It was always tomorrow. Never right now. Never in five minutes. Every time he asked to do something, anything, it was always the same. Ever since his mother had died his father just didn’t seem to have any time to spare.
Johnny was beginning to think his father didn’t even listen to his questions anymore, but simply came out with the same answer: maybe tomorrow.
“Dad, can we go and play football?”
“I’m going to be busy with work so maybe tomorrow, Johnny.”
“Dad, can you help me fix my skateboard?”
“Maybe tomorrow, Johnny, I’ve got a bit more work to do.”
“Dad, do you mind if Zakzigabar, my friend from Mars, comes to sleep over?”
“Not right now, Johnny, maybe tomorrow. Now eat your supper, there’s a good boy.”
That had been the last straw. Leaving his half-eaten bowl of apple crumble — which proved how annoyed he was as that was Johnny’s favourite — he ran to his room. He stomped extra hard, on the three creaky stairs near the top, knowing how much that annoyed his father when he was working. Slamming the door he ran to the window and leant his head against the glass.
“Maybe tomorrow.” He mocked his father’s voice as he gazed out into the darkness. Normally, at this time of the night, millions of stars would fill the sky. Tonight, though, as if to match his mood, clouds covered everything in gloom. Then, twinkling high in the sky, he saw one. He peered into the gloom and then held his breath as the light started to stream towards him.
A shooting star.
His mother used to sit, at this very window, with Johnny on her knees and sing about stars and wishes. Even when she was tired and, near the end, she was always tired, she’d made sure — as she kissed him goodnight — to tell him how the stars looked down on every boy and girl in the whole world. That was their job, she had said, to look after people. To light the darkness.
When they came home from the funeral, Johnny’s father had brought him to his room but hadn’t sung to him. Hadn’t told him any stories. He’d just stared down at Johnny, eyes empty, and waited while he got into bed. When he’d pulled his blankets up to his chin himself, Johnny had whispered.
“Why did Mommy have to go away?”
“She was ill, Johnny. She was tired. She’s in Heaven, with the stars, so don’t worry.”
Johnny brushed a tear from his cheek and watched as the twinkling star got closer. Eyes wide in wonder, remembering his mother’s stories, he whispered the song to himself; and to the star.
“Star Light, Star Bright,
First star I see tonight,
Wish I may, wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.”
Clambering onto the windowsill Johnny pressed against the glass and tried to see where the star was going to land. He craned his neck, he bent, and twisted, and hoped against hope to keep the star in sight.
Then he slipped.
He crashed to the floor and bright lights filled the room as millions of stars danced in front of his eyes. Strong arms suddenly held him close; soft hands wiped the tears from his face; then a voice whispered, gently, into his ear.
“ … Johnny?”
“Mommy?”
“Johnny, are you okay?”
Opening his eyes Johnny saw his father’s face above him. He couldn’t stop the tears that fell from his eyes. Holding his father, tightly, he buried his face into the woolen jumper and sobbed. His father sat there, underneath the window, and gently rocked him until finally Johnny went quiet.
“What were you doing, Johnny? You scared me!”
“I made a wish, Daddy …”
“You did? What did you wish for?”
“It doesn’t matter; it didn’t come true.”
Holding him away from his body Johnny’s father stared at him, his own eyes filled with tears.
“I miss her too, Johnny.”
“I just wish …”
“Yes, Johnny?”
“Nothing, Daddy, it doesn’t matter — it won’t come true either.”
Johnny’s father picked him up and, cradling him in his arms, carried him to the bed. As he laid him down on the soft quilt he brushed the hair from his face.
“You know, Johnny, that isn’t the way to make a wish.”
“What?”
“You have to really want something – you have to put your whole heart into it – if you want the wish to come true.”
“Really?”
“Yes — your mother told me, when you were very little, that she had made a wish once herself … did you know that?”
“No! What did she wish for?”
“She wished that, if she ever had to go away and couldn’t be with you that she could still look down on you; could still light your way.”
“She did?”
“Yes, Johnny. She wished that she could be a star, a special star, just for you. She closed her eyes, really tightly, and held her breath, then wished with all her might for just that very thing!”
“… and did it work?”
Johnny’s father pointed back out though the window, where the clouds had moved and the brightest star in the night sky twinkled.
“I think so, Johnny; she is looking in right now, isn’t she?”
Johnny smiled at his father as they stared at the star and then, reaching out to take the large hands in his own small ones, closed his eyes as tight as he could; he held his breath until his face turned red.
“Johnny?”
“Yes, Daddy?” Johnny said as he inhaled deeply.
“I am going to take tomorrow off work. Would you like to do something, just you and me?”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Yes! Yes please, Daddy!”
Leaning forwards Johnny’s father kissed him on the forehead before walking back out through the door. As he started to close it he stopped, and looked at his son.
“Johnny?”
“Yes, Daddy?”
“What did you just wish for?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
Though Jay Faulkner resides in Northern Ireland, home’s simply wherever his loved ones are — his wife, best friend and soul mate, Carole, and their two wonderful baby boys — Mackenzie and Nathaniel. So while he’s a hopeful writer, martial artist, sketcher, and dreamer he’s mostly just a husband and father.
