My Wish For Christmas

“I have a wish! I have a wish!” The boy hopped around in front of me, his cheeks flushed pink with excitement and the cold air biting at his face. His giggles were contagious, the kind that made even the grumpiest of adults crack a smile. He stopped bouncing for half a second, throwing his arms up dramatically. “Grant me a wish, Fairy!” Ah, the enthusiasm of kids. I adjusted my plastic wings and bent down to his level, giving him my best "magical fairy" smile. “What wish do you want, young man?” I asked, adding a sprinkle of whimsy to my voice. He tapped his chin, his little brows furrowing in deep thought. Then, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I wish... I wish for a puppy! A big fluffy one! One that can play with me all day and sleeps in my bed!” I laughed, genuinely this time. "A puppy, huh? That’s a pretty big wish. Do you think your parents are ready for all the responsibility?” He nodded so fast I thought his head might fall off. “Yes! Mommy said I was old enough for one this year, and I’ve been super good! Even cleaned my room!” “Well then,” I said, pulling out my clipboard, which was more glitter than actual clipboard, “I’ll make sure your wish is written down in the official fairy records. You might just get lucky this Christmas!” The way his eyes sparkled made my heart do a little flip. That was the only thing I liked about this job—seeing these kids light up like I was granting them the world. The pay? Terrible. Like, barely-covering-my-rent terrible. My car? On its last legs. But this? Making kids’ Christmases just a little more magical? That made it worth it. I didn’t get long to dwell on the warm fuzzies, though, because the next kid, a little girl in a red velvet dress, was tugging on my skirt. “It’s my turn!” she squealed. “Of course, Princess,” I said, kneeling again. “What’s your wish?” She grinned shyly. “I want...a dollhouse! A big one with tiny furniture and lights that turn on and off!” “Tiny furniture, huh? And do you have a favorite color for this dollhouse?” “Pink! No, wait...purple! No, PINK!” She stomped her shiny little shoes, and I chuckled, jotting it down. One by one, the kids came forward with their Christmas wishes. A little boy wanted a race car track "bigger than my room!" Another girl wanted a unicorn—an actual one, not a toy, because "Santa can do anything, right?" A shy boy asked for a magic set because he wanted to be “just like the magicians on TV.” By the end of the party, my clipboard was covered in glitter, smudged fingerprints, and a chaotic mess of wishes. After each kid had their turn, I went up to the parents, handing over the list. “Thank you,” one dad said, his eyes tired but grateful. “I had no idea what to get him this year. You’re a lifesaver.” Another mom clutched the list like it was gold. “This is wonderful. Thank you so much for doing this.” I smiled, brushing off the thanks. “Just doing my job.” That was the thing about being a party fairy—you weren’t just there to entertain. You were a spy, a wish recorder, and sometimes even a therapist for stressed-out parents. And while I’d never admit it to anyone, seeing their relief made me feel good. Finally, the party wound down, and I slipped out into the cold night air. The first thing I noticed? Snow. Big, fat flakes falling so thickly it was like the world was wrapped in a white blanket. “Great,” I muttered, tugging my coat tighter around me. That’s the thing about living in Minnesota—winter is a living nightmare. Sure, it’s pretty when you’re inside with hot cocoa and a fire. But when you’re outside, trying to make it home in a snowstorm? Not so magical. I made my way to my car—or, as I liked to call it, my four-wheeled death trap. The thing was older than I was, with more dents than smooth surfaces. One headlight was out, and the heater? Barely functional. “Please start,” I whispered as I slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine groaned like an old man getting out of bed, but finally, it sputtered to life. I let out a sigh of relief and backed out of the driveway, carefully navigating the icy roads. The highway was practically deserted, which wasn’t unusual. This stretch of road was always empty, even on the best days. Tonight, with the snow falling so heavily I could barely see ten feet ahead, it felt like I was the last person on earth. The drive home was supposed to take thirty minutes. But with the way the snow was coming down, it was shaping up to be at least an hour. I gripped the wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white, and kept my eyes glued to the faint tire tracks of some car that had passed before me. “Come on, you piece of junk,” I muttered when the car started to shudder. The gas light had been on for longer than I cared to admit, and the snow wasn’t making things any easier. Every mile felt like a battle. The wipers struggled to keep up with the snow, and the heater coughed out air that was lukewarm at best. My fingers were numb despite my gloves, and the silence of the empty highway was starting to get to me. “What am I even doing with my life?” I muttered, shaking my head. Dressing up as a fairy, barely scraping by, driving a car that might give out at any second—I couldn’t help but feel like I had made some wrong turns along the way. But then, I thought about those kids. Their smiles, their laughter, the way their faces lit up when they talked about their wishes. And for a moment, it didn’t feel all that bad. Eventually, the faint glow of the town came into view, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I wasn’t home yet, but at least I was closer. “Just a little further,” I whispered, patting the dashboard like it was a horse that needed encouragement. The car groaned in response but kept going. By the time I pulled into my driveway, my nerves were shot, and my toes felt like blocks of ice. But I had made it. And tomorrow? I would do it all over again. Because, for better or worse, this was my life. And somehow, even with all its struggles, it was still mine.