To Wish Upon a Star

TO WISH UPON A STAR

by

Scott MacDonald

TWINKLE, TWINKLE LITTLE star- how I wonder what you are- up above the world so high- like a diamond in the sky

- Nursery Rhyme

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU wish for, you just might get it.

- Unknown

PROLOGUE:

ROMANIA - 1874

THE SKY WAS A NOCTURNAL tapestry of twinkling stars; soothing and peaceful, vast yet intimate. It was a night of the kind that might inspire one to write poetry in celebration of the majesty of nature’s handiwork or perhaps compose a nocturne were one so inclined. Its serene beauty betrayed no hint of the havoc that was about to take place.

A beautiful young woman about eighteen years of age and wearing a simple hooded shawl as protection against the night air was climbing up the side of a large hill. The terrain was harsh and the going was difficult as she struggled to make her way to the top. The rocks hurt her feet and the briars, nettles, and other thorny foliage seemed to bite at her flesh and tear at her clothing in equal measure. None of this mattered. Whatever motivation drove her precluded any thought of giving up regardless of whatever level of physical discomfort she may have been experiencing. 

At length, she pulled herself up over the crest to stand against the expanse of the night sky. She was a classic beauty with strong cheekbones, lush, flowing hair, and a curvaceous figure making ‘statuesque’ probably the most descriptive adjective one could apply. Her most striking feature, however, were her gorgeous green eyes; a particularly lustrous shade of green, deep and swirling, almost hypnotically so. Her long, silky black hair and simple cloth peasant dress blew in a gentle breeze as she scanned the heavens searching for something. For several minutes she stood there, gazing intently into space, patiently waiting. 

But waiting for what?  

Perhaps it was a romantic interlude, a pre-arranged rendezvous with her lover to meet secretly against the wishes of her family. Perhaps this was the only way they could pursue their forbidden love free from the interference of those who would see them torn asunder. That seemed a bit Shakespearian and highly unlikely. Aside from being needlessly melodramatic, surely such a tryst would have been planned to take place somewhere more idyllic and less arduous to access. Maybe it was something more nefarious; a secret meeting with an underworld figure to discuss an itinerary of unlawful activities away from prying eyes and ears. That seemed even more absurd. Why would a simple young girl be involved in such activity? No, she wasn’t waiting for a man nor any other person for that matter, nor was she engaged in anything criminal. She had come here alone and her attention appeared to be focused entirely on the night sky. There was something about the sky that was the source of her fascination. Whatever it may have been she was prepared to wait all night if she must. Fortunately, that wouldn’t be the case. Far off in the distance, a point of light moved across the horizon.

A shooting star was traveling through the sky on a course several degrees off parallel to the earth. The girl’s breathing quickened and became more labored as she gazed at the celestial visitor; her eyes unblinking, her excitement soaring – this is what she’d been waiting for.

As the star neared, her focus upon it became even more intense, almost predatory. She took a deep breath, then closed her eyes and began to recite an incantation; Oh, wishing star traveling through the night, hear my wish and grant my plea.

The star shone brighter.

I want to know...everything.

At that instant, the star suddenly flared a thousand times more brightly in intensity; its sudden luminescence casting shadows on the objects below as it streaked across the sky like a comet. Within an instant, the girl fell to her knees, screaming. She tried to rise but something was happening to her; she was changing, her hair was thinning and turning gray. She lifted her hands to the heavens – they were becoming gnarled and ugly.

No! Nooooo! she screamed in horror. 

She rose to her feet then turned to run but stumbled and fell. She ran her hands over her face and could feel the aberrations overtaking what had been her smooth, youthful teenage flesh: wrinkles, blemishes, and disfigurements re-drawing her beauty into a mockery of itself.

What’s happening to me!?

Her mind was reeling with panic and confusion. Amid this terror, she became alarmed when she noticed her vision was beginning to fail her. She reached up to her eyes and could feel her skin re-knitting itself, forming a barrier over the orbits and sealing them behind a prison of flesh, robbing her of her vision and hiding the beauty of their lustrous green. Overwhelmed by a tumult of emotions and unable to understand what was happening to her or how to stop it, she got to her feet once again and ran screaming into the night.

Whatever she may have anticipated would happen this was certainly not what she had envisioned. Her cries echoed across the valley as the star traveled further and further away, gradually receding into the distance and leaving its hapless victim to her unknown fate.

CHAPTER 1:

113 YEARS LATER - 1987

A GROUP OF HIGH SCHOOL boys was playing shirts/skins football during phys-ed class. They were all shapes and sizes: short ones, tall ones, fat ones, skinny ones, and wore a variety of ratty looking gym gear that looked as if it had all been cobbled together from clothing donations pulled blindly from the discount bin of a consignment shop.