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25 Responses to “THE WAY NOT TO WISH • by Jay Faulkner”
Comments
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January 14th, 2010 at 12:26 am
Loved it. Very touching story, very real characters, my only question is if the sky was so cloudy, how did he see the shooting star? Heheh. Still, very nice!
January 14th, 2010 at 5:02 am
I loved the way not to wish. The sadness mixed with humour was brilliant – and yes I did cry. The thought of leaving my kids before they are grown up is a constant fear. You brought it home in a tangible, touching way.
January 14th, 2010 at 5:15 am
That’s one of my favorite rhymes/songs and I love how you used it in your story.
Your characters were very believable and especially liked Johnny (do you have kids? You got his voice just right!).
This was so sad, though, even with a happy ending.
Thanks for sharing.
January 14th, 2010 at 5:46 am
Wow. What a story.
Usually stories like this are very maudlin but this one stayed away from that. It even made me want to cry.
Well done.
January 14th, 2010 at 7:30 am
This story put tears in my eyes. It’s a very simple premise, but very well told.
January 14th, 2010 at 7:33 am
I adored this story — the little boy and father navigating their way through a terrible loss — could have meandered into a maudlin tone very easily, but didn’t. Thank you! Beautiful.
January 14th, 2010 at 7:45 am
For me it did cross the line into maudlin. Saw the ending from the first couple paragraphs — hoped for something different but was disappointed. Different strokes, and all that…
It was nicely written, though.
January 14th, 2010 at 8:03 am
This is a beautifully written piece, although it was a overly sentimental for my taste. But then, if we all liked the same thing what a boring world this would be.
As I said, beautifully written.
January 14th, 2010 at 8:21 am
I’m such a sap or these kind of stories. (Sob!) Anything that gives me the warm-hearted-fuzzies first thing in the morning gets an automatic “5″ from me.
January 14th, 2010 at 8:39 am
I like the hopefulness conveyed in this story. Two survivors inching closer to one another after a loss is a big step that, in real life, too often never happens.
January 14th, 2010 at 9:35 am
Every word of this was true and realistic. i felt like I indentified with every word even though I’ve never gon ethrough the loss of a mother or spouse.
Both Johnny and the dad’s characterization was wonderful and the dilogue was spot on.
I felt my eyes tearing up when the father comforted Johnny. Yes, this definitly gets a well deserved five from me.
January 14th, 2010 at 10:13 am
All teary on this front. Mission accomplished.
January 14th, 2010 at 10:13 am
Sorry, the story didn’t seem to go anywhere for me. I guess it would be a fairly good slice of life, but then the bottom fell out with the last sentence – disappointing.
January 14th, 2010 at 10:55 am
The writing was okay, but the actual material was far too saccharine for me. It might be more powerful in a larger piece where the characters are more fleshed out.
January 14th, 2010 at 10:57 am
Nice story, though for me it kind of veered into Hallmark territory. The channel, not the card. There were two elements of the writing that bothered me: First, I thought the mid-sentence asides were flow killers. The second I’m not quite as certain on because I don’t know if the writer was aiming to introduce a supernatural element. I’ve seen a lot of shooting stars in my life. They flash across the sky and are gone. In this story, it feels like the shooting star just lingers up there forever. Part of this is the long break between seeing the star and Johnny’s reaction. Part of this is Johnny’s reaction where he actually has time to:
“Clambering onto the windowsill Johnny pressed against the glass and tried to see where the star was going to land. He craned his neck, he bent, and twisted, and hoped against hope to keep the star in sight.”
That’s a lot going on for an event that is measured in seconds, or less.
Anyway, not trying to be a grinch here. Just throwing in my two cents. A worthy story and enjoyable. My favorite part was actually a sense of the father’s pain through Johnny. You could tell the guy was suffering. Johnny couldn’t necessarily see it, but his observations support it. Subtle, but a nice touch.
Best,
–John
January 14th, 2010 at 11:51 am
Oh, puh-leeeze …. Why did EDF pick this up????
January 14th, 2010 at 12:51 pm
Nicely told. But a little too middle of the road for me. Doesn’t really address anything new but nonetheless a sweet little story.
January 14th, 2010 at 4:27 pm
Well , thats tear jerker, if not perfectly written.
Some real hard cases out there , eh Robin !!
Scored a4 from me.
4 ****
January 14th, 2010 at 6:13 pm
I thought this one was pretty well done.
January 14th, 2010 at 9:09 pm
Sweet.
January 14th, 2010 at 9:41 pm
I’m a sucker for the emotional stuff, right Vondrakker? Good to see you’re back on commentaries.
January 15th, 2010 at 5:32 am
If you’re going to sentimentalise pain, that’s the way to do it! This is very polished writing, and if you like all your paintings in pastel colours, then it’s perfect. However, I’m not sure what it adds to the existing cliches of childhood bereavement. The watching stars, the misdirected resentment, has this not been said before?
January 15th, 2010 at 5:59 am
The story was too sentimental for me; and I was hoping that even though it was sentimental it would be sentimental in an original way. It wasn’t. So, I had to give it two stars. I thought the dialogue was drawn out for effect. I scanned some of the other comments and it looks like I’m in the minority. That’s okay.
January 15th, 2010 at 12:55 pm
I enjoyed that short emotional story. Being a father/husband myself it hit the mark for me, sad and happy and made me cry.
January 16th, 2010 at 12:06 pm
How sweet. A bit sentimental, but very well written.