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Just ask me, Red, and I’ll tell you my secrets.
Her body straightened as she stood taller with her comics pressed to her chest. “I know where I want to take you next for the place I think you’ll love.”
I arched an eyebrow and glanced down at my watch. “We’re inching closer to sunlight.”
“Well…” She walked around and held her free hand out toward me. “We better hurry.”
“Wish Alley?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as we stood at the end of a very well-lit alleyway.
People in costumes were standing around the alleyway, chatting, talking, and writing on Post-it Notes. The smoke from the sewer drains intermixed with the people’s cigarettes, creating a vibe that was unmatched. The laughter that filled the space was powerful, but then I’d look around and notice one or two individuals who were alone, who looked more somber, more heartbroken than the others surrounding them. They stared at the walls of Post-its before writing out their own and walking away.
“People come here to write down their wishes and stick them to the wall. I figured we could write down our hopes and leave them here to put them out into the world. You said you don’t like speaking of your fears, which I get, but speaking about your wishes…” She paused and wrinkled her nose. “Is this lame? Feel free to tell me if this is lame.”
I laughed. “This is the opposite of lame. This is amazing.” I walked up to the wall and crossed my arms, reading some of the wishes that had been left against the bricks.
Some wishes were material things: expensive cars, expensive games, purses.
Others’ wishes were a bit deeper.
I wish for my ex to love me again.
I wish to get out of toxic relationships.
I wish for a home.
I wish for a cure for cancer.
I felt that one deep in my bones.
I looked over at Red, who was reading the words, too. I loved the way she took them in, holding her hands over her heart as if she were connecting personally to each word written upon the pieces of paper.
“Ready?” I asked her, walking over to the stack of unused Post-it Notes and grabbing a pad and a pen for us to use.
She took a deep breath, stepped away from the wall, and nodded. “Ready.”
“How many do we get to write?”
“Three seems like a magical number to me.”
Three wishes. If I had three wishes, how would I use them?
Number one: I wish my mother’s cancer would never come back.
Number two: I wish no kid would ever go hungry or be without shelter or love.
Number three:
I turned to Red, who was in deep thought as she bit her bottom lip and scribbled on the Post-it. Every now and again, she’d pause and nibble that lip. I couldn’t stop watching her stop-and-go writing process. Everything about her, I found so damn attractive.
I went back to my last Post-it and scribbled down my last wish.
Number three: More nights like this. More nights with Red.
We put the notes up on the brick wall. I knew they’d probably blow away at some point in time. I knew they would roll up and tear at some point. But, at that moment, it felt powerful to put our wishes into the atmosphere.
Red walked over to my notes, and I walked over to hers. She wished for longevity, she wished for love, and she wished for more time.
I couldn’t help but wish for more time, too. Each second I spent with her that evening felt like something important was slowly evaporating from my life. There I was, hoping to make her fall in love with me as a way to help her get over her ex, and there I was, falling quickly for a girl who wasn’t going to stick around after sunrise.
Oh, the situations we put ourselves in, Con.
“More nights with Red,” she said out loud before turning to me. “You wished for more nights with me?”
“Yes. More nights with you.”
She laughed a little and fiddled with her hands. “That’s funny,” she said, pointing toward the wall. “Because I cheated a bit and wrote a fourth note.” She revealed the sticky note in her palm then handed it over to me. “I wished for you, too.”
I read the words: More Captain America.
I smirked and brushed my hand against the back of my neck. “More of me?”
“More of you.”
Fuck.
My heart.
I’d always known it was there, but I hadn’t known it could beat like that, like a million fireworks all exploding at once into a damn masterpiece.
I held my hand out toward her. “Dance with me.”
“What?” She giggled. And my gosh, I loved her giggle. “There’s no music.”
“Don’t care. Just dance with me.”
She gave me her hand and I pulled her toward me. Our bodies swayed slowly as she wrapped her arms around my neck and rested her head against my chest.
