Fight Song A Novel - By Joshua Mohr Page 0,16
but Bob’s leaning toward his primordial impulses—to deride this magic show as a cult-in-training: married adults congregating in a ballroom in the hopes a magician will make their marriages better; however, he tries to shrug off this instinct to disparage. He tries to assimilate, to take part, to be open-minded. Boy, does he try, but so far it’s not working.
“You,” says Björn to a woman near the front.
“Me?” she says.
“Yes, will you please come up and inspect the stage? Please walk around it and let everyone know what it’s made out of.”
The woman gets busy walking around the stage, stomping on it in places, doing a fine, thorough job. Then she says into Björn’s mic, “The whole stage is carpeted and it feels like thin wood underneath it.”
“And you are confident that the entire stage is carpeted with thin wood underneath it?”
She nods enthusiastically. “Absolutely, I’m confident of that.”
“Thanks. You can go back to your seat. Let’s give her a hand.”
They give her a hand.
Then Björn pulls a wand out of thin air. He leans down at the feet of Sputtering Husband and Zombie Wife and taps several times on the carpeted stage. Now there’s smoke wafting around their ankles, climbing up, encasing them in fog. Björn moves away and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, once the smoke clears, I think you’ll find that my associates here are actually standing on thin ice.”
The smoke clears and everyone struggles to see, jockeys for a better view. Björn’s associates are indeed standing on a small circle of thin ice. They shift from side to side, steadying their sneakers on the slick surface.
“Ooooh,” everyone says in surprise.
“What the hell?” says somebody with a Scottish accent from the back.
“The rumors are true: Björn is a true sorcerer!” another guy shouts.
“Wow, it’s sure hard to keep our lives stable standing on this thin ice,” Zombie Wife says.
“The simplest task, such as just standing here, is a daunting endeavor,” Sputtering Husband says. “I wonder what we can do to better our situation.”
“Have any of you ever felt like this?” Björn asks the audience. There are thoughtful nods, murmurs in the affirmative, knowing and furtive glances between spouses. He continues his speech: “Remember, this couple up here is only one permutation of marital dynamics. Maybe you’ve never officially tied the knot but have lived together for many years. Maybe you’re a same-sex couple. Maybe a long-distance relationship. Maybe your signs don’t correspond to these up here in the slightest, but instead say things like PILL-POPPING FLOOZY, GAMBLES LIKE CRAZY, CLOSET CASE!, ADDICTED TO PORN, SHOPS FOR FULFILLMENT, VIOLENT STREAK, HUNG LIKE A TODDLER, DRUNK & INDIFFERENT, I’M SETTLING WITH YOU, BLOWS PAYCHECK AT TITTY BARS, YOU’RE THE WRONG ETHNICITY, COCAINE FOR BREAKFAST, DESIRES S&M BUT ASHAMED TO ADMIT IT, INFIDELITY EMPOWERS ME, I HATE OUR CHILDREN, TOO DAMAGED TO GIVE EMOTIONALLY, YOU EXACERBATE MY DADDY ISSUES, LOST IN SELF-PITY, HAVEN’T HEALED MY PAST TRAUMAS, etc., etc. In the long run, it makes no difference what your particular sign says. Point is that you are here to recapture the magic! Now, let me ask all of you a very serious question: How long can two people stand on thin ice?”
From the speakers comes the sound of cracking ice.
A few gasps from the audience …
“I’m feeling vulnerable to catastrophe,” Zombie Wife says.
“I’ve come to expect the worst due to our pattern of toxic communication,” Sputtering Husband muses.
The sounds of cracking, splintering ice grow louder.
And that’s when Sputtering Husband and Zombie Wife fall through the ice and into water. They fall right into the stage and splash around. Holy smokes, Coffen can’t believe his eyes. He didn’t see a trapdoor on the stage earlier, let alone a patch of ice, let alone a patch of ice concealing a water tank. Wow! It’s a magnificent trick—a feat of hearty magnitude.
“It’s sure cold in here,” Sputtering Husband says.
“If only we’d learned to recapture the magic prior to this disastrous yet inevitable conclusion,” Zombie Wife says.
“Don’t let this happen to you and yours,” Björn says to the audience. “Trust me: We can fix whatever’s ailing your relationships. I promise. Think of me as the Lifeguard of Love on Duty. If you fall into the frigid waters of marital discord, I can help you climb out before you freeze to death.”
Coffen’s internal clash to participate in this show hits a pothole as soon as the magician says “Lifeguard of Love.” Bob almost laughs—it sounds too much like a porn: Excuse me, scantily clad coed on