Have you ever tossed a coin or two into a fountain and made a wish? Did it come true?
My grandfather took us to the mall every Christmas. He would buy us subway sandwiches and Dairy Queen hot fudge sundaes. We’d ride the Ferris Wheel and walk through the shops, under the celing spread with Christmas lights like the sky is spread with stars.
There was a fountain there. He would always fish around in his pockets and find pennies. One. Two. Three. One for each of us. We would toss them in. Watching the water ripple at their touch. We would lean perilously far onto the ledge, gazing as they swirled to the bottom to land among the pile of other coins. Like a dragon’s priceless bed of copper.
I always wasted my wish. Sometimes entranced by the smear of shining brass catching the light as it danced to the bottom of the fountain, I would forget to wish at all. I wished for doll houses and good test scores and happiness.
I wasted my wishes and now I am without. When I need it most. No pennies left to wish for my grandfather’s arms around me. For one last time.