Make a Wish

“Tomorrow is my birthday.”

Adelaide spoke the words unbidden. There was no excitement in them. No grief. It was just a fact. A fact that she had no idea why she was sharing, except that, as with most of her actions, the thought had simply occurred to her and felt right.

The man behind the counter raised his eyebrows then, a silent acknowledgment, though he didn’t look up from the till as he scanned her items. A bag of cheese puffs, a coffee crisp, and a purple lighter adorned with silver stars. Adelaide watched his fingers work as he punched some unknowable numbers into the machine. They were stubby, with chewed up fingernails caked with dirt. She imagined this man—late thirties, buzzed head, and brown skin—was a gardener in his off-hours. Perhaps he even had a cherished gnome collection, and a Pitbull to guard them at night from the teenaged fiends whom Adelaide had happily left behind when she graduated high school not two months prior.

“Eight sixty-one.”

His voice startled Adelaide from her deep musing. Springing back to reality, she dug her debit card out of the back pocket of her acid wash jeans—the only garment on her body that wasn’t black. When the man handed her the receipt, it was alongside another piece of paper. Big and rectangular. A Bingo lottery game.

“Happy birthday.” He said. “Good luck.”

Adelaide reached out and retrieved her items. “Thanks,” she said, and meant it. No one ever gave her birthday gifts anymore.

The heat was oppressive as she sat outside, scratching furiously at the Bingo game with the back door key to her house. Well, her mother’s house. The chocolate had left a thick, sweet coating on her tongue and she regretted not buying water. But really, who was foolish enough to pay for water?

When she blackened the fourth corner of the grid, 065, creating an x, she felt something unfamiliar tighten in her chest. Glee? Satisfaction? Maybe just surprise. Adelaide had won the lottery. Fifty big ones. Whatever she spent the money on would make for two birthday presents this year. What were the odds? Not great, so she knew she had to make it count.

Crossroads was one of Adelaide’s usual haunts, though she’d never spent so much as a buck in it. She couldn’t afford to. Instead, she had often popped in on the long walk home from school to gather energy and inspiration from the infamous wicca shop. The owner always smiled kindly at her but never struck up a conversation. It was as though she sensed that, for Adelaide, this was not a store, but sanctuary. She was not a patron, but a refugee, seeking furtive asylum from the mundanity of her existence. Though, she supposed it was just as likely that she simply looked as poor as she was. But not today. Today, Adelaide had fifty dollars to offer this woman, so she would be the one to initiate a conversation.

The bell above the door clanked obnoxiously as Adelaide entered, her stride confident. She walked directly up to the back wall where the owner was arranging books on a shelf. Books with thick spines, leather bindings, and hardcover case wraps. The best of the best, as far as Adelaide was concerned.

“Tomorrow is my birthday,” she announced, a hum of pride in it now.

The woman turned to face her, a wide smile cutting into her cheeks.

“How wonderful.” She set down her final book and gave her full attention to Adelaide, and Adelaide couldn’t help but note that it was strange to have eyes set so assuredly upon her. “You know,” the woman went on, “the Pagans believed that birthdays marked a time for significant personal change. They also believed that this made the celebrant vulnerable to evil spirits. It’s why friends and loved ones would gather around to offer well-wishes of protection.”

“Oh.” Adelaide didn’t know what to say to that, other than the truth. “I don’t have anyone to protect me. Not really. I do have some money, though, today. I’d like to buy something from here. Your store has always made me feel safe.”

The woman’s smile morphed then from something bright to something… reverent.

“I always feel safe here, too,” she crooned, eyes growing distant as she tucked a wisp of silver hair behind her ear.

Adelaide tried on a smile then and was surprised to find it nearly fit.

“I think I have just the thing for you. Follow me.”

Heart pitter-pattering now, Adelaide allowed herself to be led behind the counter, where the woman pulled from under her sweater a chain that held a large and intricate key. She unlocked the door, revealing a staircase that led deep, down into some dark beyond. But the darkness was only temporary. At the bottom of the stairs, the woman opened another door, spilling orange light first onto their toes, then their legs, then all the way up to their faces. Something skittered up Adelaide’s spine as she entered the room, lit by dozens of torches. If she had to put a name to the feeling, she’d guess it was hope. Or maybe it was belonging, though even just thinking that seemed too presumptuous. She said nothing, but continued to follow close behind the silver beauty, deeper into the labyrinth. Finally, the woman spoke.

