Thursday, December 30, 2010

Short Story #3


At the Wishing Well


As the money floated for a split moment, I squeezed the tiled fountain ledge, and watched it spiral down and join the hundreds of other glittering coins. Would I ever forget the familiar odor of lobby system air fresheners mixed with chemical-laden disinfectant? Some people call it clean; I call it hospital.

“Hello.” A boyish voice interrupted my brooding.

I glanced up to see a kid in a wheelchair rolled up to the fountain.

“Hi,” I answered, hoping he could hear me over the white noise of the spraying water.

“Did you make a wish?” he asked.

I took another chug of Mountain Dew. How could I tell him I’d just found the two pennies under the vending machine? And worse, that I’d been standing here imagining how many Big Macs could be bought with all those coins?

The kid thrust a hand at me.

“My name’s Joey. What’s yours?”

I stepped over and grasped his hand with a slight shake.

“Nice to meet you, Joey. I’m Nick,” I said, trying to ignore the clear oxygen tubes that looped under his freckled nose.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Guess.” I replied with my “cool” smile.

Joey stared at me intently for a moment and then stated confidently,

“Nineteen.”

“Wow. Dead on, dude.” I slapped him a high five. “I’m impressed.”

“Do you want to guess how old I am?” Joey asked eagerly.

“Well,” I began, noting how big his fire engine T-shirt looked on him. “I’m guessing you’re younger than my little brother; he’s seven, so—”

Joey’s laugh interrupted me.

“I’m eight and a half,” he boasted. “Mommy says I look littler because I’ve always had this tiny hole in my heart. But don’t worry, she said it’s going to be okay.”

That explains his purplish-blue lips. I thought.

“Have you ever played the waiting game?” Joey asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “It’s my little brother’s favorite game—well, he’s my step-brother, but he’s a great kid. I think you two would get along great.”

“I wish I had a brother,” Joey said wistfully. “What’s his name?”

“Matty.” I answered, thinking back to when his random headaches had suddenly turned into nightmarish migraines last year. The tumor they’d found wasn’t cancerous, but it had been a dangerous operation.

“Is that why you’re here?”

I nodded glancing up again at the big Tweety Bird clock. My wait was going on two hours.

“It looks like you’re playing that waiting game now,” Joey said with a sly grin.

I laughed. This kid was good at getting my mind off of the fears that had been resurfacing since Mom’s call this afternoon.

“So what is he waiting for?” Joey asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said, feeling my smile dissolve. “We thought we were done waiting after his brain surgery last month, but Matty suddenly got another migraine today, so they brought him here to get it checked out.”

Hoping to steer clear from the foreboding thoughts of Matty in pain, I asked, “So are you waiting for them to fix your heart?”

“No, I’m getting a new heart,” Joey said brightening.

“Is that why you’re here?” I asked surprised.

Joey shook his head with a scowl and explained, “We come every month for a check-up.”

“How long have you been coming here?”

“One and a half years.” Joey replied in a matter of fact tone.

“That’s a long time.”

Joey nodded, and I noticed the first rain clouds blow across his young face.

“It’s getting harder to wait, and now I hardly ever feel good.”

I sat my empty can on the damp fountain ledge.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get a new heart,” Joey continued. “One time I heard Mommy telling my aunt Sarah that there’s a really long waiting list for hearts. She cried—and I don’t like to make anyone cry.”

Then he tried to put on a brave smile, much like the one Matty had given me right before he was wheeled into surgery. Joey cocked his head like a question mark.

“Have you ever had a wish come true, Nick?”

I cleared my throat, and stammered, “I—I don’t think so.”

“Do you think God hears our wishes?”

“Probably,” I answered, avoiding his restless grey-blue eyes.

I felt trapped. I couldn’t tell him I didn’t believe in wishes.

Joey’s hand dove into his pocket and fished around for a moment.

“Maybe you need a shinier one,” he said waving a new penny. “My first one was really old and dull, so I don’t know if God saw it. But I’ve been saving this one. Daddy says it’ll take a miracle to get a new heart—that’s why he gave it to me.”

I followed Joey’s glance across the lobby to the waiting area where a couple—probably in their early thirties—were talking to a pink scrub-clad nurse.

Joey continued. “Mommy says we have wishing-wells so God can see all the wishes collected in one place. That way he doesn’t have to search for them and they can get answered faster.”

“I see,” I mumbled, frustrated. Why do they have to have things like wishing wells to get these young kids’ hopes up? It just isn’t fair!

I watched as Joey took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and sat very still. He stretched his thin arm out over the liquid surface with his penny grasped in his hand, palm down. His thin lips started to move—then suddenly he closed his mouth and opened both eyes to look up at me.

“I want you to have it,” he said thrusting his penny toward me.

“No, Joey,” I tried to push his hand back. “I can’t take your wish.”

“No, take it,” he insisted. “You were here first and I want you to have a go at your wish.” He grabbed my reluctant hand with both of his and pressed the warm coin into my palm.

“Anyways, I always ask for the same wish when I’m here,” he said. “I’m sure they can all add together to equal one shiny penny. Besides, your other ones weren’t shiny at all.”

