he pulls something from my face.
“tek or çift,” he says.
“tek,” i say.
it’s always a single eyelash, and tek is always the correct answer. the truth is that i saw it in the mirror earlier, but i was too unconcerned to remove it. perhaps i was hoping i would be granted a wish.
“make a wish,” he says.
i make my default wish, then stumble and wish another wish upon it, while another wish tread quietly underneath it.
“what did you wish for?”
i explain my messy three-layered wish. he looks at me with a curious look.
“that doesn’t count,” he says. “what was your main wish?”
“the same wish i’ve been wishing for since i was a little girl.”
my default wish overrides all other wishes. it is mechanical, automatic. it is akin to prayers, incantations. other wishes cannot be thought of and spoken before this one takes hold. it is the traditional bully wish; there is no point in wishing for anything else.
“it’ll come true,” he says.
i’m not sure i believe him.