One day when I was feeling lazy, I saw something across the room that I wanted, but I didn’t feel like getting up to fetch it. I thought about how the Jedi in Star Wars could bring something to themselves using their mental powers. Such an ability could come in handy at times, right? Further musings brought me to this story, which was published in the 2024 Eckerd Review.
Please enjoy!
Camille’s life changed dramatically when she learned she could bring things to herself with a sigh. At first, these things happened by accident, and she had no clue that anything unusual had occurred. She considered herself to be merely the victim of small lapses of memory or the recipient of occasional good luck.
Like when she found that charming little music box at the flea market. A starving student, she frequented flea markets and yard sales where she could indulge in her compulsion to shop while spending very little money. That day, she walked through the shed, scanning each booth, when she spotted it.
This music box was a real find, made of wood, with a little bluebird on the lid. She picked it up and turned the key. It began to tinkle out a tune she’d heard before, but its title escaped her. This was not one of those mass-produced trinkets sold at Wal-Mart. No, this was the real thing. If not an antique, it came close. It reminded her of a gift she’d received from her grandmother when she was nine.
The vendor wanted ten dollars and refused to haggle. “It’s worth more than ten,” he insisted, turning it over and pointing to a tiny label. “See—‘Made in France’—a collector’s item.”
Camille had already spent most of her money and had only seven dollars in her purse. She fished in her pockets for three more. She handed the money to the man and reached for the music box.
“There’s tax.”
“Huh?”
He pointed to the sign on the post behind him. Large letters announced, “We collect 7% sales tax on all purchases.” At the bottom was a tax number.
“But this is all I’ve got!”
“Sorry, lady.” One hand pushed away her money and the other shielded the music box. “There’s an ATM over by the restrooms.”
As badly as she wanted that music box, she was not about to pay an ATM fee for a mere seventy cents. She sighed resignedly. As she stuffed the ten dollars back into her purse, something told her to check the change pocket. She knew it was empty because she’d spent her last pennies on a paperback novel, but she zipped it open anyway. Exactly seventy cents! For the life of her, she couldn’t explain how the money got there. She bought the music box.
Then there was the time she found her collapsible umbrella in her backpack when she was sure she’d left it in the car. After a storm the day before, she’d tossed the wet umbrella onto the floor of the passenger seat. That morning, she bemoaned the fact that it was still damp. Since she didn’t want to carry a wet umbrella around all day, she left it behind. Or so she thought.
Thunder boomed during her last class. At the building’s entrance, she encountered a downpour. I have to go to work! There was no time to go home, dry off, change clothes, and make it there on time. Nor could she wait for the rain to cease. With a sigh, she shifted her backpack to her chest to shield it with her body. At least her books could stay dry.
What was this? Something poked up inside. Her umbrella! Still damp, it was tucked into one of those umbrella bags she’d seen at the entrance of stores but never bothered to use. How did this happen? Thanking her lucky stars, she opened the umbrella and dashed to her car.
Was she losing her mind? Aunt Mildred had succumbed to Alzheimer’s when she was only in her fifties. At her aunt’s funeral, Camille’s mother and grandmother debated on whether Alzheimer’s ran in the family. Afterward, her mother would fly into a tizzy whenever she forgot something.
Fortunately, the pizzeria where Camille worked was too busy that evening for her to continue fretting. Besides, her mind remained clear enough at school and work to reassure her that she was okay. She began to regard these little events as fortuitous. Was “Someone” looking out for her?
Saturday morning after a party, Camille woke to her roommate’s fussing and fumbling in the kitchen. “Damn!” Dianne said. “I forgot to buy coffee and we’re all out. Will you go to the store? This headache’s killing me.”
Camille sighed. She wasn’t anxious to go shopping this early in the morning. On a whim, she opened the freezer compartment of the refrigerator. Tucked behind the ice cream and frozen peas was a bag of coffee.
“Bless you!” Dianne said. “You saved my life.”
