Louis the Lousy Levitator

Louis was a lousy levitator. His main problem, everyone recognized, was that he had chosen a pretty stupid profession. The fact is, levitation isn't possible. The reason being, gravity. That's not to say that there aren't magicians who do levitation tricks. There are, but Louis wasn't a magician. He knew there already were magicians who did levitation tricks. But he wanted to be unique, something different, and so he believed he'd found something nobody else did: actual levitation. He coined himself "The World's First and Only Levitator", ignoring the fact that there were guys in India who also apparently levitated (although probably not, because like I said, it's impossible).

Despite his poor choice of profession, Louis had some pretty good friends, even though they never ever supported his decision to become a levitator. They all pretty much thought it was a dumb idea from the get-go and kept trying to convince him to do something more productive with his time, but Louis was not just a lousy levitator, he also had the misfortune of believing in himself, which, when you're a levitator, is not really a good thing. Furthermore, as a former CPA in a large accounting firm, he was financially well-off, and he'd recently come into a bit of an inheritance from his father-in-law, so he was financially independent enough that he could, at least for a while, pursue levitation full time. A bad idea, no doubt, for a lousy levitator.

But through his own perseverance, and largely through the kindness and patience of his friends, Louis managed to get gigs. Naturally, they were not very good. They mostly involved birthday parties, Bar Mitzvahs, and even, on occasion, country fairs, where people would gather round and watch a pudgy freckled and slightly balding 42 year-old guy just sit there cross-legged with his eyes closed. At first the crowd would be interested, fixing their eyes on Louis, waiting for something to happen. Louis would call for absolute silence, always pointing out before every levitation (he would never call it a "show") that what he was about to do was not a magic trick, nor an illusion, but that he was actually going to levitate, and that he needed absolute quiet in order to attain the level of concentration required for such a task.

After about a minute, the crowd would begin shuffling and getting antsy. Most of the people there would be kids, and unless you can do something spectacular and quick, kids would lose interest very quickly. A murmur would break out, people would shuffle off, or start talking among themselves, and sometimes even just shout out "you're a lousy levitator", or things to that effect. Louis would lose his concentration, of course, insist on silence, often angrily, and this would just rile up the kids and the onlookers who would quickly come to feel that Louis was either a con artist or an idiot, usually the latter (because Louis never levitated for money), and the whole event would just turn into a back and forth taunting session. The more Louis lost his temper, the more the kids jeered and the adults laughed and people began throwing things at him. The typical end to a levitation was Louis storming off hurling curses and abuse, and his friends apologizing to the party host or the fairground manager, who would always say something like "I knew it was a dumb idea" or "I can't believe you convinced me to do this".

This isn't to say that funny things didn't happen. Despite, or perhaps because of, the fact that Louis was dead serious in his claim to be a levitator, his always failed attempts at levitation would nevertheless lead to some pretty humorous situations. Once, on a plane, Louis mentioned he was a levitator and so people asked him to levitate. He crossed his legs and closed his eyes, but because the plane had begun its descent, the air stewardess wouldn't let him unfasten his seatbelt. Louis at first protested, but eventually had to agree to keep his belt on, but he proceeded with his levitation anyway. After about a minute, he opened his eyes, quite satisfied with himself that he had in fact levitated, although, he admitted, nobody could've seen it because the belt had kept him down. He showed where the belt had left a mark just under his belly, supposedly from the pressure exerted through the upward force of his levitation, but the other passengers were skeptical, albeit entertained.

There were further comical episodes at his levitation events. Once he was given an unsteady, makeshift platform to sit on so the fairgoers could see him, but just after he began concentrating for his levitation routine, the platform gave out from under him and he crashed down to earth with a roar from the highly amused onlookers. Another time at a birthday party, a five-year-old put a party hat on Louis's head just as he was entering deep concentration. Louis tried to ignore it at first, but then when the other bored kids started painting and drawing on his face, he sprang up, lost his balance, and landed face first in the birthday cake. The birthday girl wept, the children cried, the mother told him to leave at once, and the whole thing ended badly. It wasn't until he was at the ATM taking money out to buy a new cake to take back to the party that he realized he was walking around with a party hat on his head, two big red spots on his cheeks, and a drawing that resembled a horse or a monkey on his forehead.

So all in all, Louis was a lousy levitator. Although his friends were as supportive as could be expected for a lot longer than could be hoped for, eventually they too lost patience. Louis could get no more gigs, nobody would have him, nobody believed he could levitate. But Louis believed in himself. He knew he could do it, because when he was by himself he could feel it, he could feel his body rise up from the ground, he could feel a sudden lightness overcome him, and when he was in the deepest state of concentration, he could feel that he was floating above the ground, suspended in the air. He felt as if his body, his big lugubrious hulking sack of a body, would disappear, and that he was just there like a phantom, suspended in the air, a pure consciousness in a pure state of being, drifting, floating, flying over the earth, disembodied and free. It was an incredible feeling of elation for him, and he could think of no other time when he felt so alive, so happy, and so spirited.

Louis believed that he was levitating, he believed in it firmly, and he wanted to share that experience with others, to show them just how amazing it was, and just how wonderful it could make you feel. He thought, if only others could see, if only they knew, they too would join him, they too would levitate with him, and he believed that once a person levitated, they would do nothing else. What was the point? To levitate, to experience pure disembodied incorporeal bliss would be the height of experience from which one would never turn back. It would perhaps even cure depression, heal the sick and the mentally ill, maybe even become a cure for loneliness, nihilism, even, dare he say it, bring an end to war!

Even though Louis was known as a lousy levitator, he believed in levitation, he believed he levitated, and he wanted to believe that others could too, that we all could.

But like I said, it's impossible. Because, you know, gravity.