Wishes
by
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The Boston tragedy Ever since we were little children we were taught to make a wish and it would come true. Remember those birthday parties, everyone was telling you, “Blow out the candles and make a wish!” My wishes always came true. I don’t know how anyone knew what I wanted, but I always got what I wished for. Many times my high school sweetheart and I wished on a shooting star or a car with only one headlight. It must have worked, because we ended up getting married. I’m 36 years old now, and I still wish for things, but it’s more in the form of day-dreaming than wishing not that there is a big difference between the two. How many times have you heard someone say, “Make a wish, but don’t tell anyone or it won’t come true.” That could be why we chose to hide our wishes and dreams deep in our private thoughts, hidden away from others and reserved just for us. What I am about to tell you is the result of a wish/dream that became a reality and almost cost me my life. But, let me start at the beginning and you’ll understand what happened. It all began in late September, in a small town about forty miles north of Boston. I was cutting the grass in the front yard of our Victorian style home, built around 1871, and I had stopped to rest and was looking at the beautiful piece of land this house set-on. I couldn’t help but wonder what it must have looked like when it was new, and what life was like back then. Being a Yeoman back in 1871 must have been exciting and a lot more challenging than being a computer program engineer, like I was. I guess it’s time I introduced myself and set the scene for what lies ahead. My name is John Lynch, and I am a senior computer systems programmer for a major company located in Boston. We deal primarily with computer programs used by hospitals all over the country. I grew up only 4 miles from where my office is located and I graduated from Northeastern University, here in Boston, with a degree in computer science. I married my high school sweetheart Lorraine, and we have two daughters and an old Victorian style home on two acres of land that once was one of the largest farms in all of Georgetown. Well that’s who I am, and I’m very fortunate to have so much. I love my wife and kids and as for the job, it’s a handful, but it pays the bills. Today is Saturday, September 30, 2006 and I’m starting the weekend off by cutting the grass, hopefully, for the last time this year. I know when I finish
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About the Book
The story tells of the dangers of wishing that things were of a simpler time. After a near death accident our hero is rendered comatose, but shares a division of his unconsciousness with another time and place. What he believes to be reality is anything but. The joy of love; brings pain and sorrow that he must overcome. And then the endless toil of being a yeoman must be endured on the way back to his true reality. The question is will he ever get there?
About the Author
Chronologically speaking I grew up during the Great Depression and the hardships of World War II. I graduated from high school three months after the Korean War ended. Got married and had a bus load of kids. Now I am retired and live in Florida to write books that no one will ever read. But, life wasn’t always that simple. During the 1930’s the country had more than its share of communicable disease, and I was on the receiving end of one of them; it was called scarlet fever. It left my sister with a small heart murmur, and for me there was no tell tail signs of any problems until I entered the first grade. Sister Catherine would set aside fifteen minutes every afternoon for all the children to take a timeout. We would put our heads down on the desk, close our eyes and pretend to sleep. It was then I realized there was a whole world of sounds all around me. With my ear to the desk I could hear people walking in the hallway and what sounded like the janitor opening the door to the school furnace and shoveling in coal. I became so fascinated with these new sounds I took every opportunity to put my head down on the desk, and makeup stories that would go with these new sounds. Well Sister Catherine, sent a note home to my mother stating I was in dire need of more sleep. So my mother being the caring loving woman she was put me to bed every night at 6 o’clock. Why is that important, because I used that time to imagine all kinds of stories, and I’m still doing it today. It would be another seven years before anyone, even me, realized I was hearing impaired.