“This is where I keep my treasures.”

“I’m not sure I can afford a treasure,” Adelaide said, a smirk on her face and in her tone.

The woman turned to her, eyes wide and serious. “Treasures are not to be afforded, but earned.”

“How do I earn it?”

The woman’s face softened then. “Oh, darling. You already have. I can sense it on you. In you. Of you. I suppose I always have. But tomorrow is your special day. And it’s time for a special gift.”

Three presents then, Adelaide thought. No. Three was too many.

“I have fifty dollars. I’d like you to have it.”

The woman nodded graciously, then handed Adelaide a rectangular gift box, the length of both her hands together.

“Where did this come from?” Adelaide asked. She hadn’t seen her retrieve it.

The woman only smiled, pushing the box firmly into Adelaide’s grasp.

“This is what we call a Wishing Candle.” She peeled back the box’s cover. Inside, lay a single black candle. It looked ordinary, though its energy felt anything but. Adelaide felt it humming through the box, onto her palm, and seeping under her skin. The woman continued. “It can make your wildest dreams come true. Whatever it is you wish for yourself, this candle will make possible.”

“How?”

“It’s simple. All you do is light it, close your eyes and make a wish. But remember, the flame must be blown out during the exact minute of your birth. That’s the only way to ensure the wish will come true.”

“That’s it, eh? Just, make a wish? Hard to believe anything in life can be that easy.”

“Life has always been that easy. It’s people who complicate it.” The woman reached up and lightly feathered her fingers across Adelaide’s cheek. A loving gesture that tickled and warmed all at once. “A word of advice, Adelaide. Don’t complicate this.”

And so, without asking how the woman even knew her name, Adelaide paid for the candle, took it home, and waited.

At four thirty in the morning, when sky was still dark and the birds had just begun to chirp, Adelaide lit the candle using the purple lighter she’d bought herself that morning (or rather, the day before, though it didn’t feel that way as she hadn’t yet gone to bed). With twelve minutes to go until her birth moment, she wanted to savor the glow of the light and give herself time to decide on a wish. She’d thought about it for hours, of course, but nothing had felt right yet. In fact, she was starting to worry. The weight of the decision, of having only one chance to change the course of her life forever, was a growing brick in her chest.

The problem was that she didn’t yet know what she wanted from life. She knew what she didn’t want, she had only to look around her to be sure. But wanting? That wasn’t something she had ever truly allowed herself. She considered going backwards, undoing a regret. But her enormous collection of sci-fi novels and DVDs glared back at her, cautioning against messing with the past. “That way madness lies,” she whispered to herself. So, if there was nothing tangible in front of her, and nothing worth the trouble of going back for, Adelaide was just sitting still. Stuck.

She glanced at the clock. 4:38 am. She took a deep breath and tried again to let the image of a happy, fulfilled future come to her. And when at 4:42, her birth moment, she still didn’t know what to do, she continued sitting still. Watching. Waiting.

At 4:43, the flame disappeared.

It became a ritual then. Each year on her birthday, Adelaide would rise before the sun, light the flame with the purple lighter, and watch it burn it out. It did sadden her that she couldn’t ever bring herself to want something bad enough to ask for it. But it also made her feel strong—after all, maybe wanting was a dangerous thing. Maybe magic was dangerous. Maybe there was strength in her resistance. And maybe there was something to be said for taking your time. For not rushing the future. For living in the present. Or maybe she just liked to own the power, unable to give it up just yet. Hell, maybe the candle held no power at all. That, she secretly thought, might be the thing she was most afraid to learn. It’s why she hadn’t ever returned to Crossroads in the few years she had remained in her hometown.

Adelaide never could decide if it was fear or pride or something else that kept her from making a wish. But whatever the case, it didn’t change the fact that the candle was the single best gift she’d ever received. It had finally given her something to look forward to, again and again. She would cherish that for the rest of her life.