Wishing
1/1
Wishing on shooting stars is something I had done since I was little. My father used to lie on the ground with me for hours in the cool summer nights, just looking for them. It was a tradition that on the first clear night of summer vacation for us to stay up all night, just searching for shooting stars. I spent my childhood wishing, and for the longest time I believed wishes came true.
For years my wishes were the wishes that all children make; I wished for toys and games, for trips to theme parks. And, given that my father always had me make my wishes aloud, they normally came true.
Then something happened, just days before my tenth birthday. Even now, thirteen years later, my body still seems to droop with a heaviness that comes when I remember it. My mother was on her way home from the store, and a driver ran a red light. She died instantaneously, and the doctors had told me that it meant she hadn’t been in pain. That she hadn’t suffered.
And I never thought that was fair. Why did she not have to suffer, to feel an unbearable amount of pain in her death, when my father and I were crippled by it? Why couldn’t it be enough that she had been taken from us? Why did her death just prove so unfair? And why, why, did it have to destroy my father? Because that’s what her death did. He loved her with every fiber of his being, and her death practically killed him.
Things went on in a blurry manner those first few months. I ordered food, normally pizza, and Dad barely ate. House care also became part of my responsibilities, and I tried my best to keep things clean. Needless to say, it had looked as if I would have to repeat the fourth grade, something unheard of in my small town.
It was on the first night of that summer when things changed even more, though it took me a few days to figure it out. The night had been beautiful, the light breeze bringing the undeniable scent that was summer: fresh, clean, and perfect. My father had seemed hesitant when I tugged on his hand, pleading with him to come and lie in the damp grass with me around midnight.
He relented, and had followed me to our spot in the middle of a group of trees. We lay and waited, and waited, and waited, until finally I saw the familiar streak of light in the sky above me, a thing so gorgeous and awe-inspiring to my young self no matter how many times I had seen one. I raised my hand, my finger pointing the star’s path along the heavens to my father, and I made my wish.
“I wish I could have a family again.”
My father had let out a sob, and ran back to the house before I had a chance to try to comfort him. Two weeks of him barely leaving his room later, I woke to find him gone, and just a small note telling me to call my aunt in the city. The phone call was one that took me almost eight days to make, because I thought if I wished every night, he would come back home.
It took six days for me to run out of food. Two days after the food was gone, it had hit me that he wasn’t coming back. And even if he was, I needed to eat so I made the call. My aunt had been shocked and disgusted at the idea of me living on my own for even such a short time, and she came to get me that very day.
I had given up on wishing after that, because my father never did come back. Besides, the city lights made it almost impossible to find that streak of light in the dark of the night sky.
For almost thirteen years I lived in the city, and I hadn’t heard from my father since that note. He had left so I would be with my aunt and uncle, so I could have a family again. He said that in the note, and part of me couldn’t believe he’d do that to make my wish come true. What he didn’t realize is that I just wanted him back, and I still wanted him back to this very day.
It had actually been nice living with my aunt and uncle. She had been unable to have children, and adopting a child had always fallen through. They had been thrilled to take me in, and they treated me as their own. And that was something I would never forget.
I had tried to find my father when I turned eighteen, but it hadn’t led anywhere. For all I know, he could be dead. He could have died years ago, and I wouldn’t ever know. My aunt had told me that it was better for me that I had been raised be her because my father wouldn’t have been able to deal with his grief and the responsibility of a child. And those few months after my mother died, it was obvious that what she said was true. Besides, if I had never moved to the city to be in the care of my aunt and uncle, I would never have met my soul mate.
But, right now, as I lay on the roof of my aunt’s apartment building, I can’t help but want my father there. In less than twenty-four hours, I was going to be getting married to my boyfriend of seven years and my uncle would be the one walking me down the aisle. Even after he left, I always thought it would be my father that gave me away at my wedding. If I were to be honest with myself, I’d admit that he gave me away years ago.
My eyes turned upwards to scan the sky for a shooting star despite the fact that I was certain I wouldn’t have been able to find one. Towards the horizon, I noticed a moving light, and my hopes had risen. They were proven to be in vain soon after, when realization struck and I saw it was an airplane.