They were a generally unremarkable bunch apart from the skins quarterback, seventeen year old, Nicholas Janke, a fit, good looking kid and the sort of alpha-male type who stood out from the crowd without even really having to try. Nick could easily become one of those guys whose high school experience was often a fond memory of one’s self at their best and one they will tend to revisit more and more frequently the older and heavier they get. Whether this was who he would become or not was decades from now, however, and at this particular moment, Nick was focused on the play being run while, from the sidelines, the coach was watching the game with a critical eye.

Reeeaady!  14!  86!  Hike!

The center snapped the ball, the players scrambled. Nick faded back looking for an opening. The players were running around clumsily, stumbling and bumping into one another in a sad display of an almost total deficit of athletic talent.

Oh, for the love of... muttered the coach, rubbing his eyes.

Annoyed and left with no other choice, Nick lowered his head and charged up the middle, muscling his way to a touchdown. The other players stopped dead in their tracks and turned to the coach, confused.

Hey, coach, can he do that? questioned a fat kid.

The coach stepped over to Nick who had a cocky smile on his face. With teammates like you guys what choice has he got?

The players exchanged insulted looks while mumbling their annoyance. The coach checked his watch. Alright, that’s enough comedy football for one day. Everybody hit the showers and get to your next class. 

The kids trudged off as the coach turned to Nick. "And I’ll see you after school for team practice."

Count on it, coach, replied Nick. He handed the ball to the coach and headed for the showers.

IT WAS BETWEEN CLASSES and the halls were crowded with a host of noisy kids dressed in neon colored clothes with tight pants, accessorized with lots of garish costume jewelry and crowned with a headful of big 80s style hair. Nick was standing at his locker wearing his varsity jersey and jeans – stone washed, of course – looking like the jock stud he was. Nick was one of those people that fortune had apparently chosen to smile upon. It was as if he had been assembled in adherence to some cosmic checklist: tall, check: handsome, check: muscular, check: and so on down the list. He may not have been born into wealth or power but looks and charm can still take one a long way. Even at his young age, this reality was not lost on him and Nick reveled in the privileges that came with having won the genetic lottery. Over the years, he had grown accustomed to the preferential treatment he tended to receive and never questioned it. In fact, whether he knew it or not, even whether he deserved it or not, he pretty much expected it as normal. A couple of his varsity team buddies were with him: one was a squirrely looking guy with big ears named Wally who you could tell was going to go bald early into his adulthood, the other was a big gorilla named Marvin who was eating a candy bar and was probably going to make a career out of delivering pizza. Nick gathered his books and straightened his locker while Wally was reviewing a test paper with an aggravated look.

How did I get another ‘D?’ That’s the fourth ‘D’ Mr. Reimer has given me this year. The guy hates me.

Of course he does, said Nick. He looks at you like you’re the son he never had but was a complete disappointment to him anyway.

I sorta studied for this test too. It’s not fair, whined Wally, crumpling the paper and tossing it aside.

Let it go. There’ll be plenty more tests for you to fail before the year is out. Look at Marvin, he shoulda graduated two years ago but does he care? Nick turned to Marvin. Marv, do you care about your ongoing record of scholastic underachievement?

I might if I knew what ‘schastolic’ meant, said Marvin, struggling to pronounce the word.

See? Doesn’t care, concluded Nick. He noticed Wally was no longer paying attention and was transfixed looking at a pretty girl standing at her locker down the hall. 

Look at you. You’re mentally undressing Stacy Clark, aren’t you? You probably got her down to her underwear by now, Nick said, shaking his head.

Yeah, said Marvin probably unaware of what was even being discussed.

Y’know, I’ve been thinking I should ask her out. She’s pretty hot, said Nick.

Don’t you even look at her! exclaimed Wally, quickly snapping out of his trance. If you’re my pal...

Okay, okay, tiger. She’s all yours, chuckled Nick. I was just busting your chops.

She’s so beautiful and it’s not just physical, I respect her mind too, Wally sighed.

Really? Nick said, glancing back at her. I respect her body.

I have to have her. Maybe she’ll go to the fair with me. I gotta ask, said Wally.

A few lockers down to their left, a teammate was kicking his locker in anger. Damn this thing! he grumbled.

The guys turned to him. Having a problem, Dale? asked Nick.

This damn locker! It’s a piece of junk! I can’t get it open! Dale punched his locker in frustration.

The guys stepped over to him. Are you sure you’re using the right combination? asked Wally.

