Alyssa Duran- Week 4- Story 6- Mini Workshop

What He Wanted

Mr. Pickard had never gotten what he wanted. For this reason he was a rather average man who was never selfish or expecting. When he passed little window shops he would often think, “I would really like to have that.” Yet, as he thought that he knew deep inside that he would never get it. The woman he married was not the woman he had wanted to marry. He had to settle for frumpy Angela Buford over the blond bombshell Sandy McCain. Sandy had loved him too, but circumstance had it that when he had decided he wanted to marry her she had moved to Fiji with her family who had required her help in a new business venture. Dealings like this happened often in the world of Mr. Pickard.
Yet, life went on for the average Mr. Pickard. Everyday he picked up the paper from his porch in his little blue bathrobe and walked back into his rickety home. He had wanted the lovely little cottage home down the block, but it sold an hour before he called to make an offer. He walked back in, poured himself a cup of smoking black coffee and settled himself in his tattered chair to read. He did not have to go to work for another two hours. Mrs. Pickard walked in and greeted her husband with a raspy voice. Her curlers were in her hair and her right slipper had a hole in it. She pulled out a cigarette and held it between her lips. “Anything good in that thing?” She questioned him, gesturing her head toward the newspaper, the cigarette bouncing with her head. Mr. Pickard nodded in the negative. “Just as I figured.” She sighed. “Nothing ever good happening in this town. Nothing’ ever good happening’ in this family. You say you want yourself a baby and we try and I still ain’t throwin’ up. Can’t you stop wantin’ one so I can have it?”
“I could try.” Mr. Pickard said shyly. His wife intimidated him. She looked like a stereotypical washed out housewife who was constantly angry at her life. She knew of his curse. “I’ve always wanted a kid though, dear. You know that. If it has to be with you, then so be it, as long as it’s had.” Mrs. Pickard glared at her husband with vicious eyes and stalked back to the bedroom where she would begin to watch the first of her morning soap operas. Since she had started on those no housework had ever gotten done.
Mr. Pickard flipped through the pages to the classified page. There were offerings for quaint cottage homes, a home he had always dreamed of, but he dared not try to get one of those. It would surely be sold when he found one he wanted, just like the last. There were jobs for secretaries and cabinet filers. He wondered why his wife didn’t take a job. He had wanted to be an architect once, but that didn’t happen because no school that had an architecture program had accepted him.
He scanned through the pages, curiously looking at all the little needs of people he had never met. He scanned the advertisements listed on the bottom: come to the supermarket, buy some toothpaste, get your teeth done by the new dentist downtown and so on and so forth. Mr. Pickard was becoming rather irritable at boring advertisements. For once, he thought, why couldn’t there be something interesting? And suddenly, there was. In the corner labeled in a faded red was an advertisement for a man who could grant wishes: one wish for three hundred dollars. Interested, Mr. Pickard looked up the number on the bottom of the advertisement and phoned the moment he got to work two hours later.
“Hello, this is Nomad’s Wishing Service, we grant you one wish and you pay us money. Would you like to talk to a representative for any inquiries, or schedule an appointment?”
“I’ll talk to a representative, please.” Mr. Pickard answered quickly. He was surprised at the fast talking voice on the other line. The man put him on hold for a moment and then the phone was answered by a cheery voice lady.
“Hello, how can I help you today?”
“Is this a scam?” Mr. Pickard noticed his voice rise in anger as if he thought already that it was.
“We don’t scam, sir. We can make you an appointment and we do take walk-ins. If you do not get your wish granted in three days in the way you expected we offer a full money back guarantee within a thirty day time period. That’s enough time to discover your wish. If you’d like to see for yourself, why not just come in and try it out?” Mr. Pickard did want to try and for this want he feared somewhere he would not make it to the office. However, during his lunch hour he had successfully made it through the front doors. There were people in line waiting in front of a series of caged windows like bank tellers. The line on his left contained a considerable amount of people, but the sign above was labeled “THIS LINE TO REGISTER.” Mr. Pickard waited in this line for a considerable amount of time behind a rather obese woman who seemed to have more than one bottom and an unmanageable amount of gas. When he made it to the window, a sad woman handed him a clipboard that required him to fill out many forms explaining everything from his allergies to general pet peeves.
