by Mark Tiro
“That’s definitely not what I meant.”
“I know,” he smiled softly, jarring me back out of this apocalyptic horror show and back into the loving balm I felt whenever I was in his presence. “That’s why it’s important to gently return your mind to reality—to not let yourself get caught up in the ever-changing fortunes of the world and all the machinations of illusions.”
“So you want to get rid of your list, do you?”
I eyed him suspiciously. I knew a trick question when I heard one.
“After I get back home and everything goes back to normal,” I hedged. “Yes. I do.”
“But this list is magic, no?”
I could swear I saw just the faintest flash of a grin. But when I looked closer, he looked serious.
“This list—it has the power to give you anything you want, right? You can make anything you want come true just by writing it down?”
I was starting to get nervous now. He knew the answers to his questions, so why was he even asking them? Maybe I should just hold on to the list and not destroy it? That way, I could just stop using it but keep it around… just in case of emergency. Kind of like, ‘in case of emergency, break glass’. For me, though, instead of ‘break glass,’ it would be ‘use list.’
“And you just want to throw all that power away?” he went on, seemingly oblivious to my mind wandering. “Are you really ready to tear it up, to get rid of it? The list has worked well for you, no?”
“No. Not well.”
“But it’s worked for you, hasn’t it? I mean, hasn’t everything on your list come true?”
“Well… yes! It has,” I admitted, before hastily adding, “But it’s not making me happy!”
He looked quizzical, like he really didn’t understand. I knew this look. It was how the science teacher had looked once when this really smart kid had asked him a question that he didn’t know the answer to.
“I don’t understand,” he started slowly. “You thought… you thought that getting anything you want would make you happy?”
“Okay,” he started, “let me ask you a hypothetical. If you had all power to do anything in the world, to make anything you want happen, knowing everything you now know…”
I cut him off.
“You mean—if I had the list? But I do have the list. That’s not a hypothetical. I can have anything I want.” I blurted out. Then I reflected a little more, and went on. “But with everything that’s happened, with everything I know—I would definitely use the list only for good. Well, of course I would. I mean, there’s so much that’s wrong in the world, so much that’s not fair.”
“You would use it to fight injustice, then?”
“Yes! Exactly that! I would fight injustice, things that aren’t fair in the world. I would try to help people.”
“And who would decide what’s injustice and what’s not?” He smiled gently. “You alone? Who would determine what’s good and what’s bad? In the world, doesn’t that all depend on your perspective? Which side you’re looking from matters, at least in the world, no?”
I ignored him and went straight on. I was excited now, and a mist of new, exciting ideas flickering and swirling around my mind. I could see a myriad of amazing possibilities in my mind, all ready to spring to life. And so I kept going with my answer. “But first I would undo all the damage I’ve done with the list so far. Bring Katie and Angel back to life.”
He raised an eyebrow at this, but didn’t say anything. I ignored him anyway and kept going.
The instant I remembered Angel, though, and what had happened with Katie, I got really mad.
I remembered all the pain. That’s what I saw now. Just pain. Only bad things. I got so mad.
Enough is enough!
I decided to write down everything I ever wanted to have on the list, one time—one last time. Now. And then when I was done—I would destroy it forever. It never really worked like it was supposed to anyway. And it never really made me happy.
Final answer.
I’d get rid of this list, once and for all. But first, I would make everything right. I’d fill up those pages, putting everything back just like it was. Just like it should be. And as soon as I was done, I’d destroy this cursed list once and for all. Forever. That way, everything would be like it should be. And everything would stay that way, too.
I felt a nervous excitement in the pit of my stomach as I pulled open the pad of paper. I was manic now—somewhere between frenzied and frantic. This was it, my one way out of this terrible box the list had trapped me in.
And so I opened it and began to write.
I wrote, starting with #14. “Nothing I write down happens until I finish my last entry on this list.”
Even with that, I was still very careful. As I started to write, I made sure to list out everything clearly and slowly—lest the power of its magic whisk me off on any more half-brained adventures.
I wrote, filling up my list.
I wrote, and I wrote.
And then, I wrote some more.
I wrote to put things right about the past. And I wrote to make things right about the future. I wrote about what I wanted to happen, and I wrote about what I didn’t want to happen.
I wrote so much that my hand became invisible, flying every which way across the pages. Everything became a blur.
By the end of my list, I was in a haze. I could barely read my own writing, or anything I’d scrawled onto that magic pad of paper.
Its time was fast coming to an end now. It wasn’t so much the list or my writing that was a blur, as much as it was the entire reality around me. Just as I was about to pick up my pen and put down the paper for what I knew would be the final time, one last thought came to me.
