That day in Divine's, though, I
cast my five-year-old caution aside and was ready to raise myself up for a
closer look at the Wishing Ball. I was still attached to Mrs. Silvestri, like a
kite on a string.
Angela walked in just as my feet
got about three inches off the floor. She smiled at me, winked, and gestured
down at the floor with a flick of her fingers. I settled back down and she came
around the counter, pulled out a four-step ladder, and put it next to the
counter on the end, giving me a more ordinary path up to the Wishing Ball. Right
that moment, I knew this pretty blond lady who smiled at me like we had an
enormous secret--and who didn't shout in astonishment at what she saw--was
going to be a very good friend. Mrs. Silvestri introduced me to Angela while I
climbed up, my gaze on her the whole time, and that was when Angela told me it
was called the Wishing Ball.
Angela was, is, and likely
always will be, one of those ageless women, with long, oval face and sculpted cheekbones. She
has an incredible, thick, long fall of hair in a dozen shades of gold, with
hints of strawberry in it, and big eyes that are usually blue--different
shades, depending on her mood--but can sometimes seem gray and sometimes hint
at green. The day I met her, she wore her usual handkerchief print blue dress
with draping sleeves and no waist, what some might call a granny dress or hippie dress. Since it
was August, she wore sandals.
"Do you know what a wish
is, Lanie?" Angela asked me, once I was settled on the counter, with my
legs hanging off the edge, braced on one arm and gazing into the Wishing Ball.
"It's something you want
really bad lots, only it's kind of hard to get." I saw her reflection next
to mine in the dark rainbow swirling surface of the ball, and tore my gaze away
from it long enough to meet her incredible blue eyes. "And sometimes it's
something you want really bad lots for other people, because they need it a
whole lots more than you."
"Really? Like what?" Her smile softened and turned thoughtful, and she glanced at Mrs. Silvestri, who was standing behind me with one hand resting on my back. Like she thought I might fall off the counter?
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