There was a little boy I was friends with named Marty. He loved magic, it became his obsession. He aspired to be a magician, and would pracitce everyday in a meadow by the highway. I would watch, him and know that he was getting ever step right. It was amazing to watch him, how he could be so great and fall to such measly tricks. I could do so much more than him, but I didn't want to show it.
The year was 2001, we were eight years old. We always played in the meadow by the highway, and for some reason Marty always wanted to play in one specific spot. "Morgan! Watch this!" he called. I looked up from my book and saw him do a disappearing ball trick. "Awesome Marty!" I replied. He had just gotten a magic trick kit, it had everything he could ever want. A book of tricks, cards, cups, a ball, a quarter, and other random objects that could be used for tricks.
He hardly ever needed the book. That's how I knew that he was still as talented as he was before.
Often our days were spent in the meadow. I would read or draw while Marty did his magic tricks. We would play at some point, then we would talk about a new movie or video game. Our parents would come and we would be taken home. Though, one day we skipped the playing and talked for awhile.
"Morgan, is magic real?" he asked. "No." I replied. I didn't want him to know that it was, then he might try it. I didn't need that. "Do you think I could be a famous magician someday?" he asked. "You can be whatever you want Marty." I said. "Morgan, what's a psychopath?" he looked at me curiously. I froze. Would he remember? Would he remember who I was before this? "Its like a sociopath, they don't really care about peoples feelings and they will use people to get what they want. The only difference is, sometimes they kill for it." I explained. "So like Green Goblin in Spiderman?" he said. I nodded.
I was lucky that he didn't remember.