Wishful Thinking
Chester Longfellow paused to let the warm morning sun wash over his face before he flipped the sign to "Open." Morning was his favorite time of day, as he loved to watch the hustle and bustle of the world waking up. He stood looking out the window of his shop, sipping his tea. Darcy, the shop cat, rubbed his head against Chester's leg and let out a short chirp.
"Yes, yes, Darcy. I know it's time to get to work. Only one appointment today, but that's not until later." And so, Chester began his morning routine inspecting and dusting the shelves and the assorted objects they held. He hummed a lilting melody as he worked. This had been Chester's routine for nearly forty years, and he would not trade it for the world.
Just after the turn of the century, Chester had opened Wishful Thinking, one of the first wish rental shops in all of Chicago. His father had been an ardent collector of enchanted items, and Chester had grown up surrounded by them. Still, Chester never liked how his father--and other men like him--had hoarded these items all to themselves. Worse yet, those unfulfilled wishes were left languishing in glass cabinets, objects of abstracted curiosity rather than pure wonder. So, when his father passed, Chester gathered his father's collection of wishes and made them available to the public through a rental scheme.
Wishes, you see, were very expensive these days. Certainly, some debutantes received them as engagement presents, and a lucky few were even endowed with them at birth. But most folks would never even see a wish, much less possess one. Yet, Chester had hundreds. And for just a few dollars, any member of the public could rent one from him.
The door chime brought Chester out of his reverie as a small boy nearly fell into his shop. "Hello there! Welcome to Wishful Thinking!" The boy looked terribly startled when he realized Chester was standing over him.
"I'm sorry, sir," the boy blurted, reaching for the door handle. "I was just on my way to school when these boys..." He let out a great sob. Chester peered through the window and spied a group of boys shoving each other and laughing further up the road.
"Hmmmph," Chester made a sound of disapproval toward the retreating boys. "Well, you're fine here. Why don't you have a seat until they clear out? Then we'll get you on to school." The boy tried to stammer a response, but Chester had already guided him to an oversized chair.
It took a moment, but the boy finally calmed down enough to look around. "Where... who... what is this place?" His eyes had grown wide in amazement at the various eclectic contents of the shop. His eyes finally settled on an old clock.
"Is that really the time? Ms. Gibbons will have a fit if I'm late again." But the boy couldn't take his eyes off the clock and made no motion to leave.
"No, no, it's not even half past seven yet," Chester reassured the boy. "That clock hasn't told the time in years. It's not exactly broken, but it has another purpose."
The boy scrunched his eyebrows, trying to puzzle out what that meant. When he couldn't work it out, he stood to look closer. "The hands aren't moving, and I can't hear the gears. So what do you mean..." The boy reached his hand toward the clock, but Chester grabbed it politely.
"No touching, please."
The boy immediately recoiled, taking several steps back. "Sorry, sorry, mister. I didn't mean..." He backed into another shelf, knocking its contents onto the floor. "Oh..." He scrambled onto his knees and reached for a small stone cat. He felt a rush of warmth as his fingers wrapped around the figurine.
"He's done it now," Darcy said, stretching his long tail as he wove between Chester's legs.
The boy's mouth fell open. "Did... did that cat..."
"Why yes, I did." The cat trilled a laugh. "That token you're holding allows you to speak with animals." He padded over to the boy and lowered himself into a feline bow. "Welcome to our wish shop."
"You'll have to excuse Darcy. He doesn't get the opportunity to talk to many folks." Chester gently plucked the stone cat from the boy's hand and helped him stand back up. "It'll take a little while for the effect to wear off. Please be careful not to touch anything else - I wouldn't want you to get hurt."
"Wish... shop?" The boy spoke softly, trying to make sense of what was happening. He repeated louder, "Wish shop? This is a wish shop? But who can even afford to wish around here?"
"Ah, you see," Chester began, delighted, "we don't grant wishes. We rent them. Everyone ought to be able to wish once in a while. That's what I've always thought. You see this?" He held up a feather made from wood. "This lets you fly through the air like a bird. And this..." he pointed towards a pearl necklace, "makes you the prettiest girl in the room. For three dollars, you can have it for the weekend."
"Everything here is a wish?" The boy looked astounded. "What does that do?" he asked, pointing back at the broken clock.
"That allows you to pause time. It can be rather... finicky. Time is like that." Chester shifted to stand between the boy and the clock. Better to divert his attention elsewhere. "And you are running short of it - those boys seemed to have gone, so you should make it to school unmolested. But do come back and visit us again!"
After some hesitation, the boy nodded and walked toward the door. Just as he turned the handle, he looked back at Chester. "I..." he let the sentence fade to nothing.
"You're always welcome here if that's what you're wondering. I'm fond of sharing the secrets of Wishful Thinking."
