I paused to consider.
What if I'm wrong about this?
If I am, and it has nothing to do with Mr. Oswell, then I don't want to get Sam's hopes up...or to upset her even further (God only knows what she'd do to him if she thought he was responsible); so I'm going to have to find a way to talk to him without her knowing.
Right now.
Which means I'm going to have to leave her here...alone. But how can I ever get her to agree to that?
Despite my best efforts, no ideas presented themselves; and finally, frustrated, I turned my head on the pillow to see Sam, lying over on the far side of the bed, with her back to me and her knees drawn up to her chest...
...and suddenly, I had my answer: Last night, the two of us had left the pharmacy so quickly that I'd never had a chance to buy her any Easter candy.
Perfect.
I glanced over at my alarm clock. Fortunately, the GVS was still open; and so, scooching across the bed, I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder.
"Sam? Do you mind if I, uh...go out for a little while?"
Immediately, she rolled over and lifted her tear-stained face to mine.
"W-w-with who?" she asked, hurt and apprehension clearly visible in her eyes...
...and my heart sank. She actually thought I wanted to leave so I could go spend time with someone else; so, hoping to reassure her, I quickly answered, "No! Nothing like that. I just need to go out for a, uh...by myself...I promise!"
She didn't look the least bit convinced. "W-why, Carls?"
Eager to put her mind at ease and to give her something to look forward to, I smiled down at her mysteriously and replied, "I can't tell you right now...it's going to be a surprise!"
"No!" she argued, "I don't w-want any m-more boys' ugly underpants!"
I shook my head. "That's not at all what I had in mind. I promise that this is going to be...something you'll really, really like."
She still looked uncertain, despite my response; but, after thinking it over, she nodded...
...slowly and sadly...
...and I leaned down and kissed her...
...repeatedly.
"Don't worry, Honey," I said, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and pulling her close. "I won't be gone long."
After one last kiss, I got out of bed and hurriedly pulled on a pair of sweatpants, sneakers, and a jacket; and then, without further explanation, I picked up my bag and left.
Less than a minute later, I was downstairs, opening the front door; and had just put one foot over the threshold, when I heard a booming voice.
"Carlotta Taylor Shay!"
Cringing, I turned on the spot to see Spencer, who was standing at the entrance to our kitchen; with a dish towel in his right hand, and a clean dinner plate in his left hand...
...and a disapproving look on his face.
"Uh, hey, Spencer," I answered, in my best non-nonchalant tone, hoping that he'd forgo the interrogation which now seemed inevitable.
No such luck.
"Kiddo, where are you going at this hour...alone?" he asked.
"Um, just out to run an errand," I replied.
"I see that," he answered. "But where are you going...and why isn't Sam going with you?"
"She uh...she still has cramps," I told him, quickly blurting out the first thing to cross my mind...
...which (fortunately) also supplied me with an answer to the other half of his question.
Spencer took a step forward. "Look, whatever this errand is, why don't you let me go instead? After all, it's too late for you to be walking around the streets at this hour of the night, all by yourself..."
"Spencer, we need pads."
"...unless-you-leave-right-away-hurry-back!" he ended quickly, sprinting back into the kitchen.
Not waiting around (in case he changed his mind), I rushed out the front door and down the hall, toward the elevator...
...and then out of the building...
...not slowing my pace in the slightest until I reached the pharmacy.
Realizing that I'd arrived less than fifteen minutes before closing time, I headed straight to the Candy aisle...a section of the store I know well.
I tend to buy all of our holiday candy at GVS, because they usually have a really nice selection of gourmet items; and this holiday was no exception. Seven minutes later, I was rushing toward the cash register, with my arms full; and, as the cashier rang up the heaping pile of Cadberry eggs, peanut butter truffles, assorted sour jelly duckies, and chocolate bunnies, I smiled...realizing that Sam was going to love it all.
After paying, I managed - with effort - to fit everything into my oversized handbag; and then, just as the store manager was locking the front doors, I was heading back out into the night...
...and toward Meridian Park.
Less than five minutes later, I was rushing through the park's front gates and hurrying up the main path, with my heart pounding...but completely unsure if it was from fear of muggers, or from fear of what was about to happen when I spoke to Anton Oswell. I mean, I couldn't just accuse him of anything...but then again, what could I say without seeming crazy?
