Lucky to Have Love

"Luck or love?" the statue asked. I frowned at him, though I wasn't quite sure where to look. A thick mist surrounded him, thinnest around his large feet and heavier around his head. It had spread out up there, a big clump of clouds. I could hardly tell where his head was.

"Where am I?" I asked him. The last thing I remembered was going to bed, and then waking up here--although I'm not quite where here is. I know I'm in some sort of garden, because there's trees everywhere. And flowers... I think. Is that a crushed orange on the ground, or a tulip? My vision feels blurry.

"You're in your bedroom," the statue replies in a stony voice--I don't blame him though, since he is made out of stone. His voice sounds stony regardless.

But he's wrong. I'm not in my bedroom, I'm in a garden with a paved path, a talking statue who's face I can't see, and two large doors that lead into a hedge maze.

Huh. So maybe this is a maze, not a garden.

"I don't understand," I said. "I'm not in my room. There's no bed."

The statue sighed in exasperation and tapped his right foot on the ground; it made a series of annoying taps that made me want to lunge forward and pin his foot to the ground. Why not? I thought, and took a step forward. Only... it didn't work. I couldn't move. My feet felt as if they were glued to the ground, as heavy as the statue's. I simply couldn't move them.

"Of course there's no bed," the statue said crossly. "You're asleep."

"Oh." That explained why I couldn't move. Or why I wasn't more surprised to be in a garden instead of my bedroom. It was just a dream.

No biggie.

"So... can I wake up now?" I asked after a few moments of silence. "Because I'm a little bored. I mean, I can't move."

If I could have seen the statue's eyes, they would have rolled. "No, you can't," he said. "You have to choose first."

Huh? "Choose what?" I asked. I experimented and tipped my body backwards. I didn't lose my balance; I stayed there like those tall balloon men in front of gas stations that flop all over the place.

The statue groaned. "Luck or love," he said. "Choose which one you would rather have."

I would have shrugged, but being stuck in my current position it was impossible. "Why are you asking me?" I asked.

"Because you're the thirty-three millionth child I've visited tonight, and I'm in your dream, and I'm running out of questions to ask. So please choose or I won't get to the other couple billion in time."

Well, the statue had places to go, so I answered. "Luck," I said without thinking very much. I mean, love is great, but good luck is better. With good luck, I could win the lottery! Or maybe there would be a snow day and my school would close for a few days.

The statue straightened; I could tell by the way his feet were suddenly in a straight line instead of lounging lazily on the sidewalk. "Luck? You sure?"

"Yep," I said. "My back feels weird, and staring at the sky is making me dizzy. Can I wake up now?"

"Soon. Come here." The statue stretched out his hand through the fog, and I could see little bits of ivy growing around his fingers. He snapped them, and it felt like a huge weight was lifted off my chest. I could move again. Joyfully I jumped, happy for the renewed use of my legs. "Come here," the statue said again, firmly this time. I sighed and walked towards him. As I approached, the mist thinned, and I could see his face. He looked like what I always imagined a king to look like; a long beard, sharp eyes, a long nose.

"The left door is luck," the statue said, motioning to the door on the left. It appeared to be made of solid gold, with emeralds and rubies adorning the edge. "And the one on the right is love," he said as he gestured to the other door. It wasn't nearly as elaborate, but it was very pretty. It was made of a light wood, with an iron doorknob and carvings of flowers everywhere. I liked it more than the gold door, but I had chosen luck and had the feeling I couldn't change my mind.

"Off you go," the statue said. "I have two billion youngsters to visit, remember?"

"Yep," I said, walking towards the gold door. Before I could reach out a hand, it swung open, revealing a brilliant light inside, so bright I couldn't see anything else. I took a step inside. Then it was black.

***

I woke up slowly, in stages. First I was very, very tired, so tired I would have willingly given up everything I owned to sleep for a few more minutes. Then I was half-awake, opening my eyes every few minutes and trying to remember my dream. Eventually I woke up fully, my dream rushing back. It was a weird one, and felt oddly real.

Hmm...

It was just a dream. Not like it'll change my life or anything. I got out of bed and got dressed; my favorite yellow jacket had been freshly washed and folded. I smiled to myself and slipped it on. The ketchup stain that had been on the front pocket for months had disappeared. Strange.