It was just something I’d forgotten, a little thing. Compared to the problems and injustices—the wrongs—of the world I’d just decided to dedicate my life to righting, this was just one little thing I thought to throw onto my list before I closed it one last time and then destroyed it forever.
What could it hurt? I asked myself. It was just one small thing. And in any event, I could barely read any of my scribbling by this point anyway.
The one little thing that I added to the end of my list was this. I wished that when I went home, I could have a normal family, that dad would live long enough to see me grow up.
I wished for Sean to be happy, to get married and have a family.
There was someone I was missing, but I couldn’t think of who. I put the pen down and looked off into the distance trying to remember what I was missing. I let my mind wander and lapsed into a daydream.
At last, it finally came to me. A memory flickered, though it wasn’t much more than a name.
Tom.
I realized now that in all my frenetic action to fill my list with only good things, I had scarcely given Tom a thought.
As soon as I’d written the words, a memory flickered.
It was a memory of previous things I’d put on my list going really, really wrong. Actually, as soon as I’d thought of this, I realized that there were lots of these memories.
But it was too late now.
My wish for Sean to be happy had been the last thing I’d written on my list. Without thinking, I’d put down my pen. While I was daydreaming and my mind was wandering, that old familiar popping sound with all the changes it brings had come and gone. I had been so absorbed in my thoughts that, this last time—I hadn’t even noticed.
The next time I looked up, I found myself sitting at home again, in my room, drained and completely exhausted.
On the table next to me sat the list. It was opened to the page I’d just finished writing in. Next to it sat the pen.
22
Twenty-Two
“Are you just about ready to go?”
“What?” I stammered at Sean, who was poking his head in the door. The last thing I remembered was my frenzied writing, filling my list, one last thing, one last time…. But Sean seemed anxious t
o get moving, and so I tried to pull myself together as best I could.
“Uh, okay,” I said. “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready.”
I looked around my room to see if I’d laid out any clothes to wear. That’s when I noticed the first difference.
On my bookshelf, there was a framed picture of our whole family. It was Sean, me and Tom in the front with mom and dad behind. It looked like it could’ve been taken yesterday… except that everyone looked happy.
Happy.
Like, literally—everyone. Even mom. Even Tom.
Even me.
I shuddered as the thought of him came into my mind. It was still something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, though.
“We’re going to watch Tom. His team made the conference finals. If they win today, they’ll make sectionals. They’re good enough this year that they may even be able to make State.”
“And mom? She has enough energy to come?”
“Of course she does,” he grinned. “I know, though, huh? She does so much, taking care of dad and us. She’s like that bunny that just won’t stop.”
Okay. That proves it. Something’s definitely not right.
This is not right. None of this is right.
I wanted to scream it out, but I decided to keep quiet, to see what else might have changed, too. Just in case.
“Okay, just give me a second to get ready,” I said. “I’ll be quick.” I said it calmly.
Sooooo calmly.
The second the door closed, though, I grabbed my pillow, put it to my mouth and screamed into it as loud as I could.
What is this? I raged. What has happened?? What have I done???
“Done.” I moved the pillow and repeated the word slowly. Deliberately.
I am just done with this, I resolved. Done. Done!
Then I threw the pillow down, dove back onto my bed, and grabbed my list.
This is it, I thought. This is too much. Everything just revolves around Tom like nothing ever happened, doesn’t it? Just like he’s a saint. I simmered and fumed. He’s always the golden child!
I raged. In my mind, I raged like there was no tomorrow.
And mom? And dad, too? And this damn list! This list—whatever I had written in those last frenzied entries—it was all just too much. I just couldn’t take it anymore.
I slid down on top of my bed, coming to a rest with my head buried in my hands.
What else have I changed? What else have I done?
I opened the list to the last page. This is it, I finally decided. I’m going to cross off all that craziness and then, I’m going to throw this list away forever.
I put the pen to the paper, getting ready to scribble it all out, when something on the pad caught my eye.
It was something I’d never seen—never even noticed—before.
What I noticed was this: I must have made those last frantic entries entries by writing over something else that had been there before. Looking closer now at those last, manic entries, I could see clearly that they were written over something. They were covering up other writing.
I had no memory of this. I don’t remember there being anything else written on these pages.
And yet—here it was.
What I could see now was that I had clearly tried to erase off whatever wishes had been written there, and—in my last, manic attempt to write new entries, I had just covered over the old entries with new ones.
What on earth could they possibly be? I looked closer. Yep. Those were definitely words under there. I wondered whether I’d still be able to make out what they said?
I knew Sean was waiting for me, but this’ll just take a second.
I took the pen and turned it around, flipping off the cap. There was a small eraser underneath. It was like the kind you might see on one of those re-useable pencils. Probably completely useless, or so I thought.