"Oh, by the way, did you recently give my girlfriend a penis?"
Although I wracked my brain, no solutions of any kind occurred to me, and by the time I'd reached the wrought iron *Oswell's Oddities* entrance gates, I realized that I was just going to have 'wing it' when I spoke to him...hoping that, as I did, I'd somehow find the right words.
About four steps from the illuminated tent's entrance I jumped (again) as I heard a loud, booming voice announce (again), "Welcome! Step in! I have many treasures of antiquity that may strike your fancy!"
Making a mental note not to be surprised by this annoying (and obviously pre-recorded) pronouncement in the future, I rushed through the tent flaps...
...and straight into the arms of Mr. Oswell.
"Oof!" he exclaimed, taking a step backward into the tent; and breathing shallowly and rapidly, while rubbing the center of his chest, where my head had slammed into it.
Rubbing my own equally-aching forehead, I looked up - to see him staring at me reproachfully - and gasped, "Oh, God! I'm so sorry, Mr. Oswell! Are you okay?"
"Yes," he replied, finally catching his breath. "You just took me by surprise; I was on my way out for the night." He paused for a moment and then added, "I'm sorry, Carly; did I tell you we were opening today?"
Not sure if I was happy that he'd remembered my name, I answered, "Uh, no...and I'm sorry to arrive so late...but I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes. It's really, really important."
After considering for a moment, he nodded, and then turned and walked toward his desk.
I followed.
He removed his slate gray suit jacket and tossed it to one side; and then gestured toward the two chairs that where still directly across from his own...exactly where Sam had left them the previous evening.
I seated myself in the nearer of the two and looked across the desk to see him, with his forearms resting on its surface and his hands clasped together, looking back at me pleasantly and expectantly.
Taking a deep breath, I plunged right in. "Uh, I'm here because my friend Sam has a problem."
Immediately, his eyebrows shot up...
...and realizing that he'd seen right through my half-truth (maybe his brochure really was accurate), I admitted, "Okay, okay...my girlfriend Sam!"
He nodded without answering, and so I continued, "Uh, see, Sam woke up this morning with a...a..."
My voice trailed off...
...and I felt myself beginning to panic.
Sam was right. I always freak out when I have to discuss personal subjects...so how could I possibly discuss something so intimate with a near stranger, I wondered; as I stared, with my eyes silently pleading, for him to help me out.
He appeared to realize that I was having difficulty, because he soon slid a blank piece of paper and a pen across the desk to me.
"Why don't you write it down?" he asked. "Would that be easier for you?"
Nodding my thanks, I managed to scribble a short explanation of the situation (with a badly shaking hand) and then, folding the paper in half, I returned it to him, along with the pen...
...and then I sat there - trembling, and with my heart pounding - as he read in silence.
When he got to the end of my note, his jaw dropped...
...and then, looking up at me with a Very Serious Expression, he asked with concern, "She touched the Bonsen Shaman...didn't she?"
Unsure which part of Sam's penis he was referring to (I didn't remember that term from health class), I replied, "I'm not sure. She always goes into the bathroom by herself."
He gave me a strange look. "Uh, no, Carly, the Bonsen Shaman isn't a part of the male genitalia. Wait here a moment," he advised, standing up, leaving his desk, and disappearing somewhere behind me.
I waited patiently, and a minute later, I heard his footsteps stopping next to my chair.
"This is the Bonsen Shaman," he announced...
…and, looking over to my right, I saw...
...that revolting shrunken head, inches from my face...again!
With a loud, involuntary squeak, I shrank back from the next to last thing I wanted to look at (the last thing being Sam's penis), and shook my head as he held it out to me.
He seemed not to notice this and, reaching forward, he gently took hold of my right wrist, turned my hand palm upward, and set the disgustingly-ugly thing into it.
"No don't let go of it," he directed, blocking my hand with his own as I tried to set the nasty thing on his desk.
Confused, I obeyed (with great reluctance), letting the head...which had once been attached to a living, breathing human being(!)...rest in my hand; staring at it in revulsion, as he walked back around to his side of the desk.
