Wish

  WISH

  By Nadia Scrieva

  Copyright © 2012 Nadia Scrieva. All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: The Yellow Handkerchief

  Chapter 2: Under These Circumstances

  Chapter 3: Dessert at Midnight

  Chapter 4: The Golden Compass

  Chapter 5: At Thurston Bridge

  Chapter 6: To the Past

  Chapter 7: An Inspiring Future

  Chapter 8: A Reasonable Girl

  Chapter 9: Beyond the Fire

  Chapter 10: An Unbearable Limbo

  Chapter 11: The Scarlet Sun

  Beneath the makeup and behind the smile I am just a girl who wishes for the world.

  —Marilyn Monroe

  Chapter 1: The Yellow Handkerchief

  I was born just like everyone else, and I suppose I will die just like everyone else—it’s the stuff in between that’s uncertain. Danger lies in the tiny choices. For example, how would my life have been different if I had followed the rules and avoided mingling with the humans on this particular night? What if I hadn’t ducked into the ladies’ room to retouch my lipstick? I know so much about the flow of time in the lives of others, but my own is a complete mystery. All I knew was how I felt, and I couldn’t stand another second of that awful, repetitive Christmas music.

  After spending the better part of the evening standing in a corner and watching students laughing and dancing, the nip of jealousy was like cold air against my neck. I would have given anything to be one of them—but of course, I had nothing to give. I would have loved to be a part of something like this, but I was just an outsider crashing the party because someone had mentioned it to me earlier in the week. The person who had spoken of the event was now dead. I suppose I felt compelled to come in her place and enjoy what she couldn’t—but enjoying anything was proving difficult. Instead, I ran. I escaped to the bathroom where I have been trying to occupy my hands with some mundane task. I consider splashing cold water on my face, but it would ruin my makeup. Taking a random utensil from my purse, I busy myself with going through the motions of a woman freshening herself up. I am in the middle of pretending to darken my lashes when she enters the room.

  I can immediately tell that she has been crying. She is a brunette of Asian descent, only a tad bit shorter than me, with a sweet face. Glancing into her eyes through the mirror, I quickly decide that I will try to help her as much as I can; it is my job, after all.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her softly.

  She nods rapidly, grabbing several sheets of paper towel which she promptly presses against her face. This is about as effective as holding up an umbrella in a hurricane. As fast as she can mop up the mess, more tears and snot broke through the barrier.

  “My name is Kayla,” I tell her. My own voice reminds me of a cat’s paws on carpet. I feel like I am prying, but I can instinctively tell that she wants me to pry. “Do you need any help?”

  Removing the soaked paper from her eyes, she glances at me miserably. “Kayla. I am the scum of the earth. Is it terrible to break up with someone on Christmas Eve?”

  Oh, humans and their etiquette! Although I didn’t fully understand the situation, I was intrigued. “I think so,” I reason carefully. “Why do you ask?”

  “I have been with my high school boyfriend for years, but I just started seeing someone else,” she confesses. “College was just so new and there were so many crazy changes. I never meant for this to happen.”

  Chewing on my lip to indicate thoughtfulness, I taste my waxy lipstick. “If the timing is so inconvenient, why don’t you just wait a day?” I ask her.

  “I just can’t keep lying!” she almost shouts. “It’s driving me insane. It’s fine every other day, but not on Christmas—he deserves better.” She begins to blow her nose and tries to clean up her face halfheartedly.

  “You seem like a good person. I am sure he will understand—you should always do what you feel is right.” I reached into my purse for a pale yellow handkerchief which I pass to her silently.

  She accepts it with a surprised smile and uses it to erase her runny mascara. “Hey, thanks for listening,” she said lightly. She gives me a feeble wave as she moves to leave the restroom.

