Wish and Wish and Wish
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A short story.
I wished. I wished on stars. Dandelions. 11:11. Eyelashes when they would fall off and land gently on my cheek. Day after day, wish after wish, asking for things to just get better, as if some cosmic entity would hear my pleas and decide that I was the one poor soul in this world that they wanted to help.
It isn’t any different today. My legs swing back and forth on the end of Aiden’s pickup truck, the tall grass beneath us tickling my calves. Aiden lazily holds a dandelion in front of me. “You’re taking a long time,” he says.
I laugh. “I know. I can’t think of anything good tonight.”
He laughs too, bringing the dandelion down to his lap and twirling it softly between his fingers. “Well, then you’re gonna have to tell me when you’re ready. My arm’s getting tired.”
“I’ll keep you posted.”
Aiden lies back, fixing the pillow beneath his head with one hand while he keeps the dandelion secure with the other. I’m thankful he finally took me up on my idea to buy cheap blankets and pillows from our nearest Goodwill. We spend too much time lying back here for us to keep using our jackets as neck support.
“What are you doing on Saturday?” Aiden asks, turning his head toward me.
I lie beside him and stare up at the cotton candy clouds that are peppering the crimson sky. I would need to go home soon. “I’m not sure,” I tell him. “Why?”
“I’m leaving on Sunday.”
I pause. “I know.”
We’re quiet for a long time, the silence between us uncomfortable. Unending. Unpleasant. Unhappy. Aiden sets the dandelion down on the edge of the blanket and sighs. “I don’t know why you’re making this so difficult,” he huffs.
I almost scoff. “I don’t think I am.”
“You are. I want to see you before I go.”
“I know.”
“So am I going to?”
I shake my head, but I can’t look at him. Not yet. Not now. Not this soon. It’s too fucking soon. How many times does this have to happen? “I’m not sure,” I whisper.
“Don’t do this.”