I looked down at the piece of copper and then back up at Joey with a strange feeling in my throat.

“Go ahead,” he coaxed. “But don’t tell me the wish or it won’t work.”

I held the penny above the water feeling self-conscious as the fountain lightly sprayed my skin.

“Make sure you give it an extra big splash when you drop it,” Joey whispered anxiously.

I closed my eyes and thought of little Matty while spots of light reflected off of the glittering miniature tiles in the water.

I found myself whispering into the dark turmoil of my heart.

“God, if you’re there, please, let me see a miracle,”

The water received my penny with a splash-like gulp, and I held my breath until the shimmering coin rested on the mosaic design of a red heart.

“Thank you, Joey,” I said quietly as a calm welled up inside of me.

We were both silent for a few minutes.

“So what do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked, picking up my soda can and fidgeting with the tab.

“A firefighter,” Joey answered enthusiastically. “I want to save people.”

I smiled, but felt ashamed. Once I had wanted to be a marine. Now I was taking pride in perfecting the art of spinning pizza dough at Bambino’s.

“What do you want to be?” Joey asked.

“Batman,” I said seriously.

Joey looked at my unsmiling face for a moment. My mouth twitched, and we both burst out laughing.

Suddenly, an exclamation from across the large lobby caught our attention, and I saw Joey’s mom digging in her big purse while trying to clutch at her husband’s arm. They’re eyes swept the room until they found us. Then they were running toward us, waving a beeping pager.

“Nick.” I spun around hearing the desperate tone in my Mom’s voice as the laughter died in my throat.

Her lips seemed to be moving, but I couldn’t understand her as she collapsed into my arms and clung to me sobbing.

Dread clawed at my heart, and I struggled to breath as if I were drowning. Helplessly, I looked at the nurse who was now standing at a respectful distance fingering her clipboard.

The green frogs on her scrubs seemed to jump and swim in front of my eyes as my Mom’s choked words hit my gut like a sinking ship.

Did she just say something about an aneurysm?

Joey’s excited voice dove into my numb mind, reviving me for a moment.

“Nick!” He was twisting around in his chair and waving at me ecstatically as a nurse was wheeling him away. His mom kept trying to kiss him and his dad was talking animatedly on a cell phone.

I couldn’t see him through a sudden blur, but Joey’s words rang in my mind as he disappeared behind the swinging white doors.

“God has to be real, Nick! My wish came true! I got a new heart!”

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Short Story #1


Invisible


The lights went out when she squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps if she didnt look, her angry reflection wouldnt stare back so accusingly. With a frustrated sigh, she turned from the long mirror jerking the brush through her hair.

Mousy. Stick straight. Dishwater. Those were a few of the words that her classmate, Lillian Johnson, used to describe her hair yesterday. The whole English composition class had laughed.

“Jolie!” Her mother’s muffled yell came from the kitchen on the other side of the wall. “You’re going to be late for the bus, and you haven’t eaten breakfast yet.”

“Who cares?” she muttered as she jerked her hair into a shoulder-length ponytail and flopped onto her bed. If only she could stay here where no one would look at her.

The lone light bulb above her mirror suddenly flickered, and the rumble of the bus turning the corner down the street forced her to her feet. Swiping at her flat bangs, Jolie finished buttoning her flannel shirt, wishing, as always, that it was a size smaller.

“Jolie, the bus!”

Swinging the overstuffed backpack to her shoulder, Jolie grasped the doorknob and turned to face the mirror.

“I hate you,” she whispered. But her voice seemed to follow her out the door and into the kitchen.

“Mom, my mirror light is acting up.”

“Again?” Tired green eyes glanced up from examining the dirty bowl being scrubbed. “Wasn’t that blinking a few days ago?”

“No, that was the bathroom light,” Jolie said flipping on her iPod to mute the concerned query about breakfast as she let the screen door bang shut behind her.

Her breath escaped in a faint puff as she stepped off the porch and pulled on a gray baseball cap. Stuffing her hands into her worn jeans pockets, the crunching chorus of leaves underfoot hurried her toward the big yellow vehicle of doom.

Ahead, Lillian was boarding the bus. Jolie noted the tall girl’s perfect weight, perfect fashionable coat, perfect skin, perfect hair—the sun that dared to shine today seemed to expose Jolie’s dark thoughts like a spotlight on a cold stage. What she would give to be invisible—then no one at Pike High School would see how much her mood matched her ugly face.


* * *

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Jolie awoke to a dark room. She sniffed. Yup, she must have cried herself to sleep again. Another horrible day at Spite High was over. She rolled, reaching for a tissue before she realized she was still wearing her cap and sneakers.

The light above her mirror flickered again; this time it stayed on. What is wrong with this house? Of course it was lighting up the hated object of her room. Stupid mirror! Wishing for a bowling ball, Jolie threw her hat at it instead.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Jolie sat up as a chill crept up her back—it sounded like glass was being tapped by something tiny and hard. The noise was definitely coming from behind the mirror. Wading through dirty clothes, scattered DVDs, and CDs, she almost tripped over her abandoned backpack before reaching the mirror.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Jolie stared uncertainly at it before she reached up to lift the heavy frame off of the wall. But as soon as her fingers closed over the wooden edges, a warm energy erupted, shooting through her fingers and up her arms. The glassy surface rippled, and her panic-filled face dissolved, suddenly replaced by the image of a white-haired lady. Screaming, Jolie jumped back.