  Emotions baffle and scare me, even though I’m supposed to be immune. As I watch the door swinging with the girl’s exit, I think about how volatile and unpredictable humans are. I find it both terrifying and endearing; I wish I could have friends who felt so strongly about me, but at the same time I am glad I do not. It is safer to be an outsider—safer, albeit boring and unsatisfying.

  Pulling out my lipstick, I return to primping myself for nothing in particular. After the odd little encounter, I can’t help feeling aware of my own emptiness. Would I continue this way, so unconnected until my death? I can’t help considering my own mortality. I often wonder whether I am making the most of my life, and whether I should try to risk connecting with other people a little more. I can’t help these thoughts; I have seen ten people die this week.

  Worst of all, it was my job to save them.

  I know that I shouldn’t feel responsible, and I definitely shouldn’t get attached to my clients. This is always a busy time of year, and losses are expected. I have heard that doctors eventually become numb to seeing their patients die, but I am not a doctor and I can’t turn off my regret. These are not natural deaths, and neither are they accidental. No, they are the worst kind: intentional and by choice. Each one is a testament to a collective failure to show others a little kindness. That’s all people really seem to want in the end; kindness. That’s all I want.

  Two girls enter the restroom chattering loudly and shattering my quiet privacy. I reluctantly leave, heading back into the crowded ballroom. The noisy music and bright lights are intoxicating in a way that makes me feel nostalgic and out of place. I want to enjoy myself at this party, but I’m not quite sure how. Moving among the bubbly groups of young college students, I try to smile at everyone who looks my way. A few people smile back mechanically before returning to their conversations. No one seems to be alone, and no one seems interested in connecting with me. I consider returning to the restroom—I seemed to have better luck there.

  Instead, I am drawn toward the brightly-colored punch bowls. The trays of desserts are enchanting. Pretty layers of cake and fruit attract my attention, and I move forward to help myself to a serving. I am reaching for a paper plate when a large hand clamps around my wrist.

  “What are you doing, Kayla?”

  I turn to glance over my shoulder at the familiar face. “You’re hurting me,” I tell my attacker, yanking my hand free. I rub my bruised wrist carefully, frowning. “This body is tender, Nathan.”

  “Sorry. At least it heals quickly,” he responds, indicating the bluish bruise left by his thumb. It fades away before our eyes, and the pain disappears too. “Why are you here? You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

  “I’m not ready to leave yet,” I tell him. He doesn’t mean a regular night’s sleep. He means a deep and dreamless slumber that will take me away from this world for an indefinite amount of time. It is like death, but not quite. When I return, I won’t be Kayla anymore.

  “You have to go,” Nathan insists. “Those are the rules. Your work here is done.”

  “Maybe after I try some dessert,” I tell him stubbornly.

  “What’s wrong with you? You don’t need to eat or drink.”

  “But I want to,” I protest, sighing with exasperation. “Why are you here, Nathan? Just leave me alone. It’s none of your business what I do with my time.”

  He shrugs. “For your information, I’m not here to bother you. I just noticed you and thought I’d come over and say something. I’m actually here on a job.”

 
“A job?” I ask, suddenly curious.

  He lowers his voice and looks around before speaking. “Something is going to happen here tonight, very soon.”

  “No one told me that,” I say, a bit upset to be out of the loop.

  “Something changed,” he says, “an event happened that wasn’t supposed to happen. It triggered other events, and now there’s a job.”

  “You’re confusing me,” I complain.

  “It’s complicated,” he says, scanning the room. “Father said something about a yellow handkerchief.”

  My head jerks down and I stare at my purse with paranoia. “Oh no,” I whisper. I turn to scan the room from corner to corner, searching for the girl from the bathroom. I finally notice her leaving the party through double doors, a hand pressed to her chest as though she is very upset. She is holding my handkerchief. “Let me take care of this, Nathan. It’s my fault.” I begin weaving my way through the crowd, but Nathan stops me.

  “Kayla, I don’t think you’ve been well-informed…”

  “I can do this,” I assure him.

