The Wishmaker

Once upon a time . . . no, scratch that, it was yesterday. Yesterday I went into my sister’s room to find her frantically searching for something.

“Help me find it,” she said. I didn’t know what I was supposed to look for. Her next couple of instructions seemed kind of vague, but I started scanning the messy room and making half an effort to spot the round and sparkly, magical diamond. “It grants your wish,” she whispered.

Right, I thought. But then I thought again. She had been awfully lucky lately.

I got down on my hands and knees and peered under the bed. Nothing but dust bunnies and a button that looked like it had grown short fuzzy hair. I grabbed it.

“Found it!” I kept my fist closed tightly and stretched my hand out high. She couldn’t reach it. Didn’t matter, she just stared, probably hoping I wouldn’t make a wish. Or maybe waiting to see what I did wish for.

I didn’t make a wish. She went back to searching and I went back to my room, still clutching the object. I opened my palm and instead of a dusty old button there was what I can only describe as a crystal clear and quite dazzling little drum.

This was awesome.

Now, what would I wish for? Wait, how many wishes did I have? I didn’t want to waste any. This was really important. A candy bar versus world peace . . . and everything in between.

I didn’t wish for anything yesterday and today I can’t find that drum shaped diamond. This morning my sister came to my room and now she’s helping me look.

Strange . . . I’ve never seen these before. Seven little objects, all so small they could fit together in a ring box: a teeny tiny movie theater spotlight, a porcelain puppy, a miniature instruction pamphlet, a multi-colored beach ball and three other miniscule things I can’t identify. All under my bed, all grouped together as if they were one. I place them in my hand, squeeze it shut and, like yesterday, I tell my sister that I found it.

She actually hangs her head down, defeated. As she closes the door behind herself, I relax my grip, ready to open my hand, not expecting to see seven tiny items or a diamond or even a dusty button. I am pretty sure that I will find something else entirely. I just have to open my hand. I just have to open my hand.
Copyright 2011 by Debra Chapoton