“There, there, dear heart. Don’t be alarmed.” The voice grew louder as a face came into focus.

“This appearing act scares me every time too—it’s definitely my least favorite part of this job."

Jolie’s eyes were riveted to those under matching bright blue eye shadow.

“Finally, you touched the mirror.” She said with a happy sigh. “I had almost run out of tricks to get your attention. But thanks to this piece of magic—” she waved a long fingernail at Jolie, “I can finally break the sound barrier with a tap.”

She was so close to Jolie that tiny silver stars were visible on the periwinkle backdrop of her fingernail. But Jolie’s knees wobbled as she sank onto the edge of her bed and looked around bewildered. This was still her messy room—the fifth one she’d moved into in seven years. A faint sweet odor that tingled with safety and danger wafted toward her. This could not be a dream.

“Wh-who are you?” she asked weakly.

“Oh, don’t you know about mirror fairies?” The lady shook a star-tipped wand at Jolie’s blank stare, and her gentle laughter filled the room with warm light. “I am the Lady of the Mirror, but everyone calls me Miranda.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Several years ago,” Miranda’s said, her face turning serious. “I watched you lose something very important—your smile.”

“Why should you care?” Jolie spluttered in angry surprise. “There’s nothing worth smiling about in my life anyway.”

“That is where you are mistaken, dear heart—which is why I am here.” She leaned out of the mirror toward Jolie. “In truth, I have seen your tears just as I have felt your confusion and sorrows.”

Jolie looked at her doubtfully. “Is this where you wave your glowing wand and spout off some gibberish before I find myself flouncing around in a fat gown?”

“Not quite.” Miranda smiled. “Actually, this old thing is for effect.” She waved it glibly as she spoke, and then tossed the glowing wand over her shoulder where it silently disappeared. “We fairies really don’t have to use them; we just have to speak and the magic does the rest.”

“But life in this world isn’t a fairy tale.” The bitter edge crept back into Jolie’s voice.

“Then who do you think I am?”

Was that a smile that tugged at the corner of Miranda’s pink lips?

“Since you must know everything, tell me what I need help with?” Jolie retorted.

Miranda’s voice grew earnest again. “What happened in the bathroom at school today?”

Jolie’s stomach twisted, and she felt her cheeks grow hot. She glanced at the dresser where an empty package of cookies sat. She was afraid to look into those penetrating eyes.

You heard that?”

“I know you aren’t sick, Jolie. Just like I know why you stopped wearing short sleeves.”

“You don’t know anything about it!” Jolie snapped. “I’m not even pretty to start with, but even your Cinderella was beautiful in her rags. I’m just big, awkward, ugly—the perfect candidate for a nobody.”

“Oh, Jolie. Just because you think, feel or treat yourself as a nobody doesn’t make you one.”

Jolie unconsciously rubbed her arm blinking rapidly to push the tears away.

“Now I might be tempted to call Sleeping Beauty a nobody, since all she did was sleep!” Miranda said. “But Belle, Belle was beautiful because she sacrificed what was dearest to her—herself.”

“So, are you going to, like, punish me or turn me into a frog or something?” Jolie said, swiping an angry tear from her check. “Isn’t that what fairies from your world do to bad people?”

“I am not here to judge you, Jolie.” Miranda looked like she would continue, but stopped and clapped twice instead. “Our time is running out tonight so I will leave you with two wishes to consider. I will be back in the morning to hear your decision. Are you ready?”

Jolie nodded uncertainly.

“Wish #1. I will grant you the makeover of your dreams so that you will look beautiful according to your own terms.”

“You can actually take my zits away and give me curly hair?” Jolie said incredulously.

Miranda nodded before she added. “But one warning accompanies this wish.”

“And that is…?”

“Your happiness cannot be guaranteed.”

“Do I look happy to you right now?”

“Wish #2." Miranda continued as if she didn't hear the anger in Jolie's voice. “I will teach you how to accept the beauty that you already possess, and—”

Jolie interrupted with a snort. “What beauty?”

“—it will be a long process, but your reward is lifelong happiness.”

“Wait! But that’s not fair! Can’t you make me both beautiful and happy?”

“You are beautiful, Jolie.” There was a sense of urgency in Miranda’s voice. “Can’t you see that you are the only one making yourself miserable?” She abruptly pulled herself back into the mirror. “Until tomorrow, dear heart.”

With that, the light flickered and the glass turned liquid as Jolie watched her own troubled face reappear.

* * *

Her slender fingers pressed hard against the cool glass with a desperation that could have bent it. A pretty face surrounded by curly hair peered at her as she leaned into the smudged mirror.

“Miranda, can you hear me?” she whispered, vainly searching for a glimmer of movement on the silent surface. Had it only been a year since she made that fateful decision?

“Please, come back." Her voice choked as tears dripped off her chin. "You were right."