Oh well. I supposed Mother just got lucky with the laundry.

I made my way downstairs, wonderful smells reaching my nose. I smelled pancakes and jam and eggs and so much more. It was Monday, the start of a new week. Nothing special. I peeked my head into the kitchen and saw Mother cooking something on the stove. I walked up to her and peeked into the pot. Applesauce, my favorite breakfast side dish.

"Is it my birthday today?" I asked her as I sat down. There was so much food, I didn't know where to start. "Why did you cook so much?" Usually we just have toast or a bowl of cereal on school mornings. On weekends we have pancakes.

"No," Mother said. Her voice was a little flat, but I hardly noticed as I piled pancakes and jam onto my plate.

I looked around at the empty table. "Where's Willa and Dad?" I asked her. This food couldn't possibly be all for me.

"They have eaten their toast already," Mother replied as she set the pot down on the table. I frowned.

"Why did they just eat toast?" I said, confused. Dad loved eggs and Willa's favorite food was grape jam. Why didn't they eat at least a little bit of this feast?

"Because I prepared this for you only," Mother said. I blinked at her. Mother never said words like "prepare." She wasn't fancy. She liked to dance and sing and laugh and hug her children the moment they woke up.

"But why?" I asked. "Why just me? Did I get a good grade on something?" My last test in school had been a couple months ago... that couldn't be it.

"Just eat!" Mother snapped. I jumped slightly. She never yelled at me; what changed?

She was giving me the evil eye, though, so I quickly finished eating. I didn't enjoy it as much as I would have with Willa and Dad--even if Mother had joined me it would have been better, but she just sat at the end of the table and watched me eat as if she was punishing me instead of giving me breakfast.

When I finished, I picked up my backpack from inside the closet. "Put that away," she ordered. "There's no school today."

"There isn't?" I said hopefully.

"That is what I just said! Listen to me for once, will you? It is snowing too hard."

I was too excited to notice that Mother is being extremely weird, and rushed to the window. It was snowing, a thick blanket of whiteness covering our front yard. "Does that mean we can play chess today?" I asked her. On snow days, Mother and I play chess. She always beats me, but I'm getting better.

"No," she said in that new flat voice of hers. "I am going to make lunch."

"But it's only seven AM," I protested. "Please, Mother?"

"No," she insisted. "I want nothing to do with you."

It was then that a big rock of realization hit me in the stomach.

My mother didn't love me.

***

A few minutes later I was back in my room, trying my best not to cry. I was ten, I shouldn't be crying unless something very big has happened. But the tears leaked out anyway, dripping onto my freshly changed sheets. I love having new sheets on my bed; it feels clean and crisp. I wondered who changed them. Probably Dad, since Mother was downstairs the whole time.

Mother. What was wrong with her?

She made me a huge breakfast but refused to do something as simple as play chess with me. And she watched me eat as if she was watching a vulture devour some dead animal; she looked almost disgusted, even though my table manners were very good, thank you very much.

I recalled the few events of the day. My favorite jacket being washed, all my favorite foods, a snow day, and my sheets being changed.

I was lucky.

I gasped. The dream, the statue--did they have something to do with this? No, no, they couldn't have, they weren't real. Dreams weren't real. They're just little movie things to keep you entertained while you sleep. Besides, it couldn't be real. Statues don't talk.

But then again...

He had asked me if I wanted luck or love. I chose luck. Did that mean that there wouldn't be love anymore? That I could have one or the other?

But maybe I was wrong. Maybe Mother was just going through some weird phase. There was only one way to find out.

I got up from bed and walked out of my room, crossing the hallway to Willa's bedroom. We're not the best of siblings, but I do love her. How could I not? She's my sister.

I hoped she still loved me.

My heart was beating extra fast as I opened the door, forgetting to knock. She was sprawled out on her bed, scrolling through her phone. She barely looked up as I came in.

"Hello," I said nervously.

"What do you want?" she asked in a rude voice. I winced. Sure, we fought sometimes, but she wasn't like this. She wasn't rude to me.

"I--it's a snow day," I said.

"I know, Wyatt, I'm not a dummy," she said as she rolled her eyes. "Now what do you want?"

"I never said you were a dummy," I said quietly. She shrugged and continued scrolling. I took a deep breath. "Do you love me?" I asked.

