On the Day I Died (12 page)

“Double, double toil and trouble,”
I muttered under my breath.

“A monkey’s paw,” she repeated. “You don’t find many of those around.”

“Thank goodness,” I said with a shudder.

“Isn’t there some law about hacking off a monkey’s hand?” asked Collin.

I imagined a jungle full of one-handed monkeys falling from the trees. “If there isn’t, there should be,” I said.

We waited for Drew to agree, but he just stood there. By the way he was clutching the paw, I could tell he wanted it.

“How much?” he asked.

“Twenty dollars,” the woman replied after a moment’s thought. “I’ll be honest with you. I started at seventy-five, but nobody’s shown any interest in it.”

“No wonder—it’s hideous,” I said under my breath. “Drew, you’re not really going to spend money on that thing, are you?”

But Drew was already digging in his pocket.

“What about your car fund?” Collin reminded him. “I thought you were saving every cent between now and your sixteenth birthday for a”—he imitated Drew’s slightly lisping voice—“dope set of wheels?”

Drew was as obsessed with classic cars as he was with modeling kits. Every inch of his bedroom walls was covered with posters of Impalas, Mustangs, Camaros, Trans Ams. I’d once asked him why he never taped up any pictures of new ones. “Cars from the seventies are my passion,” he’d replied.

Now I said, “Think about that Mustang, Drew.”

“Or that GTO,” added Collin.

Drew hesitated, then whipped out his wallet decisively. “How often does a guy get the chance at a real monkey paw, huh?” He looked at the woman. “Do you know anything about it?”

“Just what I heard from Mr. Patel,” she replied. “He’s
the one who gave it to me. Of course, I don’t believe a word he said.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, twirling her finger around her ear. “He just wasn’t himself after the house fire, if you know what I mean.”

“House fire?” repeated Drew. He laid a handful of crumpled dollars on the table, then began counting out his loose change.

She pointed her chin at the empty lot across the street. “Mr. Patel’s house stood right there until the fire. Everything he owned went up in flames—everything except that monkey paw. When he saw it, he said, ‘Take it, Mrs. Alvarez. Bury it, burn it, throw it in the lake—
anything
. I just never want to lay eyes on it again.’ ”

“Why not?” I wondered.

“That’s what I asked him, and he said the paw was magic.”

Drew stroked the paw’s fur. “Magic, huh?”

“Old magic, according to Mr. Patel,” said Mrs. Alvarez, snorting with disbelief. “Seems that hundreds of years ago an East Indian fakir—you know, a holy man—put a spell on the paw. ‘The fakir wanted people to understand that fate ruled their lives,’ Mr. Patel tells me all serious-like, ‘and that those who tried to interfere with their fate would meet great sorrow.’ So the fakir put a spell on the paw—whoever owned it could have three wishes granted from it.” Mrs. Alvarez snorted again. “Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard? Sounds like something from some kids’ book, doesn’t it?”

She didn’t wait for us to answer, just plowed on.

“I couldn’t help myself, now, could I? I had to ask. ‘Did you make your wishes?’ I ask Mr. Patel. ‘Were they granted?’ And you know, Mr. Patel’s face turned white as a corpse. He looked toward the ruin of his house, just stared at it for a while. Then he slowly nodded. ‘They were,’ he says to me, moaning. ‘God help me, they were.’ Then he threw the paw down. ‘Get rid of it, Mrs. Alvarez. Do this last favor for me and destroy it.”

“But you didn’t,” I said. “Destroy it, I mean.”

“Of course not! Why throw away something that might make a little money?” Mrs. Alvarez turned her attention to the pile of coins and bills Drew had put in front of her. After counting it—her bleeding red lips moving silently—she chirped, “And see? I was right. I’m twenty bucks richer.”

Afterward, we drove to Woodfield Mall. It seemed like all of Schaumburg High School was there, flitting and cutting loose beneath the artificial lights. It reminded me of that scene from
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
where Puck and the other fairies cavort through the forest, feasting and frolicking and causing trouble. I waved to some girls from last semester’s chem class, proud to be seen with Collin’s arm around my shoulders. A couple.
The
couple. Like Hamlet and Ophelia, or Rosalind and Orlando.

Collin and Lily.

Lovers eternal, side by side
.

At the food court, Drew begged me for money for a pretzel.

