Julie and Romeo Get Lucky Read Free Page A

impending death of someone you love as much as your own life can also do the trick. So while it may seem insensitive that I would digress with Romeo’s last breath hanging in the balance, I would be remiss not to include the life that flashed before my eyes.
    It was Sarah’s. Maybe that’s lucky: The kid was only eight so it didn’t take a lot of time. In my split second of soul-crushing despair for having killed the only man I ever really loved, I saw my granddaughter: the freckles on her nose, which were her biological father’s only contribution to her upbringing, her curly hair which, with a strong arm and a stiff brush, could be coaxed into honest-to-God ringlets that fell down her back like a Madame Alexander doll’s. She was a sweet, affectionate kid with a good sense of humor, who had been a real pleasure until she fell into the vortex of the chocolate factory. I never thought it would have happened to her, though I guess that’s what everyone says.
    There was even a child in the film named Mike Teavee, who is one of the cautionary tales about the outcome of bad behavior. He is shrunken down to the height of a matchstick because he won’t stop watching television. But Sarah pointed out that she watched no other television because she used her whole allotment of daily viewing to see Willie Wonka. Even then, she could only watch half of it a day because she was only allowed an hour on school nights (a schedule that was imposed out of Wonka desperation).
    When I begged and reasoned and told her that she was a big girl now and it was time to give it up, the way she had given up sucking her thumb and carrying around that ratty little tailless bunny rabbit, she was resolute in her refusal. She said she couldn’t give it up, she never would.
    â€œIt’s luck, ” she said. “It’s all about Charlie’s luck and how important it is to keep believing in luck.”
    â€œSo that’s his luck,” I said to her, “not yours.”
    â€œIt is mine. When I watch it, it makes me lucky.”
    In this moment that popped up like a movie against my bedroom wall, Sarah was wearing a pink T-shirt with a pink heart smaller than a dime embroidered at the neckline. There was a smudge of something that looked sticky on her cheek. She is small for her age, and I always forget how powerful her reasoning can be.
    â€œHow does it make you lucky?”
    â€œI watch it before I take a test, and I pass the test. I watch it before a game of kickball, and I get picked for the best team.”
    â€œBut you also watch it before tests when you do lousy, and I’ve seen you come home from school when you didn’t get picked for the best team—so it doesn’t always work.”
    Sarah nodded patiently, sorry that I couldn’t figure all of this out for myself. “That’s when I watched without concentrating.”
    It occurred to me that maybe she had a little obsessive-compulsive disorder going on, and that instead of counting the number of steps it took to walk to the bus stop or having to tap the light switch ten times whenever she came into a room, she was watching Willie Wonka as a way of controlling her world. I should remember to talk to Sandy about this. “That’s being superstitious, sweetheart. You’re the one who gets the good grades. You get them when you try hard.”
    â€œIt’s more than that,” she said darkly.
    â€œTell me, then.”
    â€œThe movie keeps us safe. All of us.”
    â€œSafe from what? Fire? From getting sick?”
    â€œFrom everything. Sometimes luck isn’t a good thing that happens to you. Sometimes luck is everything staying just the way it is.”
    It surprised me that an eight-year-old could realize the implicit happiness in everyday life, but then, kids were a lot more sophisticated these days. “I agree with that, but again, it isn’t the movie that does it.”
    She