The Magic Factory

Armando shook his head. “It never worked, so it doesn’t matter.”

He seemed even more morose. Oliver felt bad for bringing up a past failure that he was clearly still touchy about.

“Never say never,” he said in an attempt to bring the inventor back to his normal happy level. “Perhaps tomorrow will be the day you find the missing piece.”

But rather than cheering him, Oliver’s words seemed to make Armando even more sad. He sat slowly, his joints creaking.

“I’m running out of time, Oliver,” he said. “My days are numbered.”

Oliver got the distinct impression that he wasn’t just referring to his old age, but to something more specific, something on the horizon, perhaps something he’d even had a premonition of.

Armando sighed wearily. He seemed to have completely run out of enthusiasm. With a sad voice, he said, “I suppose that concludes the tour.”

Oliver snapped to attention. He felt himself deflate. It couldn’t be over. He didn’t want this moment with his hero to draw to a close. He wanted to stay here forever, to never leave. But even as Armando stood and headed to the door, beckoning him to follow, Oliver just couldn’t summon the courage to ask. He was tongue-tied all over again.

Silently, his throat thick from cowardice, Oliver followed Armando back into the long corridor. At one end was the door to the bedroom he’d slept in last night. It had felt like his room, like he was always supposed to have been there. But they turned the opposite direction, away from that cozy room of comfort, heading for the main factory floor.

When they reached the main part of the factory, Oliver glanced about him with a sense of yearning. The sight of all the machines and the rafters filled with mechanical bats and birds still stunned him. To think of all these amazing machines Armando had created awed him. Bitterly, Oliver realized that he’d never get a chance to work on them together with his hero.

“It’s been quite delightful meeting you, Oliver,” Armando said then, offering his hand for Oliver to shake.

He was as polite as ever, but Oliver still sensed the melancholy in his voice. He shook the old inventor’s hand, willing himself to broach the topic of him staying but failing to even find the words.

“Yes,” was all he managed. “It’s been truly wonderful.”

Then he turned away from Armando and headed for the rotating wall. He dragged his feet as he walked, and thought sadly about the life he was returning to, with the horrible alcove and his bully of a brother.

He reached the wall and began to search for the lever. That was when he saw a small table with some mail and this morning’s newspaper upon it. Oliver saw the sad faces of Mom, Dad, and Chris. He gasped. What were they doing in the paper? He caught a glimpse of the title: Missing Storm Boy. Parents Appeal.

His heart hitched. So they really were worried about him? His feelings of guilt returned tenfold.

He grabbed the paper and unfolded it. It was then that Oliver saw there was more to the headline. Now that it was all visible, the headline read in its entirety: Missing Storm Boy. Parents Appeal for Financial Support to Aid in Search.

His heart sank. Of course, he thought bitterly. His parents weren’t actually concerned about him. In the short time he’d been missing, they’d already found a way to milk the situation for sympathy and money. When he returned home they’d probably be annoyed at him for ruining their moment in the limelight, and for putting an end to whatever money the generous public were being duped into giving them.

He hesitated at the wall, his hand on the lever. On the other side was the world he knew, a world of bullying and torment, of despair and untapped potential. But on this side, on Armando’s side, there was so much more. His dreams could be realized here. And Armando’s factory felt more like home to Oliver than any of his myriad homes before it had. Here he had a room, he had wisdom and a chance to learn. He’d be mad to walk away from it. He couldn’t help but feel like he was supposed to be here. There was nothing for him on the other side, nothing at all. This was where he belonged.

A bolt of courage struck him like lightning. Slowly, Oliver withdrew his hand from the lever. He turned and took a step forward, looking squarely at the figure of Armando on the opposite side of the factory floor. His throat was still thick and sticky, as if it didn’t want him to utter the words he was about to, but somehow he found the strength to project his voice across the factory floor and utter aloud the words he so desperately wanted to.

“Let me stay and help you. If you let me stay, I could bring a fresh, new perspective.”

He bit his lip and watched Armando pause from the other side of the factory.

“Stay?” Armando called back.

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. “I mean work here. With you.” He chewed his lip with apprehension. Admitting this felt very forward and it was taking all the guts he could muster. He hurried forward, closing the gap between them. “I’m good with inventions and I could really help. I know I could.”

One of Armando’s eyebrows rose. “You mean stay long term? But what about your own life, Oliver?”

“My own life is horrible,” Oliver said without missing a beat. “My brother is a bully. I sleep in an alcove. I feel like… like this is where I’m supposed to be. Does that make sense?”

Armando smiled gently. He seemed hesitant. “I’m too old to care for you…”

“You’ve already cared for me more than my mom and dad do,” Oliver said, accepting that he’d have to be even more independent and self-reliant if he stayed here than he was at home.

“And you’re supposed to go to school…”

“I already know everything they’re teaching me! I’m the smartest kid there. Besides, I could learn from you. You could mentor me, and teach me how to make your machines. I could be your apprentice.”

Armando seemed anguished, Oliver thought, like he was grappling with a dilemma. He didn’t want to be an imposition and overstep the boundary, but this was the first time in his life things had felt close to being right. He couldn’t walk away now and leave all this behind.

“I’ll do anything,” Oliver begged him. “Please. Let me prove myself to you at least. Show you what I can do.”

Armando paused. A long silence passed before he spoke again.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to see what you’re made of,” he said finally.

Oliver raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. “Really? You’ll let me work on something? Show you what I can do?”

“I will,” Armando replied, his expression unreadable. “But first you must do one thing.”

“Of course,” Oliver said. “Anything.”

Armando smirked with good nature. “Please put on some actual clothes.”

Oliver looked down at his pajamas and blushed.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Oliver’s mind spun as he hurriedly showered. Armando hadn’t said he could stay or be an apprentice, but he was giving him some kind of opportunity and that kept the flame of hope burning inside of him. He couldn’t help but feel like he was going to be put to some kind of test. Not that Armando had said as such; in fact, he’d not said much about it at all. But Oliver was desperate to prove himself and show Armando that he belonged here.

He went to the closet and found that it was full of multiple sets of workman’s overalls. Though they were clean and well made, they looked very old-fashioned. He picked out a pair of dark blue overalls and slipped them on. Of course they were far too big for him, so he rolled up the pant legs. Then he looked in the mirror and marveled as his appearance. It looked like he’d stepped out of the 1940s!

As soon as he was ready, he ran back out to the factory floor, eager for his first lesson from Armando.

“I’m here,” he said, wide-eyed, as he skidded up to the old man.

Armando nodded at his appearance, clearly approving the fact that he was no longer wandering around in pajamas.

“I see you’ve found my old workers’ closet,” he said. “These clothes were left over from the war effort. People worked here and slept here around the clock back then.”

“Do you mind me wearing them?” Oliver asked, suddenly worried.

“Not at all. It’s nice to see them being put to some use after all these years.” Armando looked away into the distance as if reminiscing on better times. “Now. You were wanting to demonstrate your abilities to me, if I recall.”

Oliver nodded, though he was filled with apprehension. He chewed his lip and began to follow Armando past a row of workbenches. As they went, Oliver noticed that one was covered with different fabrics and a pile of wires. He knew right away that he was looking at all the theoretically necessary components to create an invisibility coat. He craned his neck as they passed, then turned, wide-eyed with surprise, to face Armando.

“Are you making an invisibility coat?” he asked.