The Wishing Bridge

Sometimes we can imagine magic in all sorts of places. In this case, there is a little metal bridge that runs alongside the football pitches beside the leisure centre in Carrickfergus. In late summer, the bridge captures Dandelion 'clocks', the type you capture to make a wish on. This, then, is the Wishing Bridge:

THE WISHING-BRIDGE

At a certain time of year, the wind whips dandelion clocks into the air. They carry to the bridge to catch in its wire mesh. They line it, fifty of them, sometimes a hundred, trapped and waiting.

My mother called it the Wishing Bridge and took us to it each year, first when I was small enough to hold her hand, later when I was older and ran ahead while she gripped our Libby – her little, late surprise, she said – by the hand instead.

I’d get to the bridge and snatch the clocks and hold them tightly while I made a wish. Then I’d let them go, free of the bridge, so they floated away, light and safe.

Here’s the thing: the bridge’s wishes come true. When I wished for a bike for my birthday, a bike I got, gleaming chrome and not an inch of hated pink in sight. The year I wanted to get into Rockbridge High with Maddy and Kim? One wish and the letter came a day later. I always knew, as a kid, that if I wanted something I needed to wait for the August winds and head down to the bridge.

Even as a teenager. I remember back, the raw need for Michael Johnson to notice me, the aching in my heart when he smiled at Cass instead. I reached the bridge, terrified I’d come at the wrong time – too early, before the clocks, or too late when they would be battered and broken – but they were there, lined up, as if something had known I needed a wish.

I leaned over the barrier, the first clock in my hand. I wished for him to notice me. Then I wished for something more daring – a kiss, and then what might come later. I didn’t wish for marriage, or kids, and yet here I am Mrs Johnson, two kids and a smart house in Sydney. And that’s how I know the wishes come true – even what was in my heart that day, even what I didn’t dare speak or think, was picked up from the last clock I released, silently, to float down to the river.

I haven’t been to the bridge since then. When I moved away, I half forgot it. My parents would have bought a bike anyway – they knew I wanted one – and the school letter had been sent before my wish. As for Mikey: who knows? But that one seemed a blessing too far to take for granted.

Tomorrow, I might bring Maddie with me, chubby warm hand in mine, and tell her its magic and that she can make a wish. I’ll point to the river it spans and tell her to whisper it to the fairies there, and do what I can to make the wish come true. Like Santa, and the Tooth Fairy, a child’s world should have a little magic in it. But today is just for me.

The wind swirls, catching my hair. The bridge looks smaller than it did, but it’s still flocked by the clocks, trapped and curled and sad-looking. I walk forwards, knowing this is stupid, that magic doesn’t work. But I don’t know what else to do.

I crouch, in the middle. The river runs beneath me, wide and fast. If there are fairies in it, they can’t be seen. I take one of the clocks, a plump one, undamaged by the wire. I wrap it tight in my hands and close my eyes and I’m seven and wanting a new bike. I believe again.

“Please,” I say. “Make it go away.” The shadow on my mother’s x-ray, the unnamed fear that has brought me home, flying from one side of the world to this. “You can do it.”

I let the clock go and it floats down, following the river as if little hands were passing it, one from the other.

I walk away. I don’t know what else I can do. It’s not until I reach my parent’s road that anything takes my attention. Car-doors slamming, an influx of relatives, of my aunts, my cousins, our Libby, the call of voices that can mean one thing, or another.

I run, clumsy and too old for the sprint up the street. I throw open the door to the house and see my mum, face wreathed in a smile that tells me all I need to know.

The all-clear. A miracle. I close my eyes and send a silent thanks. A wish, passed from me to the fairies. A wish captured on the bridge.