In memory and hope of my wishing-well wishes
Flick of the thumb; splash, clink; mental finger fiercely pointing at one thought only. I wonder who came up with the idea that throwing your loose change at any vaguely mystic or historically important spot would call the attention of some overbearing genie that has time to listen to everyone’s wishes? Speed-dial to God. A wistful, wishful, internationally adopted tradition. I love seeing those gold-silver-covered surfaces, looking at each little disc of hope and wondering what wish they carried, and from whom. And to imagine the amount of my own wishes scattered all across the world! I could never help but toss a little clatter of coins from my dad’s wallet everywhere I could- there’s something so sanguine about it.
I used to think it was the force and accuracy of the throw that determined the power of the wish, then I thought it depended on the amount of money you threw- now, I suppose if I had to decide I’d say it’s the cerebral pressure you put on the wish while your coin flips through the air. Although I never thought to keep track of my wishes, I now know that nothing can really be accredited to them, neither can they be blamed for not pulling through (much like prayers, risky texts or messages in a bottle).
But still, every now and then, I feel a warm comfort knowing that behind the scenes, intercontinental wishes lie scattered in my favour. I certainly hope that so long as I work, they do too.