Dandelion Wishes

Washington, 2004 — “Mommy, Mommy!” Junior ran up the stairs to the back porch where Lizzie was pouring glasses of lemonade for lunch. His brown hair was a mess, his clothes were wrinkled and grass-stained, and he carried a bundle of dandelion puffs in his hands. He held them out to her, nearly shouting, “Here!”

Lizzie put the pitcher down and took them. “Thank you, Junior,” she said, smiling. “They’re very…”

“They’re wishing flowers!” Junior said, green eyes full of excitement. “Make a wish, Mommy!”

“Oh, okay,” Lizzie said. “Wait. How about we do it together?”

“Yeah!”

Lizzie closed her chocolate brown eyes. After a few seconds, she opened one to see Junior with his still squeezed shut. “Are you ready, buddy?” she asked. Junior shook his head. Then he nodded a second later and opened his eyes.

“Okay…on the count of three, we blow–one, two, three!”

“Pfft!”

White tufts flew into the air and were carried away by the summer breeze that whipped her chestnut brown hair into her face. Lizzie tucked the loose strands behind her ear as she watched the puffs fade away into the distance, then looked at her son and asked, “What did you wish for?”

Junior shook his head. “Not s’posed to tell,” he said determinedly. Lizzie smiled and sent him off to tell his cousins it was time for lunch. As she watched him go, the smile faded.

She didn’t know about his wish, but as for hers…after three-and-a-half years, she believed hers would likely never come true.


©H.S. Kylian 2018 // All images ©Hannah Killian 2013-2018

(Critiques are welcome and appreciated!)

This post was last updated on October 23, 2018

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