Looking from it to Mr. Oswell, who was now seated across from me once again, I attempted lessen my squeamishness via casual conversation, by remarking, "This thing...he...he looks a lot like a boy Sam and I know."
Mr. Oswell nodded in acknowledgment, but instead of replying to my comment, he said, "Now, I want you to tell me exactly what happened while I was on the phone last night."
Upon hearing this request, my reluctance kicked into high gear and, biting my lower lip, I looked down at the desk top in silence.
"Carly?"
Nervously, I looked back up slowly to see him smiling at me kindly. "You don't have to worry," he said encouragingly. "I'm not angry that she handled it without permission. Now tell me what happened."
"I...c-can't," I faltered.
"Why not?"
I paused to reflect for a moment before answering, "It's...it's complicated."
He smiled. "That's fine. I didn't have any real plans for tonight anyway, so take all the time you need."
Still, the thought of recounting our very personal discussion of periods, etc. in front of him made me squirm in my seat as I replied, "It's not that I'm worried about wasting your time...it's just that the whole thing is kind of...well...embarrassing."
He leaned back in his chair. "I understand but, for the record, I've had many, many clients...with many different types of problems; and as a result, I can guarantee you that I've pretty much 'heard it all'; so there's nothing you can't tell me."
I stopped to consider this, and realizing that every minute I delayed meant another minute of severe physical and emotional suffering for Sam, I caved in and told him.
He refrained from interrupting me during my explanation, merely nodding at several different points in the story; and I ended by saying, "See? What happened was an honest mistake."
He frowned. "Are you sure it was a mistake? Her wish sounds pretty adamant to me."
Slightly exasperated that he didn't seem to comprehend the seriousness of the situation, I replied, "Come on, cut her some slack. Sometimes I wish I was a guy too...but don't punish her for it."
"I'm not punishing her for anything," he answered.
"But...she's still changing into a guy!" I reiterated...
...in a slightly-too-loud tone.
He nodded wisely. "Well, that's understandable. Since Sam said she 'wished sometimes' that she was a guy, then it's reasonable to expect that her transformation will take several days, rather than occurring all at once."
I rolled my eyes. "But...that's not the point! She doesn't really want to be one! You do understand that...don't you?" I asked him hopefully.
"Of course I do," he assured me.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I added, "Well then...I'm here to ask you to change her back into a girl...please."
"I'm afraid I can't do that," he answered flatly.
Grabbing onto the edge of the desk for support with my free hand (because the tent suddenly seemed to start spinning dangerously), I gasped, "Wh-what? Why not?"
"Well, isn't it obvious?" he asked...
...and I lost it.
"No!" I yelled. "It's not! I want her back the way she was...and so does she! You need to fix what you did!"
His eyebrows shot up. "Are you actually suggesting that I did this to her?"
I almost jumped to my feet.
I almost screamed at him to stop fucking with my head (the one that wasn't lying in my palm).
But I didn't.
I was well aware that it wasn't going to help Sam. And nothing was more important than that...
...and so, instead, I plunged my badly-shaking free hand into my overstuffed bag and, after some determined digging, I yanked the brochure he'd recently given me from it. Struggling to keep my voice even, I raised his flyer to eye level and stated, "This says that you can grant wishes. Can't you un-grant them?"
He leaned back in his chair. "Wishes can be very dangerous things; especially when they're not made thoughtfully and deliberately, and in a carefully controlled environment," he explained with a sigh. "You see, I didn't grant Sam's wish. She never asked me to."
Now completely confused (and more than a little frustrated), I asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Carly, I see that you don't understand what's happened here," he answered patiently. "The problem is this: You're trying to get me to reverse a pre-existing wish...one that I never granted in the first place...and that's something that can't really be done."
"Wh-what? Why n-not?" I spluttered.
In response, he nodded toward the shrunken head in my hand and asked, "Have you ever heard the history of the Bonsen Shaman?"
"No..." I began, "...but what the hell does that have to do with-"
I stopped speaking when I saw the expression on his face; and, realizing that what he wanted to tell me was somehow relevant, I (with effort) shut up.
Leaning forward, Mr. Oswell rested his elbows on the desk and put his palms together, surveying me from over the tops of his fingertips before beginning, "Well, the Bonsens were a Spanish-speaking tribe, indigenous to the northern region of South America; who were widely renowned for their profound intellect; and to a lesser degree, for their swordsmanship.
