by Wil Ogden
THE WISHING JAR
Leanne handed a copy of the Metro Daily Journal and the change of a dollar to the man across the counter of her tiny newsstand.
The man took the paper with one hand and the change with the other. He reached out and dropped a single coin, a nickel, into an old glass water bottle on the counter. I wish I had all the money in that jar. Leanne nodded as she heard the man's thoughts. “Come back again,” she said.
About half of the wishes she heard were for the money in the jar. Peace on earth and getting laid tied for second place.
A young man approached the counter with his hood up over his head.
“Yo,” he said to her.
Leanne looked at how the boy pushed the pockets of his sweat shirt down. She tried to convince herself she wasn't checking for a gun. She didn't like that her first reaction was fear. If the kid would just plop a penny into the jar, she'd know what he wanted. But he just looked at her, glancing at the jar as she did. His shyness probably meant he wanted cigarettes but was too shy and too young to ask for them. “I don't sell smokes.”
“I don't smoke.” the kid said. His eyes were lingering on the jar a little more. Did he think he could swipe the jar? Even if he could break the glue holding it to the counter, she doubted he was ready for the reality of how much four gallons of coins weighed.
“Is there something you do want?” Leanne asked.
“What this?” The boy reached out and tapped the jar.
“Just like the sign says,” she pointed to the hand drawn sign with stars and butterflies around the words, 'Make a wish'. She read the sign to him.
“Yeah, I can read, but does it work?”
“Wishes are strange things. Sometimes they work. Sometimes we gotta work to make em come true. Sometimes we just wish to dream. But, I do know good things rarely happen without us first wishing them so.”
The boy looked at her, seeming to think through her words. “I can wish all on my own, but why would I put money in a jar to make a wish.”
“There is a power to the jar,” Leanne said. It was true, even beyond the way it projected the thoughts of the wisher to her. “Just having the catalyst to bring out our true wishes helps them come true.”
“What's a cat got to do with it?”
“The act of dropping the penny in the jar is a catalyst.” She spoke the last word slowly, hoping he caught it. “It is the moment that we formulate the wish at its strongest. It symbolizes our giving a little to the world in hopes to get a little back, or a lot back. Most people wish for a lot.”
“Hmm,” The boy stared at the jar. He shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets. It looked like he was about to tear the fabric of his sweatshirt. Leanne realized that she heard no sound of coins jingling as he stretched his pockets. She popped open the cash register and took out a penny. She slid it across the counter to the boy.
The boy looked at the penny suspiciously then looked at Leanne.
“Go ahead, it's on the house,” she said.
He took the penny and held it over the jar a moment before dropping it in. She watched his eyes follow it as it bounced on the other coins with a light jingle.
I wish my little brother could have shoes.
“Thanks,” the boy said and started to walk away.
“Wait,” Leanne said. She didn't know what she wanted to say, but she wanted to do more for the boy. She already knew that when he left, she'd follow him home and later that night would leave a pair of shoes at their door, but it wouldn't be enough. “What's your name?”
“Jamal,” the boy said.
“Jamal, do you have a job?”
“I'm eleven. I can't even bag groceries.”
“Well, I can't give you a real job like that,” Leanne said. “But I could use someone to run errands for me. Pick up newspapers; get boxes of candy bars from my storehouse. “I can't pay you more than twenty dollars a day.”
By the way his eyes lit up she suspected she'd offered a little too much. She wanted him to feel like he’d be earning a wage, not winning the lottery.
“I could do that,” Jamal said.
She held her hand out across the counter and when he shook it she said, “My name is Leanne. Come back at this time tomorrow.” An assistant would be helpful. She didn't like having to close the stand every time she felt like making a wish come true.
“Okay, but I can't stay out too late. I have school.”
“Sure thing, Jamal. See you after school tomorrow then.”
Jamal smiled and ran off. He'd be hard to follow, but she'd manage. She’d just had to go and lift his spirits; she sighed wistfully as she pulled her newsstand’s shutter down.
About this story:
This is my first published story. I like stories where it could be the world we live in and there might still be a bit of hard to find magic at work here.