When his papers were done he had to stand in a second line to turn them in and was then directed to a third “wishing line” which was, according to the man, his last stop. When he reached the window a chubby, bulbous nosed fellow in a pin-striped suit greeted him and typed his name into a computer.
“You were in that line a while, they were able to get everything in.” The old man chuckled. “I’m Walter Matthews, Mr. Pickard. I’m your Wish-Granter. Should you have in questions, I’ll be the one you call. Now, are you ready to make your wish?”
“Yes, of course I’m ready!” Mr. Pickard nearly leapt. “This really works?”
“Sure. Now, you seem to be a rather well off man. You have a nice little home, and we could use that as collateral if you choose not to pay. Are you willing to use that as your general collateral? After, all these wishes aren’t cheap.” Mr. Pickard nodded in accordance, now understanding that this place held similarities of a bank. He was made to sign a general contract holding his house as collateral. “Now, your credit rating does make you eligible for,” Mr. Matthews typed in a bit and then shook his head, “only one wish I’m afraid. You can use that now, if you’d like.”
Mr. Pickard thought a bit and then nodded in glee. “I’ll take it. All these years I’ve never been able to get anything I’ve wanted. My wish, then, is that I’d like to get what I want, from now on.”
“Alright, then, let me print out that wish in a document…and you can sign here please. Now, the moment you sign this, your wish comes into effect. There are no refunds if you are anything but dissatisfied. And even then, it is only a thirty day guarantee. After that, your wish is your own, forever. Do you understand?” Mr. Pickard nodded. “Good. There are absolutely no exchanges. And we hope you like your wish.” Mr. Matthews handed the pen to Mr. Pickard who eagerly signed the paper. Mr. Pickard was officially granted his one wish.
The moment Mr. Pickard walked out the door he got a phone call from his wife. “I went to the doctor this morning. After you left, I felt a little ill. I thought I might be getting a cold, or that damn flu that the neighbors had last week. I thought maybe I’d go and get medicine for it now, you know, just in case. Well, the doctor thought something different and he took a test. Oh, you won’t guess, I’ll just tell you. I’m pregnant!” Mr. Pickard jumped for joy and skipped to the curb to hail a taxi. He shouted at the taxi cab driver that he was going to have a baby as soon as he got in the car. The man congratulated him without enthusiasm.
On his way back to work, Mr. Pickard began to reminisce about the happenings in his life. The first thing to pop into his head was the blond bombshell Sandy McCain. What if she was his wife instead of his frumpy one? What if Sandy had stayed and it was she that was pregnant? What if they were a happy little family living in that little cottage? If he asked for it, perhaps he would get it. He wanted it bad enough. In his head, he asked for all those things he thought of. Unfortunately, by the time he got back to his office and called his wife again, it was the same old woman. He still had Mr. Matthews card in his pocket, so he phoned him instead, asking about his slight confusion.
“Your wish was not a wish that required any real magic, Mr. Pickard. You wanted your wife to get pregnant, so she is. That can be done easily enough. But, if you want your wife to change beings completely, that cannot happen. You must figure out a more realistic approach to your dilemma.” Mr. Pickard thought about Mr. Matthew’s explanation and decided to take his next want more simply. First, he wanted to see and be with Sandy McCain.
The evening passed quietly. His wife was the happiest Mr. Pickard had ever seen. The next morning he was told there was someone in his office waiting to meet with him. When he walked in he saw the bright, voluptuous figure of Sandy McCain. “Oh, Daniel, you’re here!” Sandy walked up to him, smelling like flowers, and grabbed him around his waist. “I’ve thought about you every day since I left. I got the biggest urge to fly here and find you, after all these years! You don’t look a day older, either. Oh, how I wanted to marry you.” She flipped back her curly hair and straightened her short, cherry skirt.
