Candles used to mean so much more as a child. They weren’t needed for warmth, but rather, wishes. Some wishes were juvenile, while some wishes were just naïve. Promising futures, friends forever, love. Who would have thought my wishes would have been better spent on castles, ponies, even money and men? I’ve wasted too many years and too many wishes just to see them all slip away.
On my ninth birthday, I had nine wishes. A wish for every year, my mother would say. I had a friend who never made it to nine wishes, and my mother didn’t live long enough to hear my tenth. When you’re young occurrences such as unexpected deaths don’t make much sense, and as you get older, they only become more complicated. An innocent death, one of a child, a single mother, or one of someone never really given the chance to live at all, is the most tragic. Not only is such a death unnecessary, it is always undeserved. Someone on the brink of living herself or someone who works so others may live better deserves to live for as long as the beats of her heart will let her. Or possibly him, I’m not sure who it is yet.
These thoughts of failed wishes, of undeserved death, and of the inevitability of it all bring me here, rounding some corner on Rouse Boulevard. The slight rain does not keep me from taking the long route through the town to get to the bus station. This will be my one last journey through it. Even merely walking down the street has become much more difficult, though. Not only is the onset of old age taking its toll on my joints, the shooting pain up and down my left arm has returned. It showed up just a few days after I learned of the death to come. Some days it’s just a dull pain, a relieving distraction. Other days it’s an overwhelming reminder of an impending tragic end. But whose?
I certainly hope it’s not Ronald. I’ve come to enjoy his visits and even look forward to them most days. I left what little I could spare for him in a jar next to a freshly baked loaf of bread. The rest of my money I’ll use for my ticket. Wherever the next one out will take me. I can’t imagine being here long enough to find out whose death it is I saw. Just knowing of the unforgiving fate awaiting someone unsuspecting is a burden even the heaviest heart cannot hold. I’ve spent my life uncovering secrets I wish not to have uncovered, finding answers which would have been better off unknown, and unlocking mysteries which do more harm than good. All this I have received unasked for and not until now has it troubled me so much. An innocent death. Undeserved. Unnecessary. Unasked for.
Coming up to the park, the light shower suddenly turns into a heavy downpour, making it hard to see more than a couple feet in front of me. The single shooting pain seems to have multiplied into several shooting bullets, racing throughout each and every limb of my body. I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad to take a small break. It’s gotten more difficult to breathe, too. It feels as if a chest as heavy as the one I left in my shop has been placed on top of my lungs. Perhaps if I could just lie down a moment, I could regain my strength and still make it to the station by morning.
The slide offers to me its protection from the rain. The mulch underneath it seems to be in the exact mold that it was when I slept here as a child. And even though I’ve grown significantly since I was nine, I still fit perfectly. I might as well not have grown at all.
Early last week a vision had shown me yet another innocent death. Even after all those I’ve lived through it dared to show me one more. Another life cut short just before it had the chance to improve. No clues as to who it will be. No chance that I can save him. Or her. Most likely someone young, but perhaps they’re older. Maybe someone new to this town, or maybe someone working hard to get out.
My breathing is slowing but becoming easier to control. The shooting pain has become a numbing sensation, making it nearly impossible to move. All I can do is look up at the slide. No longer covered in rust, but new, bright red paint. The talk of the town. No more gum, only the shine that comes with new steel. It’s just as it was years and years ago. Safe. Nine years old. A great time to be alive. It was never my job to change the future, only predict it. Nine wishes, nine dreams, nine friends forever, nine promises kept and nine different ways to be happy. I couldn’t stop it then. I cannot stop it now. If only a person could be nine forever.
Years and years of knowing peoples’ fates. Only those first nine years matter. Nine more breaths. Nine final wishes: Nine open doors for needy visitors. Eight better futures. Seven reassurances. Six smiles from strangers. Five new beginnings. Four forgotten prayers. Three places to call home. Two kept promises. And One last candle finally blown out.