  He hesitates. “You don’t understand. Tonight, you were going to be retired. You’re not doing any more jobs.”

  “What?” I ask in disbelief. “Who told you this?”

  “Everyone knows. Your success rate has fallen.”

  Shaking my head in refusal, I glare at him. “This one’s mine, Nathan. Please let me do this—don’t interfere!” I turn and begin running. Sidestepping many of the dancers, I don’t care about how ridiculous I look sprinting in my evening dress. I just care about getting where I need to be, even though I’m not quite sure where that is yet. Retired? I can’t be retired. This job is all I have. It’s not just what I do; it’s who I am. As I exit the ballroom into the cold night air, I see a car pulling away from the curb and driving away.

  “Wait!” I shout, waving my arms wildly and running after the vehicle. My high heels are starting to hurt, and it occurs to me that they aren’t the appropriate footwear for chasing cars. But I have no other choice, and I continue running. “Wait!” I scream as the car stops for a red light. I am greatly relieved by this, knowing that I can use the few extra seconds to catch up. I run with all of the strength in my body, but to my dismay, just as I’m approaching the intersection, the car makes a right turn. My legs are too weak to continue and I jog to a stop in the middle of the road. I watch the car drive off, wondering if this is going to be my final failure. Did I just blow my last chance to prove myself? To do something good?

  I reach down to take off my heels, rubbing my sore feet. I might as well return to the party and tell Nathan that I failed. On the bright side, at least I know someone there now. Maybe Nathan will humor me with a last dance before it’s lights-out forever. Limping, I turn around to head back in the direction that I came. But before I can move, a car comes flying around the intersection. I don’t have time to blink before the headlights are blinding me and the car is slamming into my legs. I hear a sickening crack along with the sound of furiously screeching brakes, and I feel my head slam into something solid. Cool pavement is resting against my cheek as the world spins.

  I hear a car door open and a boy is rushing to my side. He is speaking to me and touching my shoulder, and there is concern on his face. I can’t process exactly what he’s saying, but it looks like he’s crying. Why is he crying? I must be covered in blood and look really grotesque and awful if it’s enough to make a boy cry. I could be in several pieces; I’m not sure. The reckless driver has a pleasant face and I feel guilty for making him cry. I wish he didn’t have to see me this way.

  Maybe death will be similar to the dreamless sleep; just a little earlier than anticipated. Maybe I deserve this. It’s not so terrible, going off to sleep for a really long time. It’s warm and peaceful—but I will definitely miss people. I will miss holiday parties with dessert.

  Chapter 2: Under These Circumstances

  “Oh, god. I think I killed her. She’s not moving.”

  I open my eyes to see a pair of polished dress shoes pacing back and forth on the asphalt. I blink twice as the rapid swiveling of leather soles on concrete begins to make me dizzy.

  “Please send someone fast. We’re at University Avenue and… uh, Stewart.”

  Groaning, I shift slightly, trying to call out to the frantic young man. He seems not to notice as he continues stammering into his cell phone.

  “Can you hear me? It’s breaking up. Please hurry. How long until someone gets here? Hello? Hello!” His voice is only growing more panicked and desperate. “This is a great time to run out of battery. Greatest day of my life.” He flings his phone to the ground and it splinters into bits near my face. I flinch slightly, closing my eyes to avoid any flying debris.

  “Hey,” I mumble from the ground, trying to lift myself from the pavement. “I’m okay.”

  “Oh, thank god!” the boy says, rushing to my side. “I’m so sorry. You probably shouldn’t try to move. Wait until the paramedics arrive—er, actually I’m not sure if they are coming. Maybe I could drive you to the hospital?”

  “No, really. I’m perfectly fine,” I tell him as I manage to move into a seated position. My evening dress was ruined, but other than that, I knew my injuries would heal before too many minutes had passed. I noticed a giant gash running along my calf through the slit of my dress and I could already see a warm glow of light surrounding the injuries. I adjusted my dress to hide the unearthly glow so the boy would not suspect there was anything unusual about me. “My name is Kayla,” I manage to say as calmly as possible.

