by Mark Tiro
“Huh? How does that even make any sense? Or mean anything?”
“It’s only one list. You have one magic list, Maya. You can make one list, and then—that’s it. Don’t waste it on…”
“On what? On what? What am I keeping a list of, anyway? And why does it matter how many things I can put on my one list?”
“As many as you want.”
“As many as I want? Then why does it matter? And by the way, what do you even mean by ‘magic list’? So I can just put anything I want? Okay, sure. Great. And I suppose you’re going to tell me that everything I write down on this magic list is going to come true? I mean—this really is all just a dream, no? Of course, you have to deny it because you’re a part of the dream. But I know better. So go ahead, then—what should I wish for first?”
“You sure have a way with words, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You talk a lot.”
“No, I don’t.”
“So, do you want an answer, or do you just like to hear yourself talk?”
“Hmmpphhh!”
“So, we can get started now?”
I didn’t say anything, to prove to him I could be quiet and listen. Then I blurted out, “See, there—I can to be quiet!”
“Uh, okay. Good. So, first—this list is not about a ‘wish’? It’s a list, and you only have one. One. Magic. List. Everything you write on that pad of paper with that pen—everything you list out—you’ll experience. You can write out your list in as little or as much detail as you want—take as many or as few pages to do that. Skip lines, or double space, or write two-sided. None of that matters. Whatever you write on this list—you will experience.”
“Everything?”
“Every. Last. Thing.”
“Experience? You mean it will all come true?”
“True?” he asked, staring at me with a puzzled look. “I thought I already explained all this to you. None of this is true.”
“Can you stop playing with your words? ‘I’m going to experience it,’ you say, but then you say, ‘it’s not true’. Which is it? That makes no sense. If it’s there, of course it must be true, as long as I’m not dreaming. Which you’ve already been painfully clear—I’m not. So, can I write something down on this list and have it come true, or not?”
“Maybe it would be clearer to you if you’d give it a try. Put something on your list, and you will experience it.”
“And if I want to get something, to have something, to be something? That’ll happen too?”
“It’s your list. It’s a magic list—whatever you list out—that’s what will show up in your life. Why don’t you just go ahead and give it a try?”
“Anything I want?”
“Not ‘anything’. ‘Everything’. Be careful about that. I can’t tell you how confusing that can be to some people. Try to keep that straight, if you can. It’s not ‘anything’. It’s ‘everything’. Everything you write on your list—all of it—every last thing will show up in your life. But when the list is done, it’s done.”
Okay! Now that this was starting to sink in, I was starting to get excited. I can have anything I want, I thought. Anything! I can get anything I want. No, I remembered. Not just anything—everything!
“Now, there are a few details you’ll want to consider before you make any firm decisions.”
Oh, here goes, I thought. He’s going to start lecturing me here, droning on like my teachers about rules and being responsible and all that.
And then he was.
Droning on.
He was lecturing me about this and that, but he didn’t seem to be looking in my direction anymore.
My mind wandered, and I realized just how much I wanted to go home. I suddenly wished, more than anything, that I could go back.
He was still talking, but by now, I had completely tuned him out. I fumbled around for the pad of paper until I found it. The pen was tucked inside. I picked it up and opened the pad to the first page. Then I pulled out the pen and wrote “Maya’s List” at the top of the page, underlining it. And then I put a big #1 right underneath it and started my list.
Then I scribbled the words, “Go back home.”
There was a sort of popping feeling in my ear, like you feel when different pressures equalize on an airplane. Or when you dive really quickly into the deep end.
And then, the next thing I knew—I was sitting back at home, on my bed, looking up at the ceiling.
7
Seven
Wow!
It worked, I’m home! Just… wow!
That was about all I could think when I realized it had worked. This magic list really was magic. It worked! Here I was, in my room… no—in my home (after all, that’s what I’d written on the list). So it was magic! The list did work…
As soon as I had the thought, I panicked. Suddenly thinking about the list, I looked around frantically, searching the room for that pad and pen. It was dark, though, and the only lights were the reflections of the street lamps onto the ceiling of my bedroom. It must’ve been raining, too, because I could hear the pitter-patter against the window and the lights and shadows were dancing, their reflections moving around on the ceiling just like what always happened when it rained.
Then I remembered. I looked down at my hand and relaxed. There it was—the list. I was holding it in my hand.
Hmmpphhh, I thought. But I laughed at myself, and I wondered if that’s what it’s like for my grandparents. You can’t remember where something is, and it turns out you’re holding it in your hand.
I resolved to be more careful with the list and always keep track of where it was—just like he’d said. Then I looked over at my phone by the side of the bed.
The time on it said that it was time for me to get up for school. I felt out of it, though… out of sorts. I tried to clear my mind, to get my bearings. But my brain now was just mush. At least, that’s how it felt.
I remembered the list, the “magic”. And him.
I remembered him.