Camille began to wonder if she had any control over these happenings. One day she wanted to fix a sandwich but only one heel of bread was left in the wrapper. She sighed and opened the breadbox again. A fresh loaf grinned at her. This frightened her so much that she consciously refrained from sighing again.
That is, until her cell phone battery ran down. She had exchanged numbers with Austin, a nice-looking fellow in statistics class, so they could “study” together. One day he called about a formula he needed help with.
“I’m driving to work right now,” she told him as the phone began to beep.
“Okay, why don’t we meet…” The phone went dead.
“Oh, no!” She pulled over, intending to plug the phone into its charger, but it wasn’t dangling from the cigarette lighter where it should have been. She remembered loaning it to Dianne. Sitting back with a sigh, she opened the glove compartment. Her phone charger fell out. She plugged it in and returned Austin’s call.
After this, whenever she found herself in a tight spot, she didn’t hesitate to sigh. But were there limits to her gift? She didn’t want to waste it. Or depend on it too heavily. Or be too frivolous. That is, until she found another music box at the flea market.
The same vendor had one that played “Edelweiss.” The lid was painted with little white flowers. This time he’d gone up on his price. Camille didn’t feel like dealing with him and walked away. As she entered the next pavilion, she sighed. “I’d buy it from anyone else.” Halfway down the aisle, at a different booth, she spotted it. Was this the same music box or an identical one? She picked it up and turned the key. As “Edelweiss” jingled over and over, she managed to get this vendor to come down from fifteen dollars to twelve. And no sales tax.
Camille immediately took her purchase to the car, not wanting to be caught with it, just in case the sales-tax vendor claimed it was stolen. As she walked through the first building again, she avoided eye contact with the man but glanced at his table. His music box was gone.
Guilt prevented her from sighing for anything else. That is, until the brakes in her car gave out.
The traffic light turned yellow, her brake pedal went clear to the floor, and Camille sailed through the red light. Fortunately, drivers on the cross street were slow to proceed. She had the presence of mind to use her emergency brake, pull into a parking space, and stop. When she was able to breathe again, she called Austin. He brought her some brake fluid, filled the reservoir, and drove her car to Tires Plus while she followed in his.
The mechanic gave her an estimate which came to more than she had in the bank. And rent was due. Dianne had her own money worries and couldn’t help. Camille hadn’t known Austin long enough to borrow from him. What was she to do? She hated to call her parents and listen to yet another lecture on responsibility.
As she logged into her bank’s website, she sighed. It showed a balance over $800! How? She tried to call the bank and finally reached a human being. “Are you sure that’s correct?” she asked.
“Yes,” the clerk answered. “I see a deposit made today.”
“So I can spend it?”
“Of course.”
She got her brakes fixed.
Camille never thought to question where the objects or money came from. Until Dianne found cash missing. At the grocery store checkout that day, Camille was short about eight dollars. As usual, her bank account was no help.
“Do you want to put something back?” the cashier asked. Camille sighed and put her hand into her pocket where she found a ten-dollar bill. The cashier turned it over and remarked, “This must have been special to someone.” Only then did Camille notice the pink heart, pierced by an arrow, on the bill, and some writing she didn’t have time to decipher.
At the apartment, Dianne was turning her bedroom upside down. “I’ve misplaced some money,” she said.
“How much?”
“A ten-dollar bill Jimmy gave me for our anniversary.”
“Anniversary?”
“We’ve been dating for ten weeks. He drew a heart on it and wrote, ‘Happy Anniversary.’ He told me to buy myself something. I thought that was so sweet.”
Camille didn’t dare tell Dianne about the money she’d found in her pocket. What would Dianne think? If Camille could have retrieved the bill from the store, she would have. She was tempted to sigh for it, but wouldn’t the cashier have to make up for the shortage in her drawer? Instead, after she got paid, she took Dianne to the flea market.
The man who collected sales tax had yet another music box, but Camille had resolved to spend money on Dianne, not herself. She told Dianne about the other two she’d bought. “Maybe if this music box is still here when I come back, I’ll buy it.”