“Come on, Lily,” he whined. “I’m broke and I’m starving.”

“Neither a borrower nor a lender be,”
I replied, taking a sip of my Diet Coke. “Guess you’ll just have to wish for it.”

Drew pulled the monkey paw out of his pocket, held it above his head and said dramatically, “O magic monkey paw, I wish for … Naw, forget it.”

“What?” asked Collin. “Afraid it won’t work?”

“Afraid to waste a wish.” Drew grinned. “I mean, why ask for a lousy pretzel when I could ask to be a rock star or a gazillionaire? Besides, my generous, good-natured and, might I add, handsome big brother will buy me one, won’t you, bro?”

“Only if you promise to wish me into being the greatest guitar player who ever lived.”

“You got it,” said Drew.

“Then your wish is my command.” Collin handed Drew a five-dollar bill.

Drew scampered off to the pretzel line.

Alone, finally. Collin reached across the table and knit his fingers through mine. “If wishes really did come true, what would you wish for?” he asked.

I thought a moment. “I don’t know. I have everything I want—a summer job, college next fall at Northwestern, you.
Especially
you.”

His blue eyes warmed, and his beautiful mouth smiled. “Yeah, likewise,” he said.

His words, so tender, freed my spirit. I wanted to shout to the sky, join the birds in their singing. Instead, I leaned forward and kissed him. And as always, I was instantly caught up in the scent of him, made dizzy by his closeness.

Eternity was in our lips and eyes
.

“What’d I miss?” interrupted Drew, plopping down beside us.

Collin pulled away, and I felt a tiny pang of loss, as if some part of me had been misplaced.

“We were just talking about wishes,” said Collin.

“Did you say wishes, or kisses?” joked Drew, his mouth full of pretzel.

“Hah, funny,” I said.

“Besides a sense of humor,” Collin asked him, “what else would you wish for?”

In reply, Drew wiped his greasy fingers down the front of his jeans, then pulled the monkey paw out of his pocket again. Winking at me, he once more held it above his head, and intoned, “O magic monkey paw, I wish for a 1972 Gran Torino with optional laser stripe and Magnum 500 wheels.”

The lights in the mall flickered off, briefly plunging the place into shadowy darkness before snapping back on.

With a shout, Drew leaped to his feet, sending the
paw spinning to the floor. “It moved!” he cried, his eyes wide. “Its fingers wrapped around mine. I swear. I made the wish and that thing held my hand!”

“Get a grip,” said Collin, patting Drew’s shoulder. “That thing couldn’t possibly have moved, doofus.”

“It did,” Drew said, his voice shaky. “I swear. It moved.” He clutched my arm. “You believe me, don’t you, Lily?”

His eyes were so intense, so sincere.

Something wicked this way comes
.

“Let’s go,” I said, unable to keep an edge of urgency from creeping into my voice. “I think we should go.”

“Whatever,” Collin said, and cleared off the table while Drew bent to pick up the paw. He used his thumb and forefinger, as if he was picking up a pair of sweaty gym socks. Then he stuffed the paw back into his pocket.

Tight-lipped and tense, Drew followed us as we made our way through the mall and out into the parking lot.

“Just imagine it, bro,” said Collin, trying to lighten the mood. “When we get home, I bet your Gran Torino will be parked right out front—red with black leather seats. And sitting right behind the three-spoke steering wheel, wearing a little orange fez, will be your chauffeur—a one-handed monkey!”

Drew tried on a laugh. “And
I
need a sense of humor?”

He stepped off the curb.

There was the blare of a horn … the squealing of
tires … Collin shouting, “Drew!” as he shoved his brother out of the way and then … a sickening thump.

So much blood. Everywhere. I ran to Collin, fell to the asphalt, held him close. His skin felt warm, but his eyes were frozen wide open, unmoving.

I whispered in his ear, “Wake up! Please, my heart, my love!” I shook him.

He grew heavy in my arms. And heavier.

“Oh God, oh God …”

A thread of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth—that beautiful, beautiful mouth. I wiped it away.

Then the sirens came.

And the numbness.

After the ambulance had taken Collin’s body away, a policeman asked if I’d seen the car that had hit him.

“I’ll always love him,” I replied, my thoughts as trembling and detached as a leaf pausing in the air before the wind takes it. “I’ll never love anyone else. Not as long as I live.”

