John Carr Walker

wishing wells

We called them Wishing Wells: friends and family barred from visiting Spearwood Senior Care for the duration of quarantine. Wishing Wells gathered outside our residents’ windows with signs that read Happy 86th Birthday, Mom! Get Well Soon, Dad! Happy Golden Anniversary, Grandma and Grandpa! Wishing Wells shook noisemakers and sang horribly. Every time they interrupted a nap or a meal, the residents complained, and soon nurses would be listening to grievances older than we are. The noise and chaos made the residents remember traumas never recovered from, demons never escaped, and guilt carried for most of their long lives. We asked the Wells to stay away, but they worried about being forgotten by their mothers, fathers, and grandparents—they didn’t understand what their wishing dug up. During one wish, a resident shut her eyes and let a penny drop from her third-floor window. Others started doing the same. We handed out dixie cups filled with offerings. Now, moments after a party whistle breaks the calm, coins start hitting pavement, and Wishing Wells cower under their signs and hold on to their party hats like helmets. It’s helping build a sense of community inside Spearwood Care. And instead of old grievances and angry scars, we hear what our residents still wish for.

John Carr Walker’s work has appeared in Eclectica, Hippocampus, Split Lip, The Rupture, Pithead Chapel, Bodega, The Los Angeles Review, Bear Paw Arts Journal, Paris Lit Up, and elsewhere. His story collection Repairable Men was published by Sunnyoutside in 2014. He writes about anxiety and creativity in the weekly newsletter John Carr Walker Sitting In His Little Room. A native of California’s San Joaquin Valley, he now lives in Northwest Oregon and teaches at The University of Portland.