  “I’m Kieran,” he answers, crouching down beside me. “Oh, god, please forgive me. I’m so sorry—so, so sorry. I was going a bit too fast and my vision was blurry…”

  “You were drinking?” I ask, but it’s partly an accusation.

  “No, I’m not even old enough to drink! There’s no excuse for this—I was just… really upset about some family stuff.” He moves closer and I jump when I feel his hand against my back. “Here, Kayla: if you put your arm around my neck, I will lift you into the passenger seat and take you to the hospital.”

  I nod out of sheer surprise at his closeness. Kieran carefully slips a hand under my thighs to lift me off the ground, and I obediently wrap my arms around his neck. I had not imagined that he would be able to lift me so easily; he is surprisingly strong. When we arrive at the car, he slightly lowers me to open the passenger door and kicks it fully open. Only when he finishes placing me in the seat do I realize that I was blushing at the contact. Humans do not touch me often, and I find the intimacy unnerving.

  Realizing that I do not need to go to the hospital, I try to weigh my options. I do not need medical attention, but neither am I capable of walking to my destination. Also, sitting in the vehicle is kind of comfortable and I do not want to move right away. I allow my body to sag into the cushions as Kieran walks around the car, back into the driver’s seat.

  Once he is sitting, I turned to glance at his profile. “Please don’t take me to the hospital,” I quietly demand.

  “You’re badly injured. I have to.”

  “No, you don’t. I heal really quickly. I’m feeling better already. Besides, there’s somewhere I really need to be…”

  “Where?” he asks. “Just let me know and I’ll drive you.”

  “I don’t know exactly,” I say in a low voice, realizing that I have no clue how to reach the girl who had driven away. She was long gone, as was my job, and my life.

  “If you want to go to the police station and press charges against me, I understand. I was wrong to hit a pedestrian and I should face the consequences…”

  “Relax,” I tell him lightly. “It was my fault too. I was standing in the middle of the road. These bodies are so weak that they fold and crumple like paper if you play too rough with them. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Kayla?” he asks me earnestly. “I’m not kidding. If you want to call the cops or punish me in some w
ay, I really think you should. I probably deserve the worst.”

  “Just drive in circles around the campus while I think,” I order him.

  He complies, and we begin driving.

  I exhale in relief, gripping my leg which is probably broken. I know it won’t be broken for long, but I find myself wishing to take my mind off the pain. “Do you go to school here?” I ask, gesturing out of the window. ‘Here’ referred to the Cornell University campus.

  “Yeah, I do,” he answers instantly. Then he hesitates and corrects himself. “Well, I did. It’s my first year—my first semester. And my last, I guess.”

  “Why?” I prod. “Did you flunk out?”

  He makes a sound like a scoff. “My grades were outstanding. I worked really hard. Too hard.”

  “Then why? Did you decide it wasn’t for you?”

  “No, I loved it,” Kieran says. “It’s my dad. He refuses to help and I can’t afford the tuition and the rent to live out here. I can’t get loans either.”

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him softly. I realize that it must be far worse for him. I have always been an outsider, but he knew what it was like to briefly be a part of it all before being forced out.

  “Enough about me,” he says quickly. “What do you study? Let me guess: philosophy major.”

  I give a crooked smile at that assumption. “No. Unfortunately, I’m not a student—but I wish I could be one more than anything. I'm kind of stuck in the family business.”

  “Like the mafia?” he asks with interest.

  I can’t help laughing at that, and I immediately grab my stomach at the searing pain. “Ouch.”

  “Oh god, do you have internal bleeding? That’s it; I’m turning around and heading to the hospital...”

  “No, no. Please don’t,” I beg him. “I was just laughing because my family is kind of like the mafia. Except in reverse.”

  “I’m still taking you to the hospital.”