Write What You Want
by Eric James Stone
I want to be rich.
The bells above the door to my magic shop jangle, and in walks a girl about fourteen years old.
She stops once she's inside and the door closes behind her. She looks around at my shelves,
stocked with card tricks, coin tricks, rope tricks, and a thousand more tricks for the aspiring
magician to amaze his or her friends.
I want to be a famous movie star.
From the haunted look on her face, I don't think she's an aspiring magician interested in tricks.
She's here for the real magic. I hope it's something as easy as a first love gone awry. My magic
has fixed a lot of those. I hold up a hand and say, "Don't tell me. You're here because you want
something so much it hurts."
I want the cancer to be gone so I don't die.
She nods. Her voice breaks a little as she says, "A friend said you could help."
I want to be head cheerleader.
"I'll help if I can," I say. "No charge." I point to a stool in front of the glass counter containing
the more expensive coin tricks.