with Grandma sitting in the middle. Then the carpet rose up, soared across the room, and flew out the open window.

I blinked. I shook my head to clear it. I knew I must have imagined that. I was still half asleep. Maybe all the way asleep.

But it didn’t feel like a dream. I pushed the library door open and stepped into the room.

The room was empty. No Grandma. But no Persian carpet, either.

I ran to the window and looked out. I could see a speck in the distance that might, just might, have been a woman sitting on a Persian carpet.

I fell into a chair. Nothing made sense. I closed my eyes and put my hands over them. I took a few deep breaths.

Then I looked at the room again. No carpet.

I decided I would wait, to see if Grandma came back. I stared at the empty floor. I could see a faint outline where the carpet used to be, like the floor around it was faded, or dusty. It looked wrong. I closed my eyes.

Some time later, I woke up.

At first I thought I was still in bed. I’d dreamed the whole thing. I felt sort of relieved, but disappointed, too.

But then I realized I was sitting in a chair in the library.

The carpet lay on the floor. But no Grandma.

I walked carefully around the carpet, and out the library door. I crept downstairs, and found Grandma in the kitchen, making a pot of tea.

“Good morning, Jared.” She smiled just as if nothing at all strange had happened.

She put a plate of cookies on the table. I sat down. I opened my mouth to ask about the carpet. No sound came out.

Grandma poured me some milk, and asked about school. I answered her questions. I ate three cookies and drank some milk. I wanted to ask about the carpet, but I couldn’t. It just sounded too crazy. She’d think I was just fooling around, or worse, acting like a little kid.

Later, I sneaked upstairs and into the library. I stood in the middle of the old Persian carpet. I felt silly, but I said it.

“Alacazam.”

I held my breath and waited, but nothing happened.

I sighed. It had all just been a big mistake.

But I did see something. I didn’t think I’d been dreaming, so did that mean I was crazy? I started to get scared. I really wanted the carpet to work—to do something—so I wouldn’t be crazy.

I tried again and again.

Nothing happened.

Maybe I was doing something wrong. Did I have the wrong word? I tried Abracadabra and Hocus Pocus and Go and Giddyup and Rise and Open Sesame and a whole bunch of words I just made up.

Nothing happened.

Was there some other secret? Did I have to turn around three times and clap my hands, or click my heels together? I didn’t remember Grandma doing any of those things, but I tried them anyway.

Nothing happened.

I must have been dreaming, or imagining things. Flying carpets didn’t exist. It was impossible.

I told myself to forget all about it.

But I couldn’t. A dozen times during that visit, I crept into the library, made sure no one was watching, stepped onto the carpet, and whispered, “Alacazam.”

Nothing ever happened.

We celebrated Christmas. I got a remote-controlled car, two new computer games, and a basketball from Grandma. The day after Christmas we got a foot of snow, and Grandma and I went sledding on the hill behind the house. We had snowball fights and built snow women. Grandma said with three men in the house, she felt outnumbered, so she always insisted on making snow women, “for balance.” I never said anything about the carpet.

Christmas break ended. My dads and I went home. At first, I thought about the magic carpet every day. I wanted to believe it was real. I had seen it. I wasn’t imagining things. I wasn’t crazy.

But I got busy with school and friends and soccer practice. I didn’t think about the carpet so much anymore. It faded from my memory like an old dream.

Until the next visit.

We went back to Grandma’s for two weeks that summer. I got more excited as the visit got closer. Maybe, just maybe, there was something to the carpet after all. I couldn’t quite believe it, but man, wouldn’t it be cool if Grandma really did have a flying carpet? I could go anywhere, travel for miles and miles, without having to pedal my bike or get a ride from one of my dads. I could fly!

When we arrived, I hugged Grandma and ate some cookies. And then, while everyone else was busy talking, I slipped upstairs to the old library. I stood on the Persian carpet, right in the middle. I whispered, “Alacazam.”

Nothing happened.

I said it louder.

Nothing happened.

I stomped my foot and yelled, “Alacazam!”

The carpet lay on the floor like an ordinary carpet. I heard Pop calling up the stairs, “Jared? Was that you?”

I hurried out of the library and back downstairs, mumbling excuses.

I tried the carpet at least fifty times during that visit. Nothing ever happened.

But we picked blackberries, and hiked in the woods and went fishing. I had fun, though Grandma caught twice as many fish as I did. I decided I was silly to ever think of magic carpets. But I still crept into the library one last time while Dad was putting our bags in the car, and whispered, “Alacazam.”

Nothing happened.

We visited Grandma every Christmas and for a week or two each summer. Every time, even though I didn’t really believe in the magic carpet, I’d sneak into the library and try it, just in case.

I started high school. I tried out for the Junior Varsity basketball team, and made it. I started dating Rosalinda, the prettiest girl in ninth grade, with her raven black hair and eyes. I got my learner’s permit, and started to learn how to drive. I told my dads how great it would be if I had my own car. I knew I wouldn’t get anything expensive, like an SUV, but I’d settle for one of those little Mazdas that the girls think are so cute. I’d take a used one, even. I imagined myself in a black sports car, with Rosalinda, after winning the championship basketball game, once I made the Varsity team. I didn’t believe in magic anymore.

But still, when we visited Grandma that winter, I wandered into the library, very casually, when everyone else was in the kitchen getting ready for Christmas supper. I stood on the carpet, with my hands in my pockets, and said in an off-hand way, “Alacazam.”

And when nothing happened, I shrugged and sort of laughed, like it was all just a joke.

I turned 16. I grew four inches. I got my driver’s license. But I didn’t get a new sports car, or any car at all, so I had to borrow Pop’s old station wagon. I didn’t make the Varsity basketball team, so I quit playing. Rosalinda broke up with me and started dating the guy with the best three-point average. I wasn’t sure anymore what I believed in, but I knew I didn’t believe in magic.

I didn’t even want to go to Grandma’s for Christmas. I asked my dads if I could stay home by myself, but they said forget it.

I woke early on the first day of the visit. I got up and stretched. I tried to remember if I’d eaten the last of Grandma’s cookies the night before. I wandered down to the second floor, then paused at the library door.

I went in and looked down at the old Persian carpet. Oh, to be young again, and believe in magic. I stepped onto the carpet, and just for fun, just for old time’s sake, I said, “Alacazam.”

The floor started to shake. I yelped, and fell to my hands and knees. I thought it must be an earthquake. I tried to remember if you were supposed to stand in a doorway or hide under a table.

Then, slowly, the carpet rose. It floated a foot above the ground. It leapt toward the window, but the windows were closed. The carpet hovered in the air, straining toward the sunshine outside.

“Stop!” I yelled.

The carpet backed up, sank down, and settled onto the floor.

I scrambled off and huddled in the big chair, staring at the carpet. I sat there for a long time, not knowing what to think.

Finally I got up, walked carefully around the carpet, and tiptoed downstairs. I found Grandma in the kitchen, making a pot of tea.

She put a plate of cookies on the table and handed me a cup of tea. I sat down and gulped it. The heat warmed my arms and legs, and I stopped shaking. I glanced at Grandma, and opened my mouth to speak. But I stopped, embarrassed. How could I ever tell anyone what had scared me? It was impossible. No one would believe me. They would think I was crazy, or a little kid making up stories.

But I just had to tell someone. I didn’t want to go crazy all alone. “Grandma….”

She smiled at me, and her eyes sparkled. “You’ve grown so much,” she said. “And you’ll find a lot of new possibilities open to you.” She winked at me. “Now that you have your driver’s license.”