Sheila played with the idea of tattoos, decided definitely a football helmet, then changed her mind and wanted a magic trick. Red vending machines lined the wall nearest the Dominick’s Finer Foods exit. “I will get a SuperBall,” Sheila said. “Here’s a quarter,” I said, placing the coin in the palm of her mittened hand. “Get whatever you want.”
A cold breeze hit us each time a customer wheeled a full grocery cart onto the muddy, wet black mat, activating the automatic door. I braced for the chill, relaxed, braced for the chill. “Hurry up, Sheila.”
A thin, lavender-banded watch caught Sheila’s eye. Above it, in bold, black letters were the words: REAL WATCHES. Below, in tiny, gray letters, were the words: plus other fine jewelry. “I will get a watch,” Sheila said.
“You might want to start getting used to the idea of other fine jewelry,” I said.
Sheila wrinkled her nose, her puzzled look. She inserted the quarter into a slot, turned the knob. Out came a cheap, yellow ring. She took off her mitten and put it on her finger. “It’s so pretty, Daddy. Oh, thank you, Daddy.”
Late that night, as Sheila sat on my chest, candles lit about our dark living room, she announced, “This is a magic ring.”
I sat more upright against the arm of our couch. Taking Sheila’s hand in mine, I looked at the ring in the light of the coffee table candle. The light hit it in such a way that I could almost see other fine jewelry qualities. But not magic.
“What makes this a magic ring?” I asked.
“If you close your eyes and wish, the wish will come true,” Sheila said. “Make a wish.”
I didn’t reflect or even try to think of a wish. I said, “Okay. I got mine.”
Sheila took the middle and pointer fingers from each hand and placed them on my eyelids. “You have to close your eyes first,” she said. She gently helped me close my eyes.
Silently, I thought about my wish. There were too many big wishes to get a fix on any one of them. Let Dzia Dzia live…Make things better between Maria and I…Give me a better job with higher pay. I tried a more sensible tact. Please arrange it so the brake problem on the Pontiac is only pads, not rotors and linings. Allow one coat of paint to cover the living room walls. I went for something elusive, yet within my grasp. Let the Bulls cover eight tonight against the Bucks.
Unrealistic wishes, I figured, would get ignored, or botched.
“Okay,” I said. “Now you.”
Sheila closed her eyes tight. She said, in an affected, wispy voice, “I wish for more and more Barbies, and a snowy white Christmas.” She opened her eyes.
I felt my chest expand and contract with each breath. Sheila rose and fell with it. “Now you have to tell me what you wished for,” Sheila said.
I said, in an affected, wispy voice, “I wished for more and more Barbies and a snowy white Christmas.”
“You wished for the same thing I did,” Sheila screamed. She giggled and fell forward on my chest. She ran her fingers lightly through my hair. She kissed me on the lips and held the pucker a second before pulling back. She said, in her wispy voice, “We wished for the same thing.”
The candle on the coffee table swayed and returned to its proper place, a breeze I didn’t feel myself. I saw this in shadows on the white ceiling. My head was set against the couch pillow, and Sheila’s left cheek rested against my left cheek. To move my head would have been to upset Sheila, who was ready to fall asleep.
Sheila laughed again, this time closer to my ear. I smelled Johnson’s Baby Shampoo in her golden, curly hair. With my hand, which I rested on her back, I could feel Sheila’s own breaths expand and contract. Those breaths grew heavy and long. In a weary voice, Sheila said, “Did you really wish for the same thing, Daddy?”
I thought about it. I could have told Sheila the truth, spoke the words toward the ceiling and let them fall on her young head. I could have told her no, those kinds of coincidences only happen in Walt Disney books, not real life. I could have said her magic ring was not a magic ring, but one of the cheapest cheap toys, one kids like herself settled for after being lured by false promises of a higher-caliber cheap toy. “Yes, honey,” I said. “I always wish for the same thing.”
Sheila stroked the cotton on my shirt with the hand which housed her magic ring. Her voice faded. “Let’s wish again.”
Shadows from the various candles danced around the ceiling. Somewhere behind me, I heard the buzz of a fly, way past season, and then I looked at the ceiling to see a huge, bobbing shadow. It looked like a punctured dirigible. “Not tonight, Sheila. One wish at a time.”
Sheila fell asleep that way. As long as I lay in that position, I wouldn’t get any sleep myself. I could move Sheila to her bedroom upstairs, but she might wake. The candles got lower and I remained still, my breathing and Sheila’s penetrating the silence in rhythmic shifts, first hers, then mine. I didn’t do anything, not even decide what I wanted.
– Don Evans
(for Leska)