He’d explained it to me, and it was brilliant. The light, I mean. The place, the light—all of it. It was all just… brilliant. But as I sat there trying to get my bearings, all of this was fading quickly.
I was holding the pad of paper and the pen. I closed my eyes and repeated to myself, ‘the list is magic, the list is magic’, trying my best to etch the thought into my mind so I wouldn’t forget.
The dream, or whatever it had been, was faded now, mostly gone. But this list was magic, and I wasn’t going to forget it.
The rest was still a foggy haze. I couldn’t even remember having dinner last night, which was weird because with dad being sick now, and with mom being mom, dinner was the one thing we still tried to do as a family. I couldn’t remember any of it, and I know we didn’t miss it—because that I would remember.
Well, there was one thing. When I looked at the time on my phone, I knew if I didn’t get moving, I’d be late for school. After having Sean prod me every morning, that was one thing I could never forget.
And so I hurried up and put on my clothes. I usually take a shower at night, so that I won’t have to take one in the morning. But I couldn’t remember if I’d taken one last night. I must have though, right? I mean—I always do. After putting my hair back, I brushed my teeth. Then I ran downstairs to try and grab something to eat before Sean and I had to get out the door to make the bus.
As I passed the room Sean and Tom shared, I saw the door was already open. That’s weird, I thought. It’s always closed because Tom drives himself to school, and so he doesn’t ever wake up until after Sean and I have already left for the bus.
Also, all Tom’s posters were gone from the wall. They were these stupid bands I don’t know how he could even listen to. So maybe he just finally decided the music he liked was terrible, I told myself, and he’d decided to take them all down?
But I didn’t really have time to think of any of this because I was so late.
I was already rummaging around the kitchen for food when I saw Sean come in from the living room, ready to go.
I had a Pop-Tart half way down my throat (s’mores flavor. Mmmmm…). I was sure Sean was about to give me some lecture on how I should really eat healthy like him and have some of his protein/kale/fish oil/blueberry juice concoction that he made himself every morning. But he didn’t say anything at all. He just came up to me with the most serious look, wrapped his arms around me, and gave me a big hug. Then he pulled back, looked at me (Seriously? Again?).
“Are you doing okay, Maya?”
That’s super weird, I thought. Sean never acts like this.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
As soon as I’d said the words, I remembered. Of course! Maybe he knows about it? I thought about this for a second, and then dismissed the thought. How could he know about it? How could he know about my magic list? It had been with me the whole time, so there’s no way he could have known about it. But, if he didn’t know about the magic list then why was he acting so weird? Oh well, everyone knows big brothers can be weird sometimes, but he was my brother, so what could you expect?
“You don’t remember?” he asked, hesitating. “Last night, Maya? You don’t remember? You don’t remember anything?”
Okay, I sighed, thinking back. Maybe Sean’s on to me. I racked my brain. How could he know, though? How could he know about the list? I mean, even if he does know, and he’s just testing me, asking me so I tell him about the list—why would he do that?
“What’s there to remember?” I answered, not letting on what I knew about the list. If he wanted me to give him info about it, he was just going to have to ask me directly.
“Uh, Maya,” he started but then hesitated. Then he got this really serious look on his face and gave me another hug again. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, looking at me closely.
“Of course I’m okay,” I said, trying to show him I was getting a little annoyed that he was being so weird. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You really don’t remember then? You don’t remember anything from yesterday after you got back from your brunch?”
“Of course I remember!” I shot back, really annoyed now. “I’m like an elephant. I remember everything!” If he wanted to ask me about the list, why wouldn’t he just come right out and say it?
“But I don’t want to tell anyone,” I said. “I mean, I have to carry it around with me, all the time now, right? So I just thought it’d be better to not tell anyone about it. You know what I mean, right?” Then I waited for him to acknowledge the obvious.
He didn’t. He just stood there, his mouth half open, not saying anything. And so I went on.
“I mean, if I just keep it to myself, no one else will ever find out, right? So can you please just keep it between us?” I said.
“Okay, sure. Of course I will,” he gulped. “I would never tell anyone, Maya. I know it’s probably hard for you to trust anyone right now, but whatever you need, just ask me. Please, come to me if you ever have any, you know, thoughts. Like hurting yourself, or anyone. I’m always here for you.”
“Sure thing, Sean. Now, can we get moving already? I don’t want to miss the bus again.”
Almost instinctively, I reached down into my backpack to make sure the pad of paper and pen were still there, where I’d put them. They were, and I relaxed, pulling the drawstring tight and closing it back up.
No one else needed to know about this. Not that the list would change its power or anything like that, I don’t think. It’s just that I didn’t want anyone trying to ask me questions about it, or worse—trying to grab it out of my backpack at school when I’m not looking.
Owl Creek Bridge High School. That was the name of my school. It was probably the most boring name and the most boring school I could have ever ended up in. Nothing unusual every occurred there.