“Miss?” the policeman said. He laid a gentle hand on my arm. “Can you remember anything?”

I shook my head blankly.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind …

“I can.” Drew stumbled forward, shock and horror etched on his face. “I saw it.” His lips shaped his next words with effort. “It was a … a … Gran Torino—a 1972 Gran Torino with an … an optional laser stripe and … and Magnum 500 wheels.”

***

I can recall only bits and pieces of Collin’s funeral—the stifling heat of the church; those endless, useless prayers; the nauseating, overripe smell of lilies.

O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day! Most lamentable day, most woeful day, that ever, ever I did yet behold!

What sticks most in my memory is the long line of cars mournfully crawling the two miles to Mount Hope Cemetery, where—sick and dizzy and clinging to Drew’s hand, feeling like I’d crumble if I let go—I stood beside that hole cut deep into the ground.

Collin’s grave.

O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! Never was seen so black a day as this. O woeful day! O woeful day!

I wish I could say that my earlier numbness remained. It didn’t. Now I felt
everything
. The loss of Collin ate away at my bones, the pain creeping through my veins. Everything—his picture in my wallet, his heart-enclosed initials on my notebook covers—was a dreadful reminder that once he had existed, but now I had lost him.

And so I slept. Afternoon. Night. Morning. It made no difference. Sleep was my forgetting. My oblivion. My only peace.

To sleep, perchance to dream …

Food forgotten, I grew gaunt, paper-skinned, my hair dull and matted. I wanted nothing—nothing but to be with him. I wanted to see him. I wanted to hold him. I wanted him
alive
. I’d do anything.

Anything!

I sat up in bed, my heart swelling with the sudden joy of possibility.

It took six rings before Drew finally answered his phone.

“Hello?” His voice sounded thick and pinched.

“Unlock your back door,” I said. “I’m coming over.”

“Lily, is that you? What’s going on?”

I couldn’t waste precious time explaining. “Just do it. I’m leaving now.”

Without bothering to change out of the nightgown I’d worn since returning from Collin’s funeral a week earlier, I raced through the midnight-dark streets until I got to his house.

The sight of it was almost too much to bear, the memories flooding back, piercing me with longing: Collin and I cuddled together on his sofa, laughing, feeding each other popcorn, kissing … I refused to let my thoughts go any further.

It would be like that again, I told myself. It had to be!

Drew met me at the door. He looked ashen, his eyes swollen from too much crying.

“The paw!” I cried. “Do you still have it?”

Bewildered, he nodded. “I couldn’t stand to look at it again. It’s still under my bed where I threw it that afternoon.”

I flung my arms around him. “Oh, Drew, why didn’t we think of it before? We must have been crazy with grief not to think of it sooner.”

“Think of what?”

“The other two wishes. You’ve only used one.”

“Wasn’t one enough? My brother …” His voice broke.

“We’ll use another wish!” I cried. “Don’t you see?
There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy
. It’s the paw! The magic paw! We’ll wish Collin alive!”

Drew shook his head. “You’re not thinking straight, Lily. People don’t come back from the dead.”

I wouldn’t listen. Instead, I pushed past him into the house, hurried up the stairs to his bedroom.

Drew followed me, flipped on his light. I glanced around. His once car-covered walls were bare, the posters all gone. I fell to my knees, rummaged around in the mess of dirty socks and half-empty Doritos bags under his bed until my fingers found the paw. I pulled it out triumphantly, waved it at Drew.

“Hurry!” I cried. “Take it and make a wish.”

Drew gripped my shoulders. “Come on, Lily. There’s no such thing as a magic monkey paw.” He looked away, and his voice dropped to barely a whisper. “It was just our imagination, that’s all. A coincidence.”

“You don’t believe that,” I said.

“Yes, I do.”

He was lying. He believed in the monkey paw’s magic as much as I did. So why wouldn’t he make a wish? Why wouldn’t he bring Collin back?

I knew what I was about to say was cruel, but I didn’t care.

“You owe him this wish, Drew. Your first wish—your selfish first wish—killed him. So you can either bring him back alive, or live with his blood on your hands. It’s your choice.”

“No,” he groaned.

“Wish,” I urged.

He hesitated.

“Wish!”

His expression turned fierce then, belligerent. Raising the paw above his head, he cried, “I wish Collin was alive again!”

Outside, the world fell silent, as if muffled by some giant hand.