![]() The stone had changed from sharing secret dreams to open communication between us.Įventually, we gained new obligations, leaving little time for the wishing stone. It made me feel good to secretly fulfill her modest desires. My wishes became more trivial and I had less and less time to share with her so I concentrated on making her wishes come true. Slowly, as I grew older, my interest began to wane. Once a week, it gave each of us an opportunity to vent our frustrations and express our desire to make things right with the world. ![]() We wished for things large and small, all with equal desire they would come true. Kate was its guardian, swearing to use it only for good and only when the two of us were together. We would take turns holding it, vowing on our very lives to only speak the truth while it was in our possession, talking for hours before making our wish. As we grew older it became the conduit between us. It didn't happen every time, but it did more often than not so it became our wishing stone. The following week, she wished for a new notebook for school and the next day it appeared in her room. She wished for the folks to stop and get us an ice cream for the ride home and they did. She would close her eyes and stroke it three times before making a wish. No more than four or five inches long and a dull tan with black freckles it looked more like a potato than anything else. ![]() We found it on a camping trip to Deep Creek as kids. City Nights/Knights Submission GuidelinesĪ river stone smoothed with time and endless amounts of water, it was really nothing more than a regular rock.I wish her back to life, crawling to her, shaking her, trying CPR. The wishing stone crushes her soul, forcing it from her body, sending it to hell. She is dying, blood pouring from her forehead where she hit the wall. “Sara? Lisa?” Dad’s shout drowns out Mom’s thin wail. The thump of our twin falls echoes through the house. Mom crumples to the floor, hitting her head against the wall. I throw myself to the floor, rolling on the carpet runner to smother the flames. Oh God! The wish for her death escapes the bowels of my unconscious mind before I can censor it. The stone whispers, telling me to beware my mother’s greedy soul. The stone burns against my skin, raising blisters. “Are you threatening to kill me?” I scramble up from the floor, wishing her gone. I wish they would shut-up and the stone grows warm in my hand. My parents’ screeching makes the house shudder. The stone is purple, like a chunk of raw amethyst or kunzite. The chain is long, fashioned from hundreds of tiny, irregular links. Three wishes for life? Three wishes without paying a price? I let the necklace dangle from my palm. I sit on the unmade bed, wrap myself in a blanket, and unclasp the chain to examine the stone. The room is cold, chilled by the wind that whips around the corner and seeps through a north-facing window. ![]() I head upstairs to my bedroom at the back of the house. I’m used to their failure to celebrate important events in my life. But their fight has reached that critical point-of-no-return. “What’s going on?” I ask, hoping they’ll remember it’s my birthday. My parents’ voices grow louder, more strident. Remember.” Noni retreats to her blanket-draped rocking chair in the corner, sits down, and closes her eyes. I look at Mom, still trying to make her point with Dad. A moment later, her fingers close the clasp. The gold feels cool where it touches my neck. She gestures with her free hand, telling me to turn around, the long chain dangling between her fingers. My Noni gave me this when I turned sixteen, and I wore it always, until today. They are screaming at each other, arguing about a TV show or maybe what color to paint the kitchen. My grandmother Noni hands me the stone on its chain, her palm pressed against mine, hiding the stone from view. ![]()
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