The Wishing Stone

Probably the coolest short story I have yet written.

                I once had this dream where I found a stone that would grant me any wish.

                This being a dream, I didn’t wish for eternal youth, or money, or super powers or anything like that.  If I was going to have all my heart’s desires, I was going to earn them.  I wished that I could learn anything I wanted by touching an object.  I became the world’s greatest gambler by touching a deck of cards.  I became the world’s greatest guitarist by touching a Gibson.  I became the world’s greatest lover by touching a woman’s.... yeah.  Nobody could accuse me of being handed anything, as I climbed the ladder of success.  I earned it all.  All the money, all the fame, all the accolades, were all due to my hard work and the application of my new skills, which just so happened to be bestowed upon me by magic.  So what?  I did it.  I did it all.  I was a self-made man.

                Then one day, in the dream, I picked up the Wishing Stone, and learned that wishing upon the stone would give you terminal cancer, unless you wished specifically not to have cancer.  And you could only make one wish on it.

                That was when I woke up.

                In order to make sure I was out of the dream, I reached over and touched my fiancée.  Into her pillow, she mumbled, “What is it?”

                 “I don’t know,” I said, “Never mind.”

 

                I thought about this dream a lot after she left.  I was always having these weird dreams and she never wanted to hear about them.  Usually they ended with me in some dangerous situation, fighting my way out.  That one was different because of how quiet and calm it was.

                She left a while later because she told me one day she had an epiphany about her life, and that she needed to go back West.  I said I’d go with her, if it was that important.  I’d come with her and find work and we could still be together, but she said no, I was missing the point.  She no longer felt we were meant to be together.

                I think you could understand why I didn’t take her seriously.  She was always having epiphanies.  One day she’d be a vegetarian, or desperate to send money to orphans in Somalia, but she never followed up on it.  A week later, she’d be back to hamburgers and changing the channel when the charity commercials came on.  But off she went, and I’ll never know why this time was any different.

                Last I heard, she didn’t even go back West.  She went to Europe of all places.  I find myself asking myself, how does she get to Europe?  Who does she know there?  What is there to do?  What does she get out of it?  Is it “transformative?”  That was her word.  “That movie was transformative.  This book is transformative.  The night sky on the lake is transformative.”  How many Goddamn times in your life can you be transformed?  I don’t know.

                She was nice enough to leave me my ring.  In the months since, it’s just sat on the coffee table, where she used to put her feet up when she would relax with a beer, with the imprint of her body empty but still there, she’s just a ghost to me now.

                She left in the spring.  The next few months were hot, quiet and lonely.  I stopped shaving, I slept as much as I could, I forgot to feed the fish.  Every stupid little chore was too much of a burden for me to do only by myself.  A week ago I ate a sleeve of saltines for dinner, with cheese melted on top.  Mostly I’ve been eating fast food and watching reality TV and not washing my clothes.  My apartment smells like a*s.

                Three years.  Three years of my life, good ones, but not easy ones, working, establishing myself, trying to be someone she wanted me to be.  Three years later she leaves me, and now, at 7:30 on a Friday night I’m dressed in a t-shirt and ratty jeans pushing a shopping cart down the aisle at the discount grocer.  I load up on cheap, easy-to-make stuff like canned pasta and microwave pizza.  The reminders of her are everywhere: her favourite wine sitting on the shelf.  The TV chef who looks like her is on a magazine.  The cashier has her name: Laura.  There’s only one register open, and the line is four carts deep.  I pull my cell phone out of my pocket to check the time, only to fine that a message has been left.  I didn’t even notice.

                “Hey Dave it’s Joe.  Just thought I’d see if you’re down for poker tonight.  Come on over anytime after 9.  Call me back.”

                I get up to the conveyor belt.  Laura the cashier smiles at me.  “Hi, how ya doin’ tonight?”

                I nod back, “I’m doing fine.”  It’s a lie, and I think she can tell, but we’d probably both agree the lie is preferable.  There are some things it’s important to not know for sure.

Author's Note

The original version of this story was deliberately abbreviated (ending when the narrator says "Never mind.") I initially ignored charges that it was "too short," but recently I got an idea of how to tell the story properly. Let me know if you think the expansion rings true.

Reviews

[Jessie Sianodel]

I like this, which may not be the best answer as it is kind of a sad story, but from what you described of the girl she wasn't the best girl to begin with.
But what I liked the most was your dream which was really just the starting point, but I personally think it's the best. Everyone always used to ask me what superpower I would want, when I was a little kid. I always told them that I wanted to be able to shape-shift into anything. If I wanted the power of flight, I would become a bird, breathing underwater, I would become a fish. And I always said I would shift individual parts of my body so I could randomly grow wings or become a mermaid. People must've thought I was just getting around the rules but I just never wanted to give up anything. I wanted to have all the powers, and be able to fly and swim and be strong and fast. I just wanted to be perfect.

I loved the story.

[Tony]

Actually it was pretty good the other way..... But the expansion is okay as well.
I like the things like... sleeves of saltines... and 'transformative'. Seems very lifelike.
Also this is not over described.... and it is neat...
Well, I would say you have a good idea here, but it wouldn't hurt to just bust it out again, some morning after a double of whatever you like.
That is what I would do, keeping in mind it is your story.
Thanks for posting!
Aww crap...I have been here before....

[Tony]

I cannot judge if it is the coolest you have done, but I can say it is cool.
It rings pretty true, and seems very much like someone's personal history.
It reminds me of some of the stories I have heard, eavesdropping in taverns and coffeshops, I suppose.
You have an interesting casual tone, as well.
Well Done, Mr. Williams.

[Dutch Jr.]

Witty, very witty. I love your comical writing style, and I think you should write more short stories.