She looked at me strangely, as if I had suddenly grown two heads. "You're annoying and selfish," she said. The words hurt me more than she could imagine, because I'm not selfish at all. Well, maybe sometimes, but not always. I'm not like she is right now, laying on her bed and spurting insults at me. "And to answer your question, no. I could never love an annoying little thing like you." She turned back to her phone, so there was no way she could see the tears forming in my eyes.

Willa. My own sister despised me. I slowly walked out of her room and shut the door, then leaned on it.

I had one more hope.

Mother often said that Willa was moody because she was going through "changes," so perhaps that was why she was acting all rude. Maybe she really did love me and was just annoyed because I didn't knock.

Dad still loved me. He always did.

I knew where he was: in the backyard shed, organizing the flower pots. He and Mother were in this huge argument about how to organize the shed, and after it was over he made a vow to work on it every day until it reached perfection. I ran downstairs, ignoring the murderous looks from my mother, and went outside. It was freezing, but I didn't care. Dad was my last hope.

I walked into the shed. Dad was piling up watering cans. "W... water... cans... C... so that goes there in front of the V and B areas..." he mumbled to himself, arranging them by size and alphabet. I smiled before revealing myself, happy to see something normal going on.

"Dad?" I stepped into the room. He turned around and right then I could see that my last bit of hope had disappeared. His eyes were angry, furious for goodness knows why.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed. "You already had that breakfast, isn't that enough for you?" His voice was raised now. I shivered slightly, and not from the cold.

"I--"

"Stuttering now? Want more attention? Huh? Go back inside, understood?" He turned his back to me and I ran out of the shed as fast as my legs could carry me.

It was true. The dream was true.

I walked over to the mailbox and opened it, tears blurring my vision just like I couldn't see in the dream. It was my job to collect the mail every morning, and I wasn't about to abandon a chore. There was only one letter inside, and it said in big letters, WYATT PIPER HAS WON A LIFETIME SUPPLY OF...

I didn't finish reading. I didn't care about what I had won. I crumpled up the paper in my hand, then smoothed it out again and ripped it up into tiny pieces, not daring to read any of the words. I hated this, hated that I only had luck and no love. I needed love. I needed Mother and Dad and Willa. I needed my family.

I sprinkled the shreds of paper on the ground, where they blended in with the snow. Then I rushed back into the house, through the living room, up the stairs, into my bedroom. I threw myself on the bed and drew the covers up to my chin. Then I closed my eyes, hoping to sleep and escape this living nightmare.

"Ah, but it's not a living nightmare. It's just a nightmare."

I opened my eyes with a start. I was in the garden again, and the statue was standing in front of me. He wore a satisfactory smile on his face. "I gave you a choice, young man. And did you choose right?"

I shook my head. "No, no," I said urgently. "I take it back! I choose love, not luck. Please. Let me change my mind."

The statue rested a heavy hand on my shoulder, making my knees buckle. "It isn't too late," he said gently. "But tell me something first. If you were truly lucky, what would you get?"

I shrugged. "A million dollars? Two million?"

The statue shook his head. "Only people who are very lucky get this," he said. "When you chose luck, you assumed. You assumed that you would get good food and a snow day and lots of other silly things."

I frowned. "I don't get it."

The statue sighed. "Wyatt," he said, "you are lucky. You have just chosen the wrong sort of luck." He motioned to the two doors behind him. "Choose again. Choose the right luck." And he pushed me towards the gold door. I struggled against his heavy stone body, but he only pushed harder.

"Let me go!" I shouted. "I don't want luck!"

"You already have it!" He shouted back as I was dissolved in the blinding light. "And you know what it is!"

It was black again. Peaceful, blissful black.

***

"Wake up, honey."

I opened my eyes sleepily. Mother was standing over me, and I jumped. "Get away!" I shouted.

She stepped back. "Are you okay?" she asked gently. I looked at her face; she looked concerned. Concerned for me.

"Mother, do you love me?" I asked breathlessly. A smile crept up my face. Could it be?

She looked baffled. "Of course!" she said. "I love you. I love you so much. And there's applesauce downstairs on the stove."

I jumped out of bed and hugged her tightly. She hugged me back and smiled, kissing the top of my head. "I love you too," I whispered.

I was so lucky. I was so, so lucky. Lucky to have love.