I was the girl who found the genie in the bottle a few years ago. You probably read about me, or heaven forbid, saw me on TV. I’m not much to look at, what with my unruly hair and more-to-love waistline. And yeah, my spectacles and the prominent nose they perch upon. My ears stick out.

I should use the past tense. I was all those things. All that has changed now, and my looks change invariably. With every little thought in my head, actually. It’s hard to get things just right and sometimes I revert back to my old look, that God gave me, because it’s so exhausting being things other than what I am. I sometimes wish back to my old life, too, but it’s a double edged sword. I bounce around because it’s impossible to be content when you know things can be better…or at least different.

I was fishing, is how it happened. I thought I’d found an urn of somebody’s kin they no longer wanted to be responsible for that they cast out. Maybe a long dead relative they had no memory of. I could understand, I don’t want no bad ju-ju, myself. I was rubbing the goop off the side to see if there was any engraving and out pops this dude who looked like Cheech of Cheech and Chong. It was clear I’d woken him up.

“‘Sup?” he says to me, like it’s every day a stranger materializes in the middle of the lake on my boat from a brass urn. “Got anything to eat?”

I couldn’t recover enough to speak, but I’ve never denied anybody food and wordlessly handed over a pack of Nabs.

“So, here’s the deal. Let’s do it fast, I’ve not got all day to hang out, I’m in the middle of a very important brokering deal in Spain. You’ve heard the drill-three wishes, anything you want. Like I said, let’s make it snappy.”

I didn’t like his attitude.
“Can I trade Genies?”
His eyes narrowed. “Hey, lady, beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Well, you’ve got a piss-poor attitude and this should be the happiest day of my life.”

He forcefully brightened his expression. “Better?”
“No, now you just look fake.” His teeth were yellow. He dropped the smile. “Can we just get on with it?”
“What’s your problem, anyway. You should be glad I got you off the bottom of the lake. You were covered in slime!”
He lit a cigarette, produced from the pocket of the greasy jeans he wore. “Don’t you think it suits me?” He tilted his head back and puffed out a smoke ring.I had to admit his filthy former home looked exactly like where he would come from.
“Alright. I wish to always have enough money for whatever I desire.” I’d read a joke once about somebody wishing for that and magically had the money -down to the last cent- every time they reached in their pocket. That would be easier than having a bank account and reporting everything to the IRS. …..how was that gonna work, anyway?
He nodded in a matter of fact way. “Done.”
“How do I know you’re legit?”
“You got a lot of men suddenly appearing in your life wanting to grant you wishes?”
“If you only knew, brother,” I rolled my eyes.
“That’s why you’re out here fishing….alone?”
“Hey, I need time to myself!”
“Mm-hmm. Next!”
“I wish to die peacefully.”
“Good one. Smart girl. And your final wish?”
“For as many wishes as I want from now on.”
At this, he cursed and threw his cigarette down, followed by his beanie that had clearly seen better days.
“You really wanna be tied with me for the duration?”
“I think you need a friend.”
“Listen, lady, I got plenty of friends.”
“And now I have a servant.” I smirked.

It was in this way I came ashore with the wish-granting hippie, toting his own urn (he called it ‘home’ whenever I sniffed at it disdainfully) and wading up the bank to go get my jeep with the boat trailer. I wouldn’t let him snap his fingers and do his witchy magic till I knew more about it. Plus, what if somebody saw and called the cops? I needed to figure this out.

We were tooling down the interstate, wind whipping around us eliminating some of the fish smell when this smartass in a BMW came up on my tail and swerved over at the last minute like he was weaving through Atlanta traffic. We were the only ones in a 100 yards. “It’d serve you right to get pulled over right up here,” I thought aloud. Then a second thought occurred to me. I could ensure that. So I simply wished a state trooper into existence at the next overpass when they went whizzing by at about a hundred and five. 

I smiled serenely as I passed them by.

The Genie looked over at me.

“Good girl,” he muttered. 

“So what’s your name?” I asked him.

He looked the other way. “My friends call me Smoke.”

“But I’m not your friend.”

“You can call me Smoke, too,” he said quickly. too quickly. I had struck a nerve. 