“Sandy!” Mr. Pickard yelped with glee. “Oh, I had the greatest urge to see you. I didn’t know if you were still away.”
“Why, of course. I became so wrapped up with that place I kept going with my parents business. I loved it, but never as much as I loved you. Oh, Daniel, it is a pleasure. Are you married now?” With that question, Mr. Pickard’s face turned pale and he sat in his chair, sniffing.
“Yes, yes, unfortunately I am. I don’t want to be. I married ugly old Angela Buford. She’s havin’ my kid.”
“Angela Buford, you, and a baby? That’s so much to take in. All these years I should have guessed a fellow as handsome as you’d get snatched up, but to Angela? Are you sure it’s your kid?”
“Now I wish it wasn’t. I’d like it if she left, then, perhaps, you and I could get back together? I’d really like that. It’s something I’d want more than anything!”
“Sure. Of course you and I could get together. But you and Angela, there’s a baby to think of, you know.”
Mr. Pickard and Sandy McCain spent the day together. Mr. Pickard wished for the day off and he was granted his want. They traversed the park and ate a hardy dinner. They made love in a rather expensive hotel room. Mr. Pickard had never felt so exhilarated in all his days. He wanted his time to keep going. So it did. He went home that night to find a note from his wife saying she had been having an affair and she knew it was not his child and she was leaving forever. He nearly jumped for joy until he found out she had taken most of the living room furniture, including his favorite chair. He wanted that back, but decided he could use his wish to get a better chair.
He phoned Sandy McCain who moved in with him that night, several bags in tow. They stayed in bed most of the morning. Mr. Pickard decided that night he wanted to win the lottery. He walked into the store the next morning and bought a ticket and by that evening as the radio chimed the numbers he found himself to be a multimillionaire. He quickly sold his home and bought a better cottage, carrying more the description of a mansion, in the richest part of town and he and Sandy McCain moved in. He bought Sandy a rather gaudy engagement ring and seven months later Sandy McCain became Sandy Pickard. Ten months after that and they had twins by the names of Lucy and Jeremy Pickard.
Eventually, he came to trust his wife enough to tell her about Nomad’s Wishing Service. She was not one to believe him until he proved it to her by a couple of wants, by explaining to her his sudden turn of good luck by finding him and winning the lottery, and then by taking her to the Service office and leading her in. He introduced her to Mr. Matthews who was slightly more aged than the previous visit. Mr. Matthews explained everything in depth to the new Mrs. Pickard and she left a firm believer. She promised she would never tell should any enemy choose to use it against him.
Life could not be better for Mr. Pickard who was now the most idolized fellow of most of the northern state. Over time he came to consider the wish part of his day to day lifestyle, forgetting that whatever it was he wanted actually came about. One morning he woke up with a terribly sore throat and by the evening his fever was so high and his throat was so swollen he couldn’t even speak very clearly. His wife came in to visit him, bringing him a bowl of soup and pills to calm the fever.
“You have to eat, my love.” She cooed in his ear, feeding him little table spoons of the juice from the soup. “I’d hate to be as sick as you.” He smiled a little as he glanced at his adoring wife. “I’d just want to die.” She laughed a little, a small joke in her eyes. “Oh, my love, how sad I am for you!”
“You’re right, Sandy,” Mr. Pickard slowly spoke with a raspy voice, his humor still intact below his ill exterior, “I know, if I want it gone, I’ll be better by morning. But these are the simple pleasures in life. It builds your immune system.” He chuckled a little which quickly turned into a hacking cough. When that subsided, he slowly quipped, “You’re right, my darling, I’m so ill I’d rather be dead.”
Mr. Pickard opened his eyes wide and clutched his chest. He took in one last breath and reached to touch the face of his beautiful wife who lurched back a little. “Be careful what you wish for, honey, you should have wanted me to love you, not just be around, instead you made it only what you wanted and how you felt, and you forgot to think it through. You lied and then told me your weak spot with the wish. I have to end my curse.” His final look was one of disbelief and utter hurt as he fell dead on his pillow. Mrs. Pickard smiled.