In 2007, Andrew Warner quickly emerged as Cincinnati's premier street magician. Following in the traditions of David Blaine and Criss Angel, Warner brings his own urban sensibilities to in-your-face magic. After a cross country magic tour sponsored by CiN Weekly, Warner is back in Ohio, now based in Columbus, re-establishing himself as a local presence.
Somehow I find myself on the verge of living in a small college town in Berkeley, California. A place where I can dish out New York City dollars and get beer-pong tournaments and college bars in return.
And while it’s not where I pictured myself… ever… I couldn’t see myself anywhere else in the world. And the reason?
A girl… Or even more cliche, the girl.
Telling our love story is one of her favorite things to do. At least that’s what she tells me. I tell it a lot too, but it mostly just ends up frustrating me because most people won’t ever understand.
But in my mind it replays like a movie, or an epic novel. The first time we saw each other. Tristan and I were drinking 40s of High Life in our van. We kind of wanted to meet people, we kind of were licking our wounds and letting the weight of massive credit card bills hold us down. Until little wide-eyed Tracy walked by and said hello. The hello that changed my life.
What should have been an awkward two-minute exchange on the street somehow stretched out into an hour-long conversation of childish flirtation and brief moments where our eyes would meet and exchange possibilities. And then she was gone.
No number. No way to find her again. Just one of those missed opportunities. You know, the kind of thing that you know will haunt you. A fleeting thought of her eyes while laying on my death bed or something like that.
Until she came back.
We were back in the van, with different girls sadly, but the second I heard the tap on the window I knew a door was reopened… Or we were going to be arrested for drinking in the back of a van.
We picked up where we left off. I entertained her with a magic trick or two and convinced her to write her number on a playing card. A pink playing card—her favorite color.
After that the rest is history. Nights spent between the pink sheets of her bed at her awkward sorority house. Lying in the grass together under the California sun while the world passed us by. An amazing night at the Marina where I discovered the meaning of life, and to some degree myself (you’ll find it too). Our first “real date” where she went to Herbivore and ate vegan food even though she hates vegans and swore to me she would never eat vegan food. I could write a novel about it, but probably won’t.
So these are my memories and my small bit of truth. You probably don’t understand unless you too have slept with your head on someone’s chest and known you are exactly where you’re supposed to be.
And that’s why, after a lifetime of searching, I have finally found a home. Only home isn’t a place. It’s her. It’s me. Geography’s irrelevant.