"For as far back as recorded history shows, their little kingdom was, for the most part, a peaceable one; but nearly six hundred years ago, their shaman - or medicine man - whose name was Wredfard, and whose head you're now holding, rose to power. Wredfard was all-knowing, all-seeing, and very powerful...and the Bonsen tribe's enemies - a ruthless band of fierce warriors, known as the Peckutts - were well aware of this.
"To make a long story short, the Peckutts captured and killed Wredfard; partly for revenge, and partly because they thought that by doing so they could harness his supreme intelligence; but instead - and unfortunately - by decapitating him, they ended up scattering the incredible powers of his mind into invisible formations - known as technas - which surround his shrunken head and which can be very dangerous, unless channeled correctl-"
"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "If this Wredfard was all knowing and all-seeing, then why didn't he realize what his enemies were planning?"
Mr. Oswell smiled sagely as he answered, "Because Wredfard made a grievous error. He abandoned his wisdom in favor of passion, and kidnapped Princess Larcotta; who was betrothed to the Peckutt's incredibly violent Chief Warrior, a terrifying brute known as Masantha."
He paused for a moment and then added, "Anyway, the instant Wredfard set eyes upon Princess Larcotta - a maiden of breathtaking beauty - he began thinking with his 'little head' instead of his big one; and, overwhelmed with love and/or lust, he decided that he must have her for his own, no matter what the consequences...and so, he kidnapped her.
"Needless to say, Masantha flew into a rage over this, and as soon as Princess Larcotta had been rescued, poor Wredfard ended up as a shrunken head; and, to make matters worse, instead of merely killing him, Masantha tortured the hell out of him first."
"The Peckutts do sound like a pretty tough bunch," I admitted.
Mr. Oswell nodded. "They were. In fact, at the end of every male member's manhood initiation ceremony, he had to endure circumcision."
I frowned. "But...don't a lot of cultures practice circumcision?"
"It was very unusual for South American tribes of that time period," he replied. "But, in this case, what's really bizarre is that each adult male had to prove his bravery and worthiness by performing circumcision...on himself!"
"Ow!" I yelled. "That's gotta hurt!"
"You're absolutely right," he agreed. "Anyway, Masantha soon realized how dangerous the shrunken head of Wredfard the Bonsen Shaman was, when strange and inexplicable events began to occur, wherever the head was stored; and eventually the clan relinquished possession of it. However, from that time forward, due to their mutual hatred, both tribes vowed to exact their revenge upon each other, at every opportunity, until the end of time."
"So, what happened to the Bonsens and the Peckutts after that?" I asked, surprised at my curiosity.
After a moment's reflection, he replied, "Well, there is evidence that Masantha and Princess Larcotta were married and lived happily ever after; but as to what happened to the two clans, not much is known.
"However, shortly after their feud began, Spanish Conquistadors landed in their territory, and it's thought that the two tribes were slowly assimilated into this new group and eventually converted to Christianity; but even though their ascension from that point is hazy, one thing is known for sure: As long as there's a Bonsen and a Peckutt alive, they're sworn to be mortal enemies"
His story finished, Mr. Oswell leaned back in his chair, resting his hands upon the armrests and watching me from across the table, as I processed the information I'd just heard. After nearly a minute had passed, he spoke again. "I hate to have to tell you this, but due to the reckless nature of Sam's wish, there's no guarantee that she can undo what she asked for."
And, with these words...
...the horrible truth (finally) hit me...
...and gesturing toward the shrunken head that was still in my hand I gasped, "Wait...are you telling me that Sam is turning into a guy...just because she was holding this thing when she made her wish?"
He nodded.
"And not because of anything you did?" I added.
"That is correct," he confirmed...
...and ignoring the painful way my heart suddenly seemed to be twisting in my chest, I asked, "Well then...what can she do to fix this?"
Mr. Oswell was now looking at me with genuine regret as he answered, "Unfortunately, due to the highly complicated circumstances surrounding this wish, there's no guarantee that anything she does can reverse it. However, there are two things you could try."
"S-surgery?" I asked...with great apprehension.
"I'm afraid that surgery wouldn't be effective," he answered. "Due to the adamant way she wished, shortly after removal, her male genitalia would just grow right back."
