The Trouble Is

Chapter 51: Wishing and Hoping

I'm aware that a wish bracelet is just a gimmick. It's a way to get a few bucks. And like every other craft we did at summer camp, Pinterest and Etsy have turned it into a beaded, glittered, back-storied factory of pressure. You can't just have a simple braided string any more. You have to have all of those showy add-ons and stacked arrangements, complete with a calligraphy-written card with a made-up legend.

And of course, I love the wish bracelet that East tied on my wrist. I've tried to keep it out of the water, washing my hair with one hand for weeks now. In spite of my efforts, it's now a faded mix of reds and purples and I can see that there are a couple places where the strings are very thin.

I don't believe in wish bracelets, lucky coins, stepping on cracks, or any such nonsense. Yet every night as I lie in bed, without thinking I trace the bracelet with my fingers. It's softened with age and smells a bit like my Bath and Body Works lotion and old ChapStick.

Mom has this soundtrack she plays when we are cleaning the house. She's played this for as long as I can remember. It's the soundtrack to an old Julia Robert's movie called My Best Friend's Wedding. I swear I am conditioned now to start dusting or vacuuming any time I hear a song from that movie. Most of the time she just repeats the one about saying a little prayer for you. But when Katie was over, she always asked for the "wishing" song.

When I touch the bracelet, I can't help but hear that one song where they say "Wishin', and hopin', and thinkin', and prayin' . . ."

I do all my little rituals tonight. I brush in even numbers. I go back three times to make sure I turned off the straightener in the bathroom. I touch my fingers to thumbs one-two-three-four, four-three two-one. I sharpen three pencils and lay them on the bedside table. My current spiral is under the bed.

I turn out the light and breathe.

And still, I turn the faded bracelet, one, two, three.