"Illusions" - Script

When I was a kid, I fell in love with stage magic. I was fascinated with the idea of making things look like something they're not. I read everything I could get my hands on -- not just like the big secret of sawing someone in half, but the psychology of how to fool people into seeing what you want them to see.

I had no idea how useful this would become later in my life.

If you've seen any of the other pieces in this series, you'll know that I have a connective tissue disorder. It is a genetic condition, an "inborn error of collagen formation". The most noticeable symptom is that I am radically bendy, but it also affects any system that relies on the elasticity of collagen to function. Which is pretty much all of them.

Most people don't notice, because I don't want them to. I use the same principles of misdirection I learned as a wayward kid. Step one is not mentioning anything you don't want to draw attention to. No magician is going to point out the compartment in the table where their assistant is hiding while they stab swords into an empty box. 

My proprioception is terrible. I still bonk myself into corners and railings in a building where I have worked for over a decade. I whack myself with the hoop on a regular basis. Nobody twigs, because I don't react. It doesn't bruise less if I say ow, but it does distract other people, and I'd rather not have that conversation eighty times a day. It's difficult to get concerned people to stop being concerned. I really don't want to manage your feelings about what's wrong with me.

Step two is to not draw attention to the things you're not drawing attention to. The magician will not point out the mirror that looks like a hole in the middle of the zigzag cabinet, but they also make sure not to walk behind it. As a dancer, I don't do any inversions that involve throwing my weight onto my outstretched arms. My elbows don't always collapse, but in this context, sometimes is more than enough. So I don't use it in my work. Why would anyone notice? I do a lot of other impressive things. 

They also don't notice I use the railing and look at my feet on stairs.

Step three is to make any remaining strangeness look natural. This can be dangerous; more than one magician has died on stage because the audience thought a dramatic collapse was part of the act. Mostly this means being casually eccentric. Maybe I'm swaying back and forth because I've caught a groove -- or maybe I'm moving me out of the hoop's way as much as I'm moving it out of mine. People ask if my hair is heavy, if it causes me neck problems -- yes, and yes. But it's also a good accelerometer, and useful when I'm moving fast.

All of this is a lot of work. The weight of a dance hoop is measured in grams, but it pulls on you a lot when it's going fast. It's more effort than you'd think just to make it look like it's standing still. You learn to school your face, and pointedly not limp. But I do it anyway. The only alternative is to let it drop.