But then I wondered—what if I’d used this same eraser before? What if I’d used it before, but I just didn’t remember it? Had I become so focused… no, so—obsessed—with this list and all its magic and craziness and everything that I’d just paid no attention to what was already there?
And most importantly—what exactly had I erased in order to make room?
Something inside me snapped. I was very determined now. Whatever was under there—I was going to find out.
Once I realized they’d gone wrong just like everything else before them, I’d intended simply to cross them off. But now I decided on something else. Now, I realized exactly what I needed to do.
Now—I had a new plan.
I turned the pen around. I pushed the eraser down to the page.
I started erasing the wishes I’d written.
One line first. Then I inhaled and let out a breath across the page, blowing all that icky eraser junk away.
And then I looked.
Sure enough, something was written there. I could make out some fragments of words here and there. But I still couldn’t quite read what was written there, underneath. And so, I put the eraser back and erased another line. Again, I blew away more icky eraser junk.
Then I looked again.
Still not enough yet.
As hard as I looked, I still couldn’t make out what lay beneath… not without more. And so I repeated this again, erasing the line above that, and then the line above that one.
I erased the entire section.
I erased as quickly as my hand would move across the page. The only time I slowed down was on that last part. That was the part where I had wished for a normal family.
I went extra slow on that part to make sure I didn’t miss erasing anything.
Normal families were overrated. This much, at least, should’ve been obvious before. I kicked myself for not realizing sooner.
Then I took the back of my hand and swiped all that eraser crap out of the way, into the air… out of my life.
When I finally finished, I took a deep breath. I was ready to do this. I threw the whole list down on the bed. Sure enough, I could see from here. There was something written under there.
I was about to lay down on the bed to begin reading when I heard Sean’s voice boom from downstairs.
“Maya! We need to get going now!” Sean called up. “If we don’t go now, they’re not going to let us in. Come on!”
“Fine. I’m coming,” I shouted back as I glanced down at the list.
Seeing what was written under there would have to wait—at least until I got back from Tom’s game.
And just exactly how was Tom’s game?
It was, in short, the most miserable two hours of my life that I could remember.
To start with, I was sandwiched between mom and dad, and so I didn’t even have Sean to commiserate with.
That was okay, I suppose. Mom seemed normal enough, or something similar. It’s just that—I don’t actually remember her ever being normal. And so, the whole experience of sitting next to her when she was like this left me feeling more than a little unnerved.
And also, while she might have been normal to me—she wasn’t completely normal.
We were somewhere a third of the way up from the court. But I had a front-row seat for listening to her berate my dad about how he should have taken better care of himself and not gotten the whole family in this predicament by having a heart attack.
“You should have eaten my food!” she said to dad more than a few times. At first, he had tried to protest, to defend himself. He must’ve quickly figured out that he didn’t have the strength to fight her anymore, though. After that, he just sat there silently while she kept going at him.
“You just had to go out and eat that bad American food, didn’t you? And look what you’ve done now to us! What’d you think was going to happen? Why do you think I took the time to cook for you every day, to pack your lunches to take to work? Why? Do you know? Why?”
Dad just sat there, silently. He looked stunned at her barrage, like a boxer who’s take
n one too many punches but has to make it one more round in order to get one final paycheck.
“What’d you think, that I wouldn’t notice you spending my money, going out to lunch every day you were at work? ‘With your co-workers,’ you said. Yeah, right. I’ll bet you were having an affair. I wonder what’s her name? You’re not even man enough to admit it, are you?”
Sitting there between them, listening to her abuse, I decided then and there that I was not going to move from that seat.
I used to be afraid of mom when she’d go on her tears like this.
No more.
The bathroom could wait until we went home. I was not going to move from between them. Not because I wanted to be anywhere close to her. But I just couldn’t leave my dad alone with her.
She never once made him lunch, I thought. Not once! She barely even got out of bed before we made it home from school in the afternoon. He gave everything for her, for our family. He damn near put himself in the grave providing for our family. And all she could do now, while her little golden child Tom was playing the biggest stupid game of his high school career, was berate dad for having a heart attack.
I raged violently, silently. To myself. Oh yes. Oh yes. Push that down, I roared to myself. Push that rage down. You will get your chance, I told myself. Don’t worry. As soon as you get home, you will get your chance.
At some point during the 3rd quarter, I finally snapped.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Drive me home, Sean.”
“What? The game’s not over yet—”
“Now, Sean. Drive me home now. Now! And bring dad. We’re taking him home with us!”
23
Twenty-Three
“What’s wrong?” Sean asked as soon as we’d walked in the door.
“I don’t want to talk about it now. Just give me some space.”
Dad had his back turned to us and was hanging up his coat in the closet. “And take care of dad,” I added. “When she gets back with Tom—keep her away from him.”
“But Maya? It’ll help to talk about it, won’t it?”