“Are you collecting them?” Dianne asked.
Camille thought a moment. “Yeah, I guess I am.” Again, she remembered the one she had as a child, a snow globe set atop a music box that played “Lara’s Theme.” What had become of it? Her mother had thrown out so many things, had that been among them? She sighed. When she got home, the musical snow globe sat on the shelf between the two music boxes she’d bought.
That’s when trouble began.
The next day, the snow globe was gone. She sighed, and it came back.
Friday night on her way home from work, Camille saw flashing blue lights in her rear-view mirror. She glanced at her speedometer. “I’m not speeding!” She ignored the cop until he put on his siren.
She pulled over and opened her window. When he walked up, she recognized him. He occasionally dined at the pizzeria, and every time, he found something to complain about. Besides, he was a lousy tipper. She hastily took off her name tag and asked as sweetly as she could, “What’s the problem, officer?”
“Do you know you have a burned-out tail light?”
“Uh, no, sir.”
“Do you know you could get a ticket for that?”
“For a burned-out taillight?”
“Let me see your license and registration.”
The registration was in the glove box. Camille heard a sharp intake of breath when she reached for it. What—was he afraid she was reaching for a gun? He frowned when she handed it to him. Then she took out her wallet. Where was her driver’s license? She always kept it in the window pocket, but it wasn’t there! When had she last taken it out? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember. She searched every pocket of her wallet, then emptied it and went through all of her cards. No license. She dumped out her purse, then checked the glove compartment, to no avail.
Meanwhile, the officer shifted from one foot to another and cleared his throat.
“I can’t find it!”
“Wait here.” He took her registration and returned to his squad car. After what seemed like an hour, he returned with a ticket book. “I’m not going to cite you for the tail light, but I can’t let you drive without a license. You need to call someone to come get you.”
“But sir, I have a license. I just can’t find it.”
“I’ve heard that story before. Are you going to make the call or do I need to take you in?”
Camille gasped. She called a sleepy-sounding Dianne.
The officer handed her the ticket and her registration. “Don’t try driving until you get your license. I’ll be watching for you. And get that tail light fixed.”
When Dianne arrived, Camille had another conundrum—what to do with her car?
She had to leave it.
When she got home, she sighed with relief. Why didn’t I think of this before? She sighed again and her license reappeared.
The next day, Dianne drove her back for her car. It was gone!
“Probably got towed,” Dianne said.
Camille called several places before she located the car. She’d just been paid, but the towing fee took a big chunk of it. When Dianne took her to the tow lot, her license was missing again. How? She sighed for it, but no sooner was it in her hands than it vanished again. Fortunately, they accepted her student card for identification.
The next day, she sighed for her license to come back so she could drive to work. She kept an eye open for police, dreading what might happen should her license disappear again.
Monday, when she went to the courthouse to settle her ticket, it was gone again. She had to pay the fine, then go to the driver’s license office for a replacement. Not only was there a fee, the new photo made her look drunk. Although tempted, she decided against wishing for more money.
A few days later, a man showed up at their apartment. When Dianne answered the door, he looked past her to Camille.
“There’s the young lady I came to see.” He strode in without being invited.
Camille was sure she’d never seen this man before. He had black hair, graying at the temples, high cheekbones, and piercing black eyes. Yes, he was a total stranger. How did he know who she was?
His face softened to a smile. “My name is Ben Pathfinder.” He handed Camille her original driver’s license and said, “We need to talk.”
Camille’s hands shook as she poured him a glass of iced tea. They sat in the kitchen. Dianne settled in the living room in front of the TV.
Before she could ask how he got her license, Ben began, “I’d like to have my granddaughter’s snow globe back.”
How did he know about the snow globe? “But… but it’s mine! I had it when I was a little kid.”
“Maybe, but I bought it at an antique store for my granddaughter.” He took a sip of tea and leaned back. “Look, I know you have the power to bring things to yourself. I do, too.”
Camille could not speak.
“This comes in handy at times, but you have to be careful. You wouldn’t want to end up in jail for possession of stolen goods, now,would you?”