See—it’s almost an oxymoron, right? Most days, I’m pretty much bored out of my mind, which I guess is probably how I got into this mess with Steve and Angel in the first place.
It was my first day, and I knew things would be different, even before I went in to my third period class—the one I share with both Steve and Angel.
I kept my head down, walking in. Then I went straight to my seat and started getting my books out of my backpack, all without looking up at either of them. I acted like I really had to concentrate, like mine was the most interesting backpack in all the world. I was determined to completely avoid any eye contact with either one of them.
The teacher started droning on like he always did (the first ten minutes always seemed like he was just talking so he could hear himself talk and make sure his vocal chords were good and warmed up). Once he was finally in his own zone—meaning, generally oblivious to the students sitting bored out of our minds in front of him—I looked up, sneaking a glance over at Steve.
I’m sure he saw me, because I saw him look straight at the floor the second I looked over. He stayed slunk down like that, staring at the floor, not looking up for the rest of the class.
Guilty! Ha, that bastard. He knew I knew, and he felt guilty about it! Which he should. He can stare at the floor the rest of his life, for all I cared. This thought made me even angrier with him. Serves him right, for sleeping with her.
With Angel.
My mind turned to her now, and I scanned the room, eventually finding her slunk down into a desk on the exact opposite side of where she normally sat.
Slunk down in her desk, looking down—just like him. She knew too. The both of them knew.
How could you, Angel? I raged silently in my head. But I wanted to scream it across the room. How could both of you? You were my best friend, Angel! You knew I liked him! And you too, Steve. You were mine. I mean—why did you do that with her and not with me? You don’t even know her! You… you… both of you betrayed me!
I wanted to scream, I wanted to accuse. But I never did. I never even said a word.
And halfway through class, after raging violently in my head, I slunk back down, exhausted, into my chair. I picked up the irony that it was just like they had both done. But I was too tired to beat myself up too much, and so I started down at the floor. Like my backpack, this was the most interesting floor in all the world. And so I kept staring at it the rest of class.
While I did, I thought a lot about what to do.
Just before the class period was over, the answer came to me. And when it finally did, it came really quickly. And it should have because of course—the answer was obvious.
I reached down to my backpack, opened it slightly, and felt around until my fingers landed on the pad. I smiled to myself, then closed my backpack back up.
You’ll see, I told myself quietly.
You’ll both see.
8
Eight
I left school and decided to take the long walk home instead of the bus like I usually did. I needed the time to think, anyway, even though I knew exactly what I was going to do when I got home.
I was going to show them.
Of course I was.
But the longer I walked, the more I thought. And the more I thought, the more ideas came to me. The walking, I think, was good in the end because by the time I got home, I had completely put aside all thoughts of revenge. By the time I got home, I’d decided that I needed to be a grown up about all this… to not be petty. To wish for positive things that would accomplish the same goal, and not just for revenge…. I decided I was almost 17 now, and I was going to be the bigger person.
And so I was.
I sat down on my bed and pulled out the list.
Positive, I thought. Be a grown up.
And so I opened the list ready to make my first entry. And then I saw there, scrawled in all-too-big handwriting, the first entry I’d already made, “Go back home,” staring back at me in stark letters.
Hmmpphhh, I shrugged. But this will be fun, I thought.
Then I moved down the page, ope
ned the pen, and wrote a big #2. “I want to be a princess,” I wrote, then finished with, “and Steve can be my prince!”
There! What could be more mature than that!
The second I’d finished writing the last word, the room seemed to swirl. Or maybe I just got dizzy for a second. I felt that same popping sensation, like the pressure was equalizing or something.
And then—flash!
I thought it was a flash of light, until I realized it wasn’t.
It was the torch I was staring into. My eyes weren’t adjusted. It was dark, and the torch looked huge and bright…. And I was staring straight into it.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust, but when they did, I began to make out just where I was.
Or more accurately—who I was.
It was exactly what I’d written on my list. It was the best thing I could think of. I was trying to act like a grown up, but now I admit, maybe I was really just still a little mad when I’d made the entry on the list….
I didn’t want to do anything bad to Angel. After all, she’d still been my best friend since… or until, that is, at least until she, you know… until she slept with Steve.
Being a princess here with my magic list would be just a little harmless fun. And maybe I could have a little fun getting revenge on Angel while I was here, but it was all just magic, no? I mean, none of this was real.
I opened my eyes and could feel the heat in this place, even at night now. The hot night air all around me would probably have been way too hot to take—but for the slave who was fanning me with a fan of papyrus sheaves attached at the end to a long rod.
Angel.
The slave fanning me was Angel.
She was fanning me to keep me cool. But she looked different. She didn’t look like Angel. She looked totally different. But somehow, somewhere, I just knew—this slave girl who looked and sounded nothing like Angel—she was Angel.
Then it occurred to me that I might look totally different, too. And so I looked down at my clothes.
