Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes Read Online Free Page B

putting it off, but Rome wasn’t built in a day and a sourdough starter took a week to create. I was gaining my independence after twenty-four years. I didn’t need to rush into it all at once.
    After I paid the bill, I stood on the sidewalk in indecision. I wasn’t ready to go home yet. My other option was to find a pay phone and call Violet. I knew she or Mike would come and take me to their place for the night, and I found myself sorely tempted. But if I called Violet, she would be rescuing me and part of my new independence meant rescuing myself. I needed to stand on my own two feet and be a grown up. Loitering in the sweltering heat at the corner of Ivy Road and Madison Avenue, the cold, harsh reality slammed into me hard. Yes, I could blame Momma for my dependence, but I had to take some of the responsibility, too. I was a grown woman. I let her treat me that way.
    I picked option three and walked to the nearby city park to stall longer. I passed between the concrete monoliths flanking the entrance, feeling prickly and a little trapped by the wrought iron fence that skirted the edge. I had to admit my vision made me a bit skittish, but I shook it off. In the vision, I was dead on Momma’s sofa and presently, I was nowhere near Momma’s sofa. Technically, it meant I was safe so I wandered to the small pond in of the middle the park. Azalea bushes surrounded the path, the blooms now faded and scattered amongst the gravel. A half dozen benches lined the trail, but walking helped my restlessness. I followed the path around the periphery, surprised there weren’t more people milling around.
    The crunch under my feet soothed my growing paranoia, but the image of my vision popped into my mind again. I shook my head and tried to chase it away. I hoped it wasn’t true, but what if it was? But I couldn’t just sit around and wait for Daniel Crocker to kill me. The only course of action I could come up with at the moment was to never sit on Momma’s sofa again.
    All the thoughts of my impending murder made me face the undeniable proof of my mortality. There were so many things I’d dreamed of doing. If I died, I’d never get a chance to try any of them. Violet was right. I was frittering my life away.
    An epiphany burst into my mind, nearly knocking me over with the enormity of it. I would create a list, a list of things I wanted to do before I died.
    I found a bench and dug through my purse, grabbing a pen and a Wal-Mart receipt. I stared at the paper. There were lots of things I wanted to do.
    Number one was a decision I’d already made. Get a cell phone . I dug out a library book, placed the receipt on top and wrote my first item. Then I smiled, a smug smile full of pride. Another of the Seven Deadly Sins. How many could I commit in one day? I briefly considered adding them, but I wasn’t sure I could go through with lust. Besides, the desire to act out all the sins in a twenty-four hour period just seemed wrong. I needed to space them out more. Maybe a week. Number two: Commit all Seven Deadly Sins in one week .
    I felt very wicked. This was how the road to ruin started. One minute you’re exasperating your Momma by not turning off your alarm, the next you’re plotting the damnation of your soul. But then again, according to Momma, my soul was already damned. Number two stayed.
    New rule: once the item got on the list, the only way it could be marked off was if I’d done it.
    After number two, the list poured out. Get cable TV. Get my own place. Buy some makeup. Visit a beauty salon. Get a pedicure. Ride in a convertible. Drink a glass of wine. Drink a beer. Go to a bar. Dance. Get a boyfriend. Kiss a man. Do more with a man . (That was all I could bring myself to say.) Get a dog. Dress like a princess .
    I continued to write, my words getting smaller as I got closer to the bottom of the receipt. Wear high heels. Wear a lacy bra and panties. Eat Chinese food. Go to Italy. Learn to knit. Ride a motorcycle. Fly in