Horrified, and unable/unwilling to accept this revelation, I jumped to my feet. "That's not true! You don't know that!" I yelled, as loudly as I could.
"Carly, please sit down," he replied with surprising calmness. "I know the history of this head, and the frightening things that it's capable of, which is why I keep it locked up."
He paused.
"But I have the only key...so I don't understand how or why the case was open last night."
Deciding that this probably wasn't the best time to mention Sam's 'mad lock-picking skillz', I took my seat again; and instead asked, very, very politely, "Please, isn't there something you can do for her...anything?"
He shook his head. "I'm afraid not."
Lowering my eyes to the desk top, I found myself fighting back the sudden urge to cry at the very real possibility that Sam would never be the same again; and, as I did, I felt a hand on my arm and looked up to see Mr. Oswell leaning across the desk.
"Look, once again, I have to emphasize that nothing's for certain but as I said before, there are two things that you could try."
"L-like wh-what?" I asked.
He gave me an answer, though not a satisfying one:
"For starters, she should act on her wish."
"What do you mean?" I asked, blinking back tears.
Mr. Oswell pulled a clean, folded handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it across the table to me. As I sat wiping my eyes, he explained, "Well, she said that she wants to be a guy...so now she should act like one. How has she been spending her time since she left my tent?"
"Crying mostly," I replied...handing his handkerchief back to him.
He frowned. "Well that's no good."
"Why not?" I asked. "Guys cry...they just don't admit it."
He nodded in agreement. "Fair enough. But that's certainly not going to help her."
I was confused. "So that's it? She acts like a guy...maybe smokes a cigar and beats the crap out of a few people...and then she'll be back to normal?"
He shook his head. "Not exactly. Considering the seriousness of this situation, that conclusion is way too presumptuous."
"Well, what else can she try that might influence...hey, wait a minute!" I yelled, snatching his brochure off the desk. "I still don't understand why you can't help her...and are you even legit? If you are, then why did you have to ask me for an explanation as to what happened while you were on the phone? Why didn't you already see that?"
"My attention was elsewhere," he answered simply...
...taking me by surprise.
"Okay, fine," I conceded; but then, waving the brochure in his direction, I continued, "But this says that you grant wishes."
"I do."
"Well then," I continued sarcastically, "if that's the case, then why don't I see your new Lamborghini parked outside?"
He ignored my smart-alecky tone and, addressing the question directly, replied, "Because there's more to wishing than that."
"Like what?" I demanded loudly.
"Like helping others."
At these words, I took a deep yet shaky breath...
...realizing that I was coming dangerously close to acting downright obnoxious; and that if I continued to criticize him in this way, I might end up pissing him off...and that would most definitely be counter-productive to helping Sam.
He looked into my eyes with a reflective curiousness, seeming to sense that I was trying to regain my self-control; and we both sat in silence for a minute or two before I asked slowly, "Well then, what's the secret behind you granting wishes? You said something earlier about 'controlled environments'?"
He nodded.
"You see," he explained, "when people come to me for overtly-selfish reasons, such as blatant greed or revenge, I try to discourage them from making those types of wishes. Instead, I point out that unselfishness and love are the most powerful catalysts for making wishes come true...and therefore, those types of wishes are the ones most likely to be granted."
Not fully understanding what he meant I asked, "Can you give me an example?"
Mr. Oswell kept his kindly eyes fixed on me, as if he were studying me...
...as if he were deciding whether to tell me something.
Finally, he spoke.
"Carly," he answered softly, "some people sacrifice their happiness, their possessions, and sometimes even their lives for those they love; wishing only that the other person will be happy. Nothing's more powerful than that." He paused, and then added, "Which brings us to the second thing you could try. I get the impression that you love Sam very deeply."
The tears welling up in my eyes again answered his question...which was fortunate...because at that moment, I was incapable of speaking without bawling...from both fear and frustration.
He nodded.
"I know, I know that you do." He gestured toward my right hand. "Well, as you can see, you're holding the Bonsen Shaman right now; and so, even though there are no guarantees, you could try wishing for what you want...for Sam's sake."
