Indistinguishable From Magic

When I was a kid my family would camp out at the lake every summer with my grandmother. At night she would start a little fire then throw on some flint dust to make it change colour. I'd cuddle on her lap while she told me legends of the witch Luna. Unlike people today Luna could use magic anytime she wanted. She could conjure fire, move mountains, bring rain, and even stop the wind. I remember one story where some townsfolk tried to steal her pigs. When she saw them sneaking around she hurled them down the mountainside with merely a furl of her brow.

I think about those stories and my grandmother a lot these days. I think about the dim firelight and the mysterious trails that I loved to get lost on. I think about a time when flint and magic were all brand new, and how different that feels from my world today. Today, someone needs a degree in magic. They need procedures. They need a T-84 form filled out by an approved mechanic once he's done his vacation so that they can ship a kilogram of flint twenty miles from the east facility to the south one.

The T-84 wasn't even the beginning of it but rather the culmination of a two-week negotiation. Two weeks of playing mediator between two managers who were trying to stockpile flint just in case.

I spent the morning half-heartedly completing my online training. At 10:30 I grabbed a coffee and went to the “Luna” conference room (corporate likes to spice things up by giving them names). The Site Director was already there adding flint dust to the strike pan. She flicked her finger over it like a match head making the crystal ball at the center of the table come to life. 

“Can you hear me?” She said. The ball was cloudy but, slowly, a twisted image of an office coalesced. 

“Yes, how's our side?” That was the South Facility Director speaking.

“Crystal clear. Are we waiting on anyone else?”

“Camille should be coming on.” To this day I have no idea what Camille does other than show up to meetings late, “Let's get started and she’ll catch up.”

The Site Director opened her notebook, “We're hoping to wrap up the flint ship to your facility this week. Chase is getting on us for the delays and—”

“Sorry! Sorry I'm late!” It was Camille.

“Oh, hi Camille. As I was saying we're hoping to wrap up the ship to—”

“Hi!” Camille's response was delayed. Her office was in another city, so any interference like between us could impact her side of the call.

“Yeah, so, we're hoping to wrap up the flint ship to your facility by this Friday. My manager is really worried about the delays. We want to move on the T-84 form but we're stalled as we need a flint mechanic's signature.”

“Can you talk to Aaron?”

“Aaron is out for two weeks.” I chimed in.

“Okay, so it sounds like we might just have to wait two weeks.” The South Facility Director was candid as always.

“We were hoping to get one of your mechanics to sign.”

He leaned back in his chair and exhaled, “Okay, we should talk to Farah then. She's in charge of their schedule. I don't know how much luck you're going to have though as they have a big push for the end of Q3…”

My mind wandered. I thought about something my old mentor told me: that for thousands of years flint was shipped on horseback. Flint is volatile, especially when refined, so it had to be padded when moved so that it didn't blow up. One could ship a lot of flint on horseback as long as it was moved slowly and carefully. I thought about how long it would take a horse to carry a kilogram of flint the twenty miles I needed to go to the south facility. I was almost certain it would take less than a week.

I was silent for the rest of the meeting. By then it was almost 11:30 so I decided to grab an early lunch. There's a small park a few blocks from my office where some street vendors park on weekdays. It was a perfect spot to daydream so I bought a hot dog and fries and sat down on an open bench.

Near me was a little boy and girl playing with fireworks. They were old toys dusted with tiny amounts of flint that whizzed around when you shook them. The kids were falling over each other laughing while their mother watched them on a blanket in the grass. 

The girl shot off her firework and it flew right next to me on the bench.

“Watch out Maisie. Don't aim them at people.” The mother said. 

I grinned. As a kid I endlessly played with fireworks and even made my own. I grabbed it, stood up and slammed it on to my lower back making it shoot off in a lovely arc. An old truck.

“Wee! Thank you!” The girl said. I waved.

It hit me that that was the first time I had felt good today. It brought me back to a time in my early teens when I was building fireworks and my mom worried that I was going to blow myself up. Despite that she still bought me sets for my birthday and books like A Hobbyist’s Guide to Flintcraft. I’d stay up all night tinkering with little designs that would make it twirl or stream colours. I was like Luna from those old stories, wielding magic.

When I was old enough I enrolled as an apprentice flint mechanic. I learned all about “flint strike mechanics” and efficient use of flint dust. I'd get in early and stay late just to pick my mentor's brain about the job. When did that energy disappear? When I became a mechanic? When I got too old? When I was promoted to Assistant Director?

What began as a hobby became a passion. That passion became an education. That education became a job.

I looked at my watch. I'd been daydreaming for too long again and I was going to be late for my 1 o’clock. I left the kids to their magic fireworks.