The Un-Wish Bone

Delicious Thanksgiving aromas still filled the home. The Christmas tree had been adorned with a handful of shiny metallic balls; a string of lights, still unraveled, waited patiently for someone to wrap their length around her waist. Football was on the television but their father had turned down the sound. They knew that was not a good sign.

The twins stood next to the dining table, heads bowed; all of their effort being consumed to avoid meeting the fox-like stare of their father. The once beautiful crystal decanter lay shattered on the tile floor; a light bouquet of very expensive brandy mixed with the Thanksgiving aromas. On the grand table, was a small white plate, the edges trimmed in Christmas green and gold. In the center of the plate, a wishbone, all that remained of the fifteen-pound turkey.

“I know I heard your mother ask you both to stop running. Now if I heard her, certainly you also heard her.” He paused, longer than required; a dramatic effect, or so he believed. “You did hear her, correct?”

“Yes sir.” The twins responded in perfect sync.

“I thought so. Now, why didn’t you listen?” Another pause, this one shorter. “That decanter belonged to your grandmother; it is very special to your mother.”

“Mom said I could have the wishbone this year. But she,” he turned to look at his sister, offering his best nine-year old, “you’re in big trouble” look, “tried to get it before I could. And it doesn’t belong to her!”

The girl stood silently, still reading the tile floor.

Their father picked up the v-shaped bone from the plate. Holding it up to the light he appeared to study it very carefully. His smile hidden from his children by the exaggerated tilt of his head.

“Wishes granted.” He said. “Wishes. More than one. Did you know that?” He asked.

In perfect harmony, a whispered “No, sir.”

“So, you each take a side, make a wish, and pull. You will also need to apologize to your mother. Is that understood?”

Without waiting for his children to answer, he returned to the living area. A moment later the sounds of the football game could be heard once again.

Patrick glared at his sister. Patricia smiled at her brother. Words, thankfully were not exchanged. Tiny hands, one of his, the other hers, reached for the wishbone.

Patricia, or Trish her preferred nickname, closed her eyes, “I wish, I wish for a Barbie playhouse, filled with all the finest furniture and lights that really work”

Patrick, he did not like nicknames, closed one eye, sneaking a peak at his sniveling sister before closing the other, “I wish, I wish…she was never born!”

“Patrick! Patrick, what are you doing? Have you fallen asleep standing up?” Gisela’s familiar accent entered the room, followed by the sounds of her heavy footsteps tapping across ceramic tile.

The boy opened his eyes. The plump German housekeeper stood next to him, the aroma of apple pie floated up from her flour covered apron. The sound of seventy-thousand fans cheering for their football team was coming from the family room. A mirror hung in the passageway, reflected the tall Noble Fir, decorated from stem to stern, thousands of tiny lights dancing to a song only heard by them. An angel resting, as she has done every year, on the very top. On the grand table, a crystal decanter filled to the slender neck with an expensive brandy. A small white plate with green and gold trimmings, held an unbroken wishbone; the only companion to the crystal decanter.

Patrick looked around the room, confused. “Where is Trish?” He asked.

“Wer?” Gisela asked.

“Patricia! My sister! Where is she?”

The little German woman laughed, “The baby is not due to arrive until spring. Your hopes for a baby brother? Where have those gone?’ She laughed again.

 I wish she was never…

Patrick bounded up the staircase with the speed and agility reserved for nine-year old boys. Running down the long hallway, he could see the closed door to Trish’s room. He placed his ear upon the door and listened. Nothing. He tapped lightly. Nothing. He opened the door—

Patricia’s room was gone. Her princess white canopy bed had been replaced by a white crib, a baby’s crib. A matching changing table sat across from the crib; Patrick did not know what this strange looking table was for. A mobile, with colorful, dancing unicorns, suspended from the ceiling, was the only other occupant of his twin sister’s room.

Where are her things? Her toys?

Patrick ran back down the hallway. He stopped suddenly, his shoes screeching loudly in protest. The portrait that hung on the wall was different. The painting was from last Christmas; the family had stood together in front of the large fireplace as the artist worked her magic across the canvass. His father, his mother, stood in the back, smiles on their faces. In front of them stood…Patrick.

I wish she was never…

Gisela was sitting at the head of the grand table. A cup of hot coffee had joined the decanter and small white plate.

He looked at the little woman, “Gisela, I did something bad.” A tear escaped.

“I know, mein schatz.”

He sat down, “How?”

“I heard your wish.” She said. “I was afraid you may be wishing me away.”

“I would never do that.” Patrick replied, a second tear falling away.

“But this Trish? You wished her away?”

“Yes.” He whispered.

“She was your sister?”

“My twin sister.” He answered the woman. “What am I going to do?”

Gisela put one stubby finger on the edge of the white plate, pushing it gently across the polished table. Patrick looked at the wishbone. He did not want to touch it. He would never touch another wishbone!

“Do not fret.” She said as if reading his young mind. “A wishbone cannot undo a wish. A wish is forever. Do you know where wishes granted go?” Gisela pushed the small plate a little closer to the edge of the grand table.

“No.” Patrick replied.

“Nor do I. No one knows. You see, that is why wishes are forever. They are in a place that no one can penetrate. Nothing can bring them harm. You should have been more careful with your wish.”

The sound of a cheering crowd came from the family room. Patrick heard his father release a moan; the other team must have scored.

“What will I tell my parents?” He asked Gisela.

“There is no need to tell them anything. They never knew of your sister. You wished her away—before she was ever born.”

He had lost command over his tears, they streamed down his face, landing on the small white plate that now sat in front of him. “What am I going to do?” He asked again.

“My Opa. My grandfather, he once told me of a wayward wish he had made as a child. His wish brought him much sadness…like yours. But he knew what to do.” She waited.

Sitting up straight, “What did he do?”

“Does it matter to you, Patrick. Your wish was granted. Your sister is no more.”

“But I want her back! Please tell me what he did.”

Frau Gisela picked up the small wishbone, holding the bottom of the V between her thumb and index finger. Patrick had never noticed how small her hands were.

“My Opa knew the secret.”

“Secret?” the boy asked.

“Ja, the secret on the Un-wish Bone.” She whispered the last words carefully.

Patrick Goode looked at the woman he had known all his life; all nine years. Was she telling him the truth? Or was she making up another tale? When he and Trish (not Trish!) were small, Gisela would tell magical tales each night before their tiny eyes closed.

He decided a challenge was in order, “Did he tell you this secret?”

She nodded.

“Please tell me.” He asked her with tremor.

She placed the wishbone against her heart. “You must hold it like this.” With her other hand, she pointed to the position of the wishing bone. “The true feelings of your heart will fill the wishbone’s V. Leaving it close to your heart, you must close your eyes. Then gently pull, but do not break the bone, the true feelings would escape." She warned. " And then count to three, eins, zwei, drei. And then make your un-wish.”

Patrick looked at her round face, looking for signs of truth

“Was sind die wahren Gefühle des Herzens?”

“What?” he asked.

“What are the true feelings of your heart, Patrick?”

He peered into the family room. He saw the Christmas tree standing in the mirror’s image. He heard his mother and father talking, saying something about the holidays. The sounds of the football game had been replaced by Christmas music.

“I want her back.I want my sister back.” He said.

Gisela placed the wishbone into his waiting hands. Patrick slowly pressed the bone against his chest, looking to the little German woman for her approval. She nodded and smiled.

Patrick closed his eyes.

“Do I count to three aloud?” He asked, eyes popping open.

A warm smile, a gentle nod.

Closing his eyes again, “One…two…three.”

Patrick Goode opened his eyes.