Disappearing Act

By Miguel A. Zapata

What I'm about to tell you is no comic book fantasy, as amazing as it may sound. You probably won’t believe me, but it’s true: I’ve been blessed with the ability to vanish into thin air. It’s a startling feat, I know. Every time it happens I get goose pimples. I trust I can reveal my secret to you, dear reader, since I suspect we share the same extraordinary ability.

The origin of my superpower is still a mystery. I’ve speculated that maybe I came from a distant world where everyone has the power to pop in and out of sight. But that idea quickly went out the window when I checked my birth certificate—it says, “Born in Chicago, Illinois.” I looked elsewhere for answers. Superhero lore says that an ordinary human can obtain super abilities from the bite of a radioactive spider, but I can’t recall ever being munched on by a nuclear-powered arachnid.

Finally, I had to defer to good old common sense. Some say that when a person loses one ability, another steps up to take its place. When I lost the power of sight, I developed the power to vanish. That’s my theory and I’m sticking with it. You just have to be realistic about these things and not be swayed by comic book mumbo-jumbo.

I haven’t mastered my power yet. However, I do know this much: an empty drinking glass usually causes me to disappear. That’s right. When I gulp down the last molecules of a beverage, I disappear without a trace. It usually happens at my mother-in-law’s house. She is the first (and only) one to notice my uncanny ability. When there are but a few melting ice cubes clinking around in my tumbler — POOF! — I’m gone. My mother-in-law, not wanting to cause hysteria over the sudden disappearance of a man from the middle of her living room, nonchalantly turns to my wife and asks, “Do you think he would like some more to drink?” My wife, unaffected by my power, points to me and says, “Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’s right there.” My mother-in-law, being the good hostess that she is, will make a break for the kitchen and return with a full glass of something cold and hand it to me without a word. I humbly accept the drink, wondering how she could see my extended hand.

Not everyone is susceptible to my super gift. Case in point: my wife. I try to activate my power when she beckons me to wash the car. I’ve tried counting 1-2-3 with clenched teeth to flick on my powers, but to no avail. I’ve tried reversing the count and holding my breath, but I only get headaches. My wife usually ends up with a very shiny and vacuumed car.

Sometimes, my magical ability causes strange things to happen with what I thought were reliable tools. Sometimes, my walking cane manages to borrow the superpower from me when I least expect it. For example, it disappears while I’m walking on busy sidewalks. Pedestrians and, occasionally, a dog or two get entangled in my suddenly invisible walking cane. I get so embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say. “You’ve just tripped over my pesky little disappearing cane.” Then I’ll turn and reprimand my walking cane for making trouble with nice people.

Of course, there are a lot of things I could do with my superpower. While there is a noble tradition that says, “One must serve the greater good,” the temptation to vanish from sight for the purpose of sneaking into a movie theatre would be too great. I’m only human, you understand, and the price of popcorn is an outrage!

Ultimately, I’d work for the highest bidder. Perhaps governments from wealthy nations would compete with each other to contract my services as an invisible spy. I would sneak into top-secret government locations and steal top-secret secrets and sell them to shady operatives for a hefty sum. Let the bidding begin!

Miguel A. Zapata lives in Chicago, Illinois.

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