“What is it???” I coaxed in a sing-songy voice. “Or should I just say I wish you would tell me?”

“Gene,” he replied.

I barked with laughter. “You’re kidding. Gene the Genie??? That’s rich.”

He was not amused. I wondered what he had done to deserve such a fate.

We pulled up to my modest house. I took the place in thoughtfully. I’d been meaning to pressure wash the siding and weed the flowerbeds but if I could have anything I wanted…..

Sha-zam!

A big ol’ grand Greek Revival house on a river in South Carolina, set behind a half-mile long driveway shaded by live oaks dripping with Spanish moss and a fancy iron gate at the road. I was uptown, figuratively. Literally, I was in the Lowcountry. At last. I sighed contently and breathed in the pluff mud aroma and felt I had finally came home. 

Gene the Genie leaned against the board fence. “Nice,” he said drily, blowing smoke out his nose. 

“And what would you want?” I was feeling haughty and defensive. 

He shrugged. “Hollywood, maybe? Dubai?” 

I was to learn that Gene could have wishes granted, too, but he was content with his life. “I see a lot of places,” he told me. “But the people are all the same.” That made me sad.

I managed to keep my secret for two whole days. Then the reporters came a’knockin’. Turns out you can’t just go buy a giraffe with cash. There are permits and licenses. A whole bunch of invasive paperwork. So that’s where I went wrong. With the procurement of an exotic animal. But it was gonna happen sooner or later- crews were scheduled to begin construction of my private roller coaster next week.

You see, I don’t like crowds. Before, this had been a problem. Because I like a lot of the same things everybody else likes. But I don’t want to enjoy them with a bunch of sweaty strangers. My problem is no longer a problem. I can now afford to have concerts where I am the only one in attendance. Or football games. Or beaches or restaurants or any kind of event. No more waiting in lines to buy anything, or get in somewhere. I think this may just be my favorite part. 

But I really DO have to be careful what I wish for. With the blink of an eye, I can have everything I dreamed of-literally. But it’s a hard habit to break, saying “I wish”. I’ve brought Clark Gable and Michael Jackson back from the dead to have supper with me. I’ve caused fleas to invade my ex-husband’s life for all eternity. It’s better than a voodoo doll, you can infiltrate anything you want. I try to use my powers for good, I signed an agreement to that effect with the UN, but every now and then I sneak. I can’t help myself! I had a hard time explaining how a former first lady bit the dust.  

It also gets tiresome, merely thinking something into existence. As for Gene, he’s content as long as I keep him fortified with greasy food and beer. He likes the cheap beer, too, which we agree on. No matter how much money you have, if you liked Mich Ultra in your poor years, you’ll like Mich Ultra in your rich years. I never developed a taste for caviar or the minimalist interior design. I still prefer antiques and all my crap on full display.

I sure do have a lot more crap nowadays. Everybody I know does. And they’re all on these perpetual vacations. After I saw what I wanted to, fizzing around from one ancient castle to another, I just wanted to be home with my dogs. 

But I’ve found I miss competition. And what little patience I had for waiting for something to happen. I miss the time frame it normally takes to grow flowers and food to cook. I’ve found that you can literally wish your life away. 

I can repeat this life, fine tuning it, and keep everybody I love the same age. I can have any friends I want, any husband, anything. I can eat whatever and never gain an ounce. And if I do, and I decide I like the plumper version of me, I merely close my eyes and resize everything in my closest. I have the softest bed, the coolest cars, the highest-jumping horses. I have it ALL. But what I most long for is to go back to the simple way my life was. So I do, but I have no patience for the real world and end up reverting back to my magical life.

So one day, I wished it all away.  

Gene was having his morning smoke when I asked him about it. In his typical nonchalant way, he shrugged. “As you wish.”

He vaporized. 

I felt, rather than watched, my world jerk. It was like when the lights flicker, you feel like you lost a second in the flash.

I was back in my kitchen with the dated linoleum, with my mason jar of tea sweating on the counter. I had plans to go fishing, but at the last minute I decided I would go lay in my hammock under the maple tree and read instead.

Probably be safer. I wasn’t taking any chances.