Wiping my eyes with the back of my free hand, I nodded, and then forced myself to look down at the ugly shrunken head in my open palm; and, summoning every single shred of love in my heart, I said in an unsteady voice, "I w-wish that Sam was back the way she was before...not for m-myself...for her...and I'd give anything to see her happy again."
Mr. Oswell nodded his approval.
"Well done. Your wish was obviously very sincere and heartfelt; and I'm going to wrap things up by reminding you again that unselfish wishes, made for others instead of for oneself, especially ones that involve personal sacrifice, are the most worthwhile wishes to make; and the ones most deserving of being granted. And now, it's getting late, and you really should hurry home to Sam."
Realizing that he was right, I placed the shrunken head on the desktop in front of me. Returning Mr. Oswell's brochure to my bag I stood up and extended my hand. As he shook it, I asked, "How much do I owe you?"
He shook his head. "In this case, I did nothing to deserve payment. If your wish does come true, it was solely from your own efforts...not mine."
As I mulled this over, he shrugged his jacket on; and then, after returning the Bonsen Shaman to its case and locking it, he walked around to my side of the desk and held out his arm.
I took it, and we left the tent and stepped out into the foggy night.
Less than five minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a taxi (he'd insisted), and while the driver was waiting for an opening in traffic so he could pull away from the curb, I turned in my seat and watched as Mr. Oswell smiled at me one last time, and then turned and walked away; his light gray jacket soon becoming indistinguishable from the dense, swirling mist that blanketed the entire length of Madison Street...as far as the eye could see.
Minutes later - after paying the driver - I ran into Bushwell Plaza...
...and, ignoring Lewbert's screams that the sound of my breathing had woken him up from his 'beauty sleep', I watched his head land back on the desk with an audible thud, as the elevator doors slid closed.
The instant they opened again, I raced down the hall...
...with my heart racing equally fast...
...struggling to control it, as I wondered if my wish had been successful...
...and had returned Sam to her old self.
However, as eager as I was to find out the answer to this burning question, my attention was soon diverted...
...abruptly.
I had just stopped in front of my apartment entrance and was searching in the pockets of my sweatpants for the key when I heard it...
...distinctly and unmistakeably.
It was a sneeze...
...and it had come from the other side of the Benson's front door.
And I knew Exactly Who it had come from.
Damn him! He's told me that he's not in love with me anymore...more than once...and still, he's stalking me through his peephole!
And then, I nearly dropped my key...
...as I realized that, two nights ago, when Sam and I had returned home from Ocean Shores, we'd stopped here, in front of my door...
...and I had mentioned to her that we had to be careful, because Spencer might be at home...
...and then I'd kissed her...
...right here...
...and not on the cheek.
For more than a minute.
Obviously, Freddie had seen and heard it all; and was now well aware that Sam and I are officially a couple...
...and apparently, this knowledge had 'inspired' his little outburst in the Feminine Hygiene aisle at the GVS.
But, as enlightening as this new revelation was, it really didn't matter at the moment...
...because there were far more pressing issues at hand.
Making a mental note to deal with Freddie later...severely...I let myself into my apartment, locking the door behind me...
...and then I tore upstairs...
...stopping only to read the note that I found taped to the outside of my bedroom door.
Kiddo:
Staying at Socko's tonight...he needs me to help assemble his new bed. Back home around 4 tomorrow afternoon. Call me if you need anything.
XOXOX,
Spencer
And then, heart hammering, I slowly opened my bedroom door.
It was pitch black inside. Obviously, Sam had turned the lights out and gone to sleep early.
Tiptoeing across to my bed, I turned my table lamp on to its lowest setting, which provided just enough light to see by, but not enough to wake her up. As I'd guessed, she was lying on her back, with her face turned away from me...over on the far side of the bed...sound asleep.
It was fine. The candy could wait until tomorrow.
Crossing the room to my dresser, I opened my bag - with shaking hands - and carefully laid out everything I'd bought for her...
...slowly and deliberately.
Over and over, I rearranged the display of candy...
...cursing myself all the while for being so cowardly that I was delaying the inevitable...
...but finally, realizing that I couldn't put it off any longer...
...I nervously walked back across the room...
...over to Sam's side of the bed...
...and, while saying a silent yet fervent prayer...
...I slowly lifted the covers from her body and peeked underneath...