I speed-walk towards her with delight.

Pushing through the tourists,

Shoving my way through a sardine-can.

I meet her in the middle of a hub

of magicians of her kind.

Not the Great Harry Houdini-

The Great White Way.

She is covered in gold embellishments,

and suddenly, I feel under-dressed.

How can people wear jeans and feel OK with that?

She shows class and grace.

She is no fashion police.

Instead, she presents a gift of magic

in the form of live theater.

Magic.

Magic that takes you out of reality,

Into a world of liveliness, energy.

Transportation into a better world,

Where a happy ending is common.

Sing your troubles away.

Dance off the blues.

Act through the pain.

Her 2-3 hour gift is over.

Her grace has run out.

As she waves goodbye,

"See you next time!"

I linger and stare at her majesty.

I never want to leave her sight.

I want to come back and be

her magician's assistant.

As I think of that lifestyle,

the smoke and mirrors strike,

And all that is left is a single ghost light.

One light to repel the demons,

One light to carry on the superstitions of

magicians in the past,

One light that symbolizes professionalism,

One light that attracts me

As a moth to a lantern in the night.

To see this ghost light every night

would mean my dreams have come true.

To thrill an audience day and night

Is all I aspire to do.

And then it dawns on me --

Her ghost light vanquished me.

I will never be the same.

I am Gatsby, reaching for the green light.