Wishful thinking

 

wishful thinking1

It started out quite innocently, as these things often do. I thought I was lucky; life seemed to smile on me in small ways. Then I realised there was a pattern and that freaked me out a little. And now – well, let me explain.

When I was eight years old I was the second smartest girl in the class. Maria Hernandez always managed to do that little bit better than me. Her mother was a GP and her father was a top oncologist. For the record, my mother was a shop assistant and my father was a coal miner. Not that I’m saying my inferior intelligence was their fault. But still. I discovered a couple of years ago that Maria Hernandez went on to become one of the world’s leading neurosurgeons. I’m a teacher. As I said, there was no way I was ever going to outsmart Maria. How I envied her. How I wished she didn’t go to my school. And then one morning she came in and told us she was leaving; her father had got a new job at the other end of the country. She left two weeks later. Suddenly I was the smartest girl in the class. My eight year old self was delighted.

Fast forward five years to High School. I was one of the cleverest kids in our year. Three or four of us battled it out for top place in every subject and I was right up there with the best of them. But when the exam results came in, this one boy, Frederick Bosomworth, always managed to win the First in Year prize, leaving me in second place. How I envied him. How I resented it when I heard one of our classmates say,

“Yeah, Judith’s smart. But we all know Fred’s smarter.”

I knew it was true. And I wished he would disappear, just like Maria Hernandez had. And then one day, he did. Just like Maria’s family, Fred’s family moved away. And I became First in Year. I felt so lucky.

It was different at university. I knew from the outset that there were lots of students smarter than me. I’d gone from being a big fish in a little pond to being a just another little fish. But we were all doing different assignments with different tutors, so it didn’t bother me too much. There was a whiny girl I didn’t like in my first year and she dropped out, and in my third year a real loud-mouth boy dropped dead while playing football. Turned out he had a hitherto undiagnosed genetic heart condition. But I wasn’t the only one who was glad about that. So university was pretty quiet and I didn’t really have to give much thought to any tiresome competition.

It was really once I’d been working for a few years, at three different schools, that I started to notice a pattern emerging. I would start a new job, settle in and like my new colleagues and pupils well enough. But you know how it is in life – there’s always that one person that you look at and think,

“It would be much better if they weren’t here.”

I found that, within three months tops, they would leave. Or sometimes die. Which of course was regrettable and a little freaky. But not my fault. I eventually confided a little of this to my colleague, Sue, who asked,

“You mean, you just have to wish someone would leave, and they go?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “It’s even vaguer than that. I just realise I’d be happier if they weren’t here…and one way or another, they…disappear.”

“You’re not bumping them off are you, Judith?” she laughed nervously.

“Ha ha! Of course not!” I said. “I guess I’m just lucky.”

“Lucky or disturbingly psychic,” Sue said, looking at me a little oddly.

Sue and I got on well – we both taught English, and we socialised outside of work together too. But then Sue started dating a lovely guy called Richard, and although I liked him a lot, it did alter things. He wasn’t particularly good-looking or rich, but he treated Sue really well. I watched them one night when a group of us were in the pub and I could see they were so happy together. I couldn’t help wishing he was my boyfriend – I was so tired of being on my own.

I swear that was all. I didn’t wish Sue away. And I definitely didn’t wish her any ill. But three days later Sue was killed outright in a car crash.

Richard was devastated. So was I, of course. He became a bit of a recluse, but I persevered in trying to help him through it and about six months after Sue’s death we started going out with each other. I didn’t tell him about this strange power I seemed to have. What could be gained by telling him that I might have caused Sue’s death? Or any of the other stuff I’ve told you about? He wouldn’t have believed me; he’d have thought I was crazy, or a monster.

Five years have passed since then. Richard and I are married with two lovely children. And I think the loss of Sue was worth it. I’ve come to terms with it. Apart from the unexpected disappearance of a midwife after the traumatic birth of my second baby, life has been pretty normal. I’ve had plenty of time to think about this gift of mine and it’s raised some interesting moral and ethical dilemmas. If you can bring about someone’s disappearance or death just by thinking of it, without having to take any physical steps to make it happen, are your hands still clean? Is it okay to wish it? I pondered this for a while.

And I came to the conclusion that the world needs me. I think I can use this gift for good. I asked myself who posed the biggest threat to civilisation at present. Who caused the Doomsday Clock to be moved forward, so that it was set at only two and a half minutes to global catastrophe? I turned my attention to President Donald J Trump, and – just to be bipartisan and unbiased – Dictator Kim Jong-un. Wouldn’t it be better and safer for mankind if these two guys didn’t exist? And if I could make this happen just by wishing it, would I really be guilty of any wrongdoing?

So I sat down and thought very hard about it. I simply thought how much better it would be if neither of them was around anymore. I didn’t exactly wish for them to die. And what happened? Well, as the world knows, Donald J Trump was found face down in his swimming pool, and Kim Jong-un was found face down in his morning bowl of congee. Within twenty four hours of me thinking about it. And I felt fine about it. Both were accidents and no-one had to assassinate them for the greater good.

The only downside was that I decided to tell Richard I was responsible for the deaths of the President and the Dictator. I wanted to be honest with him and I was curious to see his reaction. Annoyingly, he laughed at me. Then, when he saw I was serious, he explained calmly and logically, in that boring Richard way, that the laws of nature and the universe don’t work like that. That nobody can make things happen just by thinking about them. That I’m deluding myself if I think I’ve got that power. That frankly, he thinks I’m still suffering from post-natal depression.

So then I told him about all the others. Including Sue.

Big mistake.

He went white. Then he was sick.

He didn’t speak to me for three days.

And for the last week he’s alternated between yelling at me and telling me I need to see a psychiatrist. That I’m deluded, or evil, or both.

To be frank, he’s really starting to annoy me. And upset the children.

I’m kind of wishing he wasn’t here anymore.

 

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