characters sculptures that I remember from my childhood—which now, in adulthood, look a little creepy since they’re so old and flaking paint. The statues stand about a foot shorter than me, in various uncomfortable looking poses, the most deranged one—a Ronald Duckington from a Disney copy-cat cartoon—looks like he has sharp teeth on his beak now, because of how the paint flaked off his face.
The openness of the middle of the mall shows off the golden bird shapes hanging from the skylights overhead, the skylights covered in bird poop that still lets in a great amount of light to show off the columns and cheap plastic cell phone cases directly beneath them.
I mean, it’s not the Grand Canyon, but if you were from another world, it’d probably look magical to you, too. The shininess of the plastic alone would probably do it for me.
“Come on,” I tell Virago with a smile, tugging gently on her arm, and we begin walking down the length of the mall, toward Penney’s.
For a Saturday, the mall is packed even more than usual, and entire groups of people look at Virago, openly staring (some of the teens even taking surreptitious pictures of her on their cells), but she’s not paying them any sort of attention, instead staring at the mosaic floor, and up at the hanging seagulls. We pause as we pass the fountain because she’s practically obsessed with Larry the talking cartoon cat.
“It speaks,” she breathes, staring up at it as if it were a statue of a deity.
“Always wear helmets, even for short bike rides, kids!” says Larry the talking cartoon cat in the same deranged, slightly out-of-tune recording he’s been repeating for over thirty years.
“Yeah, it does,” I tell her sheepishly, and then, glancing at the fountain in front of us, I dig around in my purse for a penny before I realize what I’m doing. I’m too much a sucker for tradition. My fingers brush against a penny at the bottom of my purse, next to my usual nest of pens and straw wrappers, and I dredge the thin copper coin out, pressing it into her warm palm, as I glance up shyly at her questioning gaze. “I know it’s silly, but ever since I was a kid I do this. It’s this silly thing,” I tell her, licking my lips, “but if you toss it into the fountain,” I explain to her, “and make a wish, maybe it’ll come true.”
“You have water spirits here, too?” she asks me, one brow raised, and I cock my head for a long moment, not understanding.
“No—”
“Then how does the wish come true? That’s how our wishing waterways work. A water spirit accepts the offering of coin and lends us a small amount of her magic to create or accomplish the wish.”
I stare up at her unblinking for a long moment, then clear my throat. “I never…thought about it. It’s just a superstition, really. It’s not supposed to actually work. I mean none of the wishes I made here, throwing a penny into a mall fountain, ever actually come true…” I say quietly, trailing off.
Virago stares down at the penny in her hand and seems to reach a decision of her own, for she nods, curling her long fingers over the coin. She closes her eyes, places her fist over her heart, and then the penny is arcing through the air, glittering in the morning sunshine that drifts down through the skylights. The penny settles with a plop in the water, shimmering as it nestles instantly among the other coins there.
“It is done,” says Virago, smiling at me. And then she takes up my hand and threads it through her arm again, the curve of her breast pressing against the back of my arm, and we continue walking through the mall like walking arm in arm with a lady knight past the sporting goods store is perfectly normal.
I take a deep, wavering breath, and another sip of frappe to calm my nerves. Because, of course, my overactive imagination is jumping to all sorts of conclusions. But I have to
The openness of the middle of the mall shows off the golden bird shapes hanging from the skylights overhead, the skylights covered in bird poop that still lets in a great amount of light to show off the columns and cheap plastic cell phone cases directly beneath them.
I mean, it’s not the Grand Canyon, but if you were from another world, it’d probably look magical to you, too. The shininess of the plastic alone would probably do it for me.
“Come on,” I tell Virago with a smile, tugging gently on her arm, and we begin walking down the length of the mall, toward Penney’s.
For a Saturday, the mall is packed even more than usual, and entire groups of people look at Virago, openly staring (some of the teens even taking surreptitious pictures of her on their cells), but she’s not paying them any sort of attention, instead staring at the mosaic floor, and up at the hanging seagulls. We pause as we pass the fountain because she’s practically obsessed with Larry the talking cartoon cat.
“It speaks,” she breathes, staring up at it as if it were a statue of a deity.
“Always wear helmets, even for short bike rides, kids!” says Larry the talking cartoon cat in the same deranged, slightly out-of-tune recording he’s been repeating for over thirty years.
“Yeah, it does,” I tell her sheepishly, and then, glancing at the fountain in front of us, I dig around in my purse for a penny before I realize what I’m doing. I’m too much a sucker for tradition. My fingers brush against a penny at the bottom of my purse, next to my usual nest of pens and straw wrappers, and I dredge the thin copper coin out, pressing it into her warm palm, as I glance up shyly at her questioning gaze. “I know it’s silly, but ever since I was a kid I do this. It’s this silly thing,” I tell her, licking my lips, “but if you toss it into the fountain,” I explain to her, “and make a wish, maybe it’ll come true.”
“You have water spirits here, too?” she asks me, one brow raised, and I cock my head for a long moment, not understanding.
“No—”
“Then how does the wish come true? That’s how our wishing waterways work. A water spirit accepts the offering of coin and lends us a small amount of her magic to create or accomplish the wish.”
I stare up at her unblinking for a long moment, then clear my throat. “I never…thought about it. It’s just a superstition, really. It’s not supposed to actually work. I mean none of the wishes I made here, throwing a penny into a mall fountain, ever actually come true…” I say quietly, trailing off.
Virago stares down at the penny in her hand and seems to reach a decision of her own, for she nods, curling her long fingers over the coin. She closes her eyes, places her fist over her heart, and then the penny is arcing through the air, glittering in the morning sunshine that drifts down through the skylights. The penny settles with a plop in the water, shimmering as it nestles instantly among the other coins there.
“It is done,” says Virago, smiling at me. And then she takes up my hand and threads it through her arm again, the curve of her breast pressing against the back of my arm, and we continue walking through the mall like walking arm in arm with a lady knight past the sporting goods store is perfectly normal.
I take a deep, wavering breath, and another sip of frappe to calm my nerves. Because, of course, my overactive imagination is jumping to all sorts of conclusions. But I have to
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