If only that airplane had been the shooting star my eyes had been searching for. Because at that moment, I needed a wish more than anything.
For years my wishes were the wishes that all children make; I wished for toys and games, for trips to theme parks. And, given that my father always had me make my wishes aloud, they normally came true.
Then something happened, just days before my tenth birthday. Even now, thirteen years later, my body still seems to droop with a heaviness that comes when I remember it. My mother was on her way home from the store, and a driver ran a red light. She died instantaneously, and the doctors had told me that it meant she hadn’t been in pain. That she hadn’t suffered.
And I never thought that was fair. Why did she not have to suffer, to feel an unbearable amount of pain in her death, when my father and I were crippled by it? Why couldn’t it be enough that she had been taken from us? Why did her death just prove so unfair? And why, why, did it have to destroy my father? Because that’s what her death did. He loved her with every fiber of his being, and her death practically killed him.
Things went on in a blurry manner those first few months. I ordered food, normally pizza, and Dad barely ate. House care also became part of my responsibilities, and I tried my best to keep things clean. Needless to say, it had looked as if I would have to repeat the fourth grade, something unheard of in my small town.
It was on the first night of that summer when things changed even more, though it took me a few days to figure it out. The night had been beautiful, the light breeze bringing the undeniable scent that was summer: fresh, clean, and perfect. My father had seemed hesitant when I tugged on his hand, pleading with him to come and lie in the damp grass with me around midnight.
He relented, and had followed me to our spot in the middle of a group of trees. We lay and waited, and waited, and waited, until finally I saw the familiar streak of light in the sky above me, a thing so gorgeous and awe-inspiring to my young self no matter how many times I had seen one. I raised my hand, my finger pointing the star’s path along the heavens to my father, and I made my wish.
“I wish I could have a family again.”
My father had let out a sob, and ran back to the house before I had a chance to try to comfort him. Two weeks of him barely leaving his room later, I woke to find him gone, and just a small note telling me to call my aunt in the city. The phone call was one that took me almost eight days to make, because I thought if I wished every night, he would come back home.
It took six days for me to run out of food. Two days after the food was gone, it had hit me that he wasn’t coming back. And even if he was, I needed to eat so I made the call. My aunt had been shocked and disgusted at the idea of me living on my own for even such a short time, and she came to get me that very day.
I had given up on wishing after that, because my father never did come back. Besides, the city lights made it almost impossible to find that streak of light in the dark of the night sky.
For almost thirteen years I lived in the city, and I hadn’t heard from my father since that note. He had left so I would be with my aunt and uncle, so I could have a family again. He said that in the note, and part of me couldn’t believe he’d do that to make my wish come true. What he didn’t realize is that I just wanted him back, and I still wanted him back to this very day.
It had actually been nice living with my aunt and uncle. She had been unable to have children, and adopting a child had always fallen through. They had been thrilled to take me in, and they treated me as their own. And that was something I would never forget.
I had tried to find my father when I turned eighteen, but it hadn’t led anywhere. For all I know, he could be dead. He could have died years ago, and I wouldn’t ever know. My aunt had told me that it was better for me that I had been raised be her because my father wouldn’t have been able to deal with his grief and the responsibility of a child. And those few months after my mother died, it was obvious that what she said was true. Besides, if I had never moved to the city to be in the care of my aunt and uncle, I would never have met my soul mate.
But, right now, as I lay on the roof of my aunt’s apartment building, I can’t help but want my father there. In less than twenty-four hours, I was going to be getting married to my boyfriend of seven years and my uncle would be the one walking me down the aisle. Even after he left, I always thought it would be my father that gave me away at my wedding. If I were to be honest with myself, I’d admit that he gave me away years ago.
My eyes turned upwards to scan the sky for a shooting star despite the fact that I was certain I wouldn’t have been able to find one. Towards the horizon, I noticed a moving light, and my hopes had risen. They were proven to be in vain soon after, when realization struck and I saw it was an airplane.
If only that airplane had been the shooting star my eyes had been searching for. Because at that moment, I needed a wish more than anything.