He sat on the couch in his usual spot, locked in his post-school torpor. He’s consuming fluff, flipping between channels until he finds something that sucks him in, leaving his seven-year-old body in place as his awareness teleports across the room to the television.
I type away, not paying much attention to him or the programming; he’s brain dead after school and simply needs the time and space to chill out and regroup. No matter; he’ll come to when he’s ready.
Crinkling noises announce the opening of his snack. I can feel his body relaxing into the couch, without even looking in his general direction. It’s as if the energy level in the room was rolled down a bit by an unseen rheostat. The snack finished, I can feel him reenergizing.
Mom?
Yuh? You need something, bud?
Nah.
Mom?
What, babe?
Magic can’t interfere with love.
Hunh?
Yeah.
What do you mean?
Magic can’t interfere with love.
Is that from the show you’re watching? (Looks like tepid anime/manga of some sort…)
Nah.
Did you read that today? I don’t understand.
Nope. I didn’t read it. That’s all it is: magic can’t interfere with love.
Oh.
I look to see if there’s something going on that correlates with this pronouncement. Nothing seems to match his words. He’s already disengaged, his blood sugar boosted by the snack now fueling his movement up off the couch and out of the room.
He’s already on to something else, gone on and left me with this.
Sometimes I wonder whether we receive messages from other places out of our sight and our ken.
Was this one of them?
Who the hell do I ask for confirmation?
And what the hell does this mean? Magic can’t interfere with love.
Hello?
2:15:13 PM 