I can memorize a three number combination after three years, numbnuts, said Dale, by now just irritated with the whole thing. Nick was running his hands over the lock, inspecting it.

What are you doing? asked Dale.

Shh, quiet, ordered Nick.

At that same moment, Megan Brandt was moving down the hall virtually unnoticed amid the chaos. She was a short, bespectacled, plain looking fifteen year old girl with reddish-brown hair and freckles and was of little note and minimal status within the High School hierarchy. Megan had never been the sort of girl to whom much attention was ever given. Unable to stand out on the strength of her appearance and with a shy, quiet demeanor she had always remained a relatively unknown entity among her contemporaries. Like most girls, she’d always dreamed of being someone who could turn heads and command attention with her beauty and personality, however, the reality was that she was pretty easy to miss. Deep down, she knew this. In fact, she actively cultivated her own anonymity feeling unequipped to stand up to the scrutiny of the general student body. It was easier, she felt, to simply blend into the background and excel within the security of her daydreams. As usual, she was walking quietly by herself, clutching her books tightly to her chest. She noticed Nick on bent knee in front of the locker up ahead and stopped, gazing at him with obvious admiration.

Nick pressed his ear against the lock as he spun the dial.

As Megan watched Nick, a boy pushed past her, knocking her books to the floor. He continued on his way paying her no attention. She shook her head and squatted down to pick up her scattered textbooks, sputtering in aggravation just once in response to the boy’s rudeness. Such a measured reaction was typical of Megan. This sort of thing happened too frequently to allow herself to become truly upset over it anymore. 

Back at the locker, Nick inserted a thin wire into the mechanism, twisted the dial once more then lifted the latch - the locker opened. Dale looked at Nick, amazed.

The benefits of a misspent youth, said Nick by way of an explanation and with a hint of pride.

The bell for class rang.

C’mon, fingers, we better get to class, said Wally.

Nick grabbed some books and shut his locker. He turned to find two very pretty and clearly ditzy teenage girls standing there smiling at him. Both were blonde and both were named Trish because teenage girls like these two were almost always blonde and frequently named Trish. Some of them even had very brief careers as music video bimbos back when career opportunities of that nature were plentiful. This was prior to its inevitable decline by the constantly shifting tastes of a predictably fickle public.

Hey, Nick! said The Trishs in unison.

Hey, Trish, Trish, said Nick. The girls giggled because ditzy girls named Trish often giggled at things even if they weren’t actually funny. No one knows how or when this odd phenomenon began, probably because it’s so incredibly trite.

Megan watched quietly from a distance. 

Nick nudged Wally, grinned, and moved in closer to them. What can I do for you ladies? he asked.

We were hoping you might walk us to class, said Trish-1 sidling up to him. Trish-2 took his arm. It’s not safe for a girl to walk alone these days; too many weirdos. 

They all turned and glanced at Wally and Marvin. Wally looked insulted while Marvin continued eating undisturbed.

I’d be honored, said Nick.

He slipped his other arm around Trish-1 and led them off, giving Wally a backward wink as they walked away. Wally and Marvin watched after him, Wally’s envy was obvious. 

That guy’s got all the luck, he said shaking his head.

Yeah, burped Marvin. 

Wally turned to him. Don’t strain yourself, Marv.

What’s ‘schastolic’ mean? asked Marvin, still working on the conversation from a few minutes ago.

Down the hall, Megan watched forlorn as Nick escorted the girls away, heaving a gentle sigh. It was another modest reaction that masked the depth of the emotions that fueled it. Emotions such as this were not unfamiliar to her. Feelings of inadequacy had been a constant condition she had to deal with almost daily ever since the onset of puberty or 'the year she had blossomed' as her mother liked to put it. It was a phrase she hated. She couldn't live up to that kind of pressure. Beautiful girls blossom, she believed. Girls like Christie Brinkley and Cindy Crawford had blossomed while she had just sort of hatched or something. She realized this perception wasn't unique to herself – many people her age felt equally as awkward, some even more so – but that awareness didn't provide any comfort nor make her feel any less ungainly. 

Having gathered up the last of her books, she turned and walked toward her next class.

THE TEACHER HAD JUST finished writing a mathematical equation on the blackboard then turned to the class. He was a tall, thin, owlish looking man with thick eyeglasses and big gums. Nick, Wally, Marvin and the rest of the class were trying to stay awake as he spoke in an annoying nasal whine  about the wonders of higher mathematical theory. 

I have a very special treat for all of you today. This afternoon we’re going to begin our exploration into the exciting world of... here he paused needlessly for dramatic effect. ...nonlinear equations! You, uh, may want to buckle up for this. It’s a pretty wild ride. 

He chuckled slightly, amused