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There it is. A blank piece of paper, just waiting to be dipped and covered with words, almost like a piece a chocolate before it becomes the actual chocolate. At first the words seem to be lost on the page and, as a result, the page remains blank. But suddenly, as if struck by lightening, an idea appears, and the page satisfyingly fills with rich words. The words pour through, little by little, as if there is a leak in a dam. Then, the words start pushing out faster, and now there is no stopping them. Sentences form and quotations are carefully placed. The words are spontaneous, which makes this piece beautiful. Something is missing though, but what? The paper holds original thought, opinion, and fact; what else could make this paper even more perfect? A sudden glace down at my wrist gives it away. There it sits, almost in a mocking way, wrapping itself around my skinny, fragile wrist. I remember how I got this gift and I remember when. I have had it since I was fifteen years old. The gift did not arrive on any special kind of day, nor any kind of strange or peculiar day. It was just a normal day.


As I came home that day, rained poured itself down my cheeks as if I had been crying. No one appears to presently be home. My father, who I can usually find in the kitchen on most days, appears to have left a note. The note states plainly that he has gone to do a small plumbing job. It never states exactly when he will be home, it simply uses the worn out phrase, ‘be home by dinner’. Yes, I had heard that phrase over and over. The problem was I never knew if it was true. It seemed like a lie, something one would say to cover up the real story and not have to go into detail about exactly where they would be. Honestly, I did not care whether he came home or not, but I always kept this thought to myself. I knew my mother would not be here, as she was never, because she was at her job. I try to think about my mom. I cannot manage to picture her face. I knew this was sad to some people, but to me it was just something to shrug my shoulders at. I knew my parents loved me, but I also knew that neither one was ever around. I felt as if my mom, my dad, and I were all leading separate lives. The dinners we spent together were silent and lonely. The clattering of forks and knives against plates seem to be the only chatter in the room. If I managed to get a question out in all of the overbearing silence, it was answered plainly with a “yes”, “no”, or ignored and replaced with a “pass the salt”. I was a strong person, who had known what I wanted to be and where I wanted life to take me since I was ten. I had never had to wish for anything because I had never wanted anything that I could not obtain myself. I only wanted my family to be closer.

That night, as my mother came home, threw her bag and coat on a chair, and gave a quick ‘hello’, it almost seemed to me as if she ran into the study. Sighing, and wondering to myself what we would have for dinner, I silently walked into the kitchen. I opened the silverware drawer and pulled out a knife. As my mother came into the kitchen, and as I was reaching up to grab the bread, she held her closed fist out to me. I did not know what to think of this. Upon registering my confused face she replied, “Close your eyes”. Although hesitant I agreed. I feel tingles like a thousand tiny needles have been poked into my skin. She reaches out to open up my palm and put something in it. As she closes my hand around the object I open my eyes. There in my palm is a bracelet. The bracelet appears to be handmade, and the colors in the bracelet are woven so preciously that it reminds me of the colors of African clothing. She tells me that it is a wish bracelet. As she ties it around my wrist she tells me to make a wish, and once it falls off, the wish will have come true. At first I do not know if a believe her, but as the pinks, purples, whites and reds combine and entice me, I allow the bracelet to wrest against my plain wrist. As I stare at the colors, hypnotized, I have my wish in mind. Although others try to cram there way forward, I have made a final decision. As the bracelet is now forever tied to my wrist until it decides when it is ready to come off, I hear the front door open and close. It is six o’ clock and my family is home.

On this peculiar day, a realization occurred to me; everything I had achieved, and everything I had worked for never required a wish. A wish was simply an easy escape from the reality of facing my fears. I now know that, to obtain something, if wanted strongly enough, does not come without tremendous effort and some complications.





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