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The Ruined Wishing Well
By Code Name D
It was at least another hour before she came across a place called Orange Meadow Park, announced by a large wood sign built over the side walk, with peeling faded orange paint. Under the sign, she saw the sidewalk meander under a lush canopy of trees. It looked like an idea spot to try and hide from the evening heat.
She readjusted her back pack, and went exploring into the park.
The trees really did do a great deal to knock down the heat, so she was able to finally relax a little bit as she explored. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to see. The park was a lot like the street, neglected and run down. The grass was poorly mowed with patches in between the trees that were allowed to seed senses the mowers were too cheap or lazy to mow in between them.
The sidewalk was cracked; allowing the grasses a foothold in their ever persistent rebellion over this man made city. Completely oblivious to the fact that the city was still occupied. The trees were tall, but didn't look vary healthy. And the ground was littered with the dead wood from past storms and hurricanes could still be seen littering the grounds, in some cases, presenting just enough of an obstacle to force the mowers to bypass them all together. And this was not to mention a constant visual noise of trash that ranged from hard liquor bottles, bear cans, food wrappers, and the occasional rotting plastic dippers tossed into the bushes.
As she walked further into the park, she was some what surprised to see hardly any homeless people milling around. But the loud and offensive sings posted here and there explained why this was by stating, "Loitering is prohibited by Florida law. Violators will be fined or jailed." This was a strange law, considering the fact that the whole purpose of a park was to causally loiter about.
Still, despite the over-run quality of the park, Michelle couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity about her surroundings. She followed the side walk, randomly picking directions from the occasional fork in the road that she came across, until the side walk reached the far end of the park where it parallel a large concrete drainage culvert, the kind large enough for small boats. It was partially hidden by a dilapidated ten foot tall wood plank fence, while in other places hidden by bushes and sick looking trees. A peek between the fences slats showed that the culvert was still dangerously churning with rain water from the storms a few days ago.
With that senses of déjà vu still hovering around her, she shifted her pack again, and continued on along the river-front walk until the sidewalk came to a dead end at a recessed alcove nestled in between the trees.
In the alcove, the sidewalk split around a pool of stank water that was only a little larger than a kiddy pool. The black water was contaminated by a think green slime and left over grass clippings. Its perimeter choked by clumps of crabgrass and thistles.
And placed between the sidewalks that flanked eater side, was a small dead stream that used to feed the pond. Made of shaped cement, it causally wound its way between rocks and shaped cement works formed into small buildings of various sizes. Buildings that only sported a hints of its former painted splendor, now little more than sun baked blocks. In places, the stream would become a try cascade over rocks, or pause in miniature ponds, now only containing shattered dirt that was backed in the heat.
As Michelle followed one of the walks up along side the dead stream, she came across a familiar shaped block that was both larger, and some what different from the others. Different in that it still had some remounts of red and yellow paint clinging to it, as well as a rusted shaft poking out from one side over the stream bed.
Michelle left the sidewalk to approach the block, and with a sad finger, felt the edge of a window that was made by a small piece of black tile pressed into the cement.
She recognized it. He had been here before. A long time ago. With the echo of a little girl's laughter riding across her memory.
Looking over her shoulder, she could almost see a little girl in a yellow dress, no more than five years old, just on the verge of collecting her memories. She held onto the hand of and older brother, less than two years older than her, warring turquoise blue suite and clip on tie.
With a giggle, she broke away from her brother, and ran over the lovingly trimmed grass that cradled the babbling clear water as if cascaded over the rocks. The large structure was panted with bright primary colors, and had a water wheal that was gently being turned by the water flowing under it. And in the small pool, she excitedly pointed out the profound discovery of tiny golden colored fish that darted in and about the Lilly pads of the pools.
But this news didn't exactly come as a surprise to two adults who were only just catching up. A mother, holding the arm or her father, firmly holding on to each other and enjoying the warmth and gayety of the moment as their progeny poked and splashed at the clear and clean water. In the father's hand, he held a small bag of bread scraps and crackers. With shocking speed, the bread and crackers found their way into tiny hands, and were clumsily tossed into the pond where it was swiftly consumed by the golden fish.
Michelle pulled at an old curled chip of red paint, and tossed it into the small adjoining pit, noting that the chip landed just next to the shards of a glass beer bottle that was deeply imbedded in the dirt.
Looking further up the dead brook, she saw what used to be a wishing well.
It didn't take long for the little girl to see it ether, and was magically drawn to its bright sunny yellow color. It was indeed a magical place, for the little girl could see that this well was he source for the little spring. A place where water magically appeared between the rocks and to trickle nosily down into the first small pound, before the water would begin its long gurney.
She was soon frustrated because she was too short to look in, and to get a peek at the magic contained inside.
"Daddy, what's inside this thing," the little girl asked, her voice echoing through time and filtered memory.
"Why, there is nothing in there honey," he said in a casual manner, "nothing but wishes."
"Wishes? Daddy, daddy, I want to see, I want to see," the little girl said, holding her arms up and open as an invitation to be taken up into his arms. But he simply crouched down to her level.
"But if you look in there, you will destroy the wishes made by others. I will tell you what. What if I give you a penny? If you through it into the well, than you can make a wish of your own," he said, "Would you like that?"
"Yay!" the little girl exclaimed with clapping hands.
Dad reached into his pants, and produced a coin to show to her.
"Now remember, Michelle, a wish is only good, so long as you keep it a secret. If you tell any one what your wish is, than it will never come true. Okay?"
"Okay," the little girl said, twisting her body back and forth. With that, he pushed the coin into the little girls hands. With a clumsy overhand throw, she tried to force the coin into the well. But her first three tries failed, and she only saw the coin bounce off the side of the well. But this only made her more determined. If this wish didn't come easy, than she would just have to make it a special wish. On the fourth try, she was able to get the coin into the well, and could hear a tiny "plop" as the coin fell into the water. With eyes tightly shut, she made her wish in secret.
But the wish never came true.
As the outing came to an end, the little girl's spirits were broken. Both her mother and father's attempts to learn what it was that bothered her so were futile and met with tightly sealed lips. But time heals all wounds, and for such a little girl, only a tiny piece of time, and a nap on the ride home, was needed to dry the tires from her eyes.
But clearly, the experience was not fully banished. It was one of the earliest memories she ever had. One so old that it was never recorded in her diary. Even though her mother had made a special point to make the earliest entries in it for her, starting from the vary moment of her birth.
Michelle stood up, and stared at the well. It was now a battered structure, no longer yellow, but only cover with shreds of blue paint, with much of the wood rotting away or half eaten by termites. Other planks of wood could be see ripping themselves out of the larger structure as they were being warped by the head and brutal Florida sun.
Michelle followed the sidewalk around to the far side of the wishing well, and then finally approaching it. Now easily able to look inside and fulfill a little girl's first wish that was made another life time ago, in another age.
But what she saw was not worth a penny. Inside she found more black stank water, and a rusted steel grate, most likely used to collect the change others would toss in. It was also filled with garbage, spent condoms, and drug needles. As she leaned against the ledge of the well, and could feel flakes of paint being crushed under her hands.
It was just like every thing else in this town. The well, the brook, the pond, all had been forsaken. She didn't even have the option of tossing in another stray coin, knowing full well that the black, still water would be unyielding. Where as she might have wished for the chances to bring her own daughter to this place, to play in the water, and struggle to toss in a coin for her vary first wish. The only water that flowed here, were the tears she shed, tires for a lost wish.
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