Her jaw dropped. That had never occurred to her!
“I was a teenager when I discovered what I could do.” He grinned. “I thought I was king of the world. I could have anything my heart desired. And I did, for a while. When my parents started asking where I got stuff, I began to tell lies and hide things.”
He picked up his glass, sipped, and set it down. “Then my friends wanted to start a band, so I wished for an electric guitar. Unfortunately, it came with someone’s name on it. That was my wake-up call. One of my band members recognized the name and freaked out. I didn’t know how to send something back, so one night I left the guitar on the owner’s porch.”
Camille shook her head. “I didn’t know anyone else could do this.”
“There aren’t many of us, fortunately. Can you imagine the chaos if everyone could? You see, nothing new comes into existence. Everything you bring to yourself comes from somewhere.”
“Really?” Camille related her own story.
Ben nodded through the telling. “You have to be careful. You don’t want to rob an innocent person, like Dianne. The money that came into your bank account probably came from someone else’s.”
Camille gasped. “I’ll never do it again!”
“Oh, you can call something of your own, like your umbrella. Or a lost or thrown away object that no one wants anymore, but you need to be certain about it, and that’s hard. Best not use your ability for personal gain.”
“How else could I use it?”
“Well, say a lady had her purse snatched. The thief would take the cash and throw everything else into a garbage can. To retrieve the purse for her would be a good deed.”
Camille pondered this. “What about the money?”
“It would serve the thief right to pull the money out of his pocket. But what if he’d already spent it? You’d risk taking money from a legitimate merchant. Some calls are hard to make.”
Camille nodded.
“When I matured enough to understand I had harmed other people, I did my best to make reparations.”
“How?”
“I made a list of everything I remembered taking and tried to find ways to pay them back. If not with money, then by doing something for my victims, or helping someone else with them in mind.”
“Did you ever tell them?”
“Mostly, no. Only those who were aware of what I’d done. Making amends was my private penance.”
Camille thought for a moment. “Why do I sigh when I bring something?”
“That’s just your trigger. I blink my eyes three times.”
“What happens if I tell someone else my secret?”
“That won’t affect anything. Just be careful who you tell. You won’t make any friends. Most people won’t believe you, even if you materialize something right before their eyes. And some would want you to use it unwisely. You’ll find your gift to be quite a burden.”
Yes, she could see that. “But why did you take my license?”
“I had to track you down somehow.”
“I’m glad you did.” Without another word, Camille went to her room and returned with the musical snow globe.
Ben accepted it graciously. He gave Camille his phone number. “Call me if you ever have questions.”
Dianne had been curious about Ben’s visit. After some deliberation, Camille told her the whole story. Dianne’s face grew skeptical, then twisted into a wry smile. “You’re kidding, right?”
Camille sighed. A book from Dianne’s bedside stand appeared on the table in front of them.
“Shit!” Dianne jumped up and ran from the room.
Camille followed. “Do you want your ten dollars back?”
Dianne shielded herself with her hands. “No. You used it for groceries. I ate them, too.”
Neither broached the subject again. Shortly afterward, Dianne moved out. Camille understood how her ability could indeed be a burden.
How could she pay back what she’d taken? She didn’t know how to trace the money. She added it up and decided to give the funds to charity, a little at a time, as finances permitted. On her next visit to the flea market, she bought the tax-collecting vendor’s last music box for the exorbitant price he asked. When she got home, she set it on the shelf with the others.
Weeks passed. Camille’s collection lost its charm. The music boxes collected dust.
She called Ben. “Would your granddaughter like some more music boxes?”
“I’m sure she would.”
A few days later, Ben arrived with a little girl in tow.
“Your grandpa told me you like music boxes. I used to collect them.” Camille wound the one with the white flowers. “This song is called ‘Edelweiss.’” While the child’s eyes danced to the music, Camille packed the others in a box. “I want you to have these.”
“Oh, thank you!”
Camille sighed. She had made a friend.
marieqrogers 