I had the weirdest dream last night. I fantasized that I had found the genie of the enchanted lamp, and I had awesome superpowers. Gosh, that Chinese food must have been radioactive or something…it felt more like hallucinating than dreaming. Time to open my eyes, literally, and get back to reality. I reach for my glasses on the bedside table and put them on in autopilot mode.
Oh, this is weird. I still see everything out-of-focus. Do I have to see the ophthalmologist again so soon? I went less than a year ago, is this normal? Am I going totally blind? Could I still be under the influence of the yucky Chinese food? Can Chinese take-out make you blind? If a rare, transmitted-via-rotten-Chinese-take-out disease exists, it completely figures I’d be the one to catch it!
Why do I always have to have such bad luck? Why? I drop my head to my knees, discouraged. Ouch! Bad move, bad move. Never drop your head onto anything if you’re wearing glasses. I take them off and lower my head on my knees again. What can I do blind, battered, and abandoned?
Oh, perfect! Now I also have to pee badly. I hope I can manage to get to the bathroom even if I don’t see anything. Come on, Ally, use any sight you have left, put one foot in front of the other, and reach…the potty! Uh huh, freedom! I feel like I could rally the Scots with my motivational thinking. Ok, let’s get going…
Miracle! I can see. Oh wow, how stupid am I? It was just morning foggy vision. Or the aftermath of Chinese food poisoning. Who knows? Whatever. Posterity will judge. No eye doctor after all. I hate having people fool around with my eyes, even when it’s me putting in contacts, which I wear whenever I’m in public.
Wait a second, something weird is going on. The glasses are still in my hand, but I see perfectly. I put them on…foggy vision. I take them off…20/20 vision. I repeat this operation several more times with the same result. This is the weirdest thing.
“I am glad to find you already awakened, milady.”
“Aaaarrrghhhh!” I scream, and gracelessly tumble to the ground.
“Forgive me, milady. Did I frighten you?”
“You scared the crap out of me!” I bark back sourly.
“That is unmannerly talk for a lady.”
“Don’t act so damn civilized. Not after you’ve just crept up on a half-asleep, unsuspecting person.”
“I just wanted to tell you that I have prepared you breakfast. Whenever it pleases milady, you can join me. I will wait in the other room,” he replies stiffly and leaves.
Oh. Now I feel sorry for the genie. He was just being nice. Ah, the genie! It wasn’t a dream after all. I did find the enchanted lamp! Well, it looks more like a jewelry case, but who cares? I have superpowers. And I can ask for three more wishes! I can’t believe it!
I get up from the floor and check myself out in the mirror. Yes, I definitely have superpowers. No way would I have such a perfect body without supernatural help. And I am rich, too. Yay.
Okay, I’d better go make up with the genie or he might stay cross with me all day. He can be hypersensitive for someone who has been around for so long.
I go to the other room and… Wow! Instead of walking into my living room, I feel like I’ve entered a scene from Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette.
Every flat surface is covered with culinary wonders. The breakfast table is nicely laid for two with the cutest china set ever (definitely not mine), accompanied by two matching steaming kettles. I guess one is for tea and one for coffee. Pyramids of cream puffs, macaroons, mini muffins, and tiny croissants are beautifully arranged on cake stands next to the pottery set, and they appear so inviting my stomach growls loudly. Also, on the kitchen island there are orderly rows of porcelain platters holding flamboyant pastries, multicolored tarts, éclairs, and pies. The other side of the countertop is covered with bowls filled with grapes, nectarines, cherries, and all kinds of berries. And on the floor there is a selection of delicacies for Sugar arranged in matching china bowls.
I take all of this in, feeling truly awful for the way I reacted a few minutes ago. The genie is leaning against the stovetop with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at the floor sulkily.
“Genie, this is amazing! When did you do all of this?”
“It was but a meager effort on my part,” he replies, clearly still offended.
“Genie, I am sorry for yelling at you. I am not very friendly when I wake up, and you scared me to death. I am truly very sorry, can you forgive me?” I make sure to use my most honeyed tone. If this doesn’t work, nothing will.
“It is I who should be forgiven, milady. I should not have invaded the privacy of your room, and I too possess an awful temper. Centuries of trying have not taught me yet how to be levelheaded—it must be the royal blood that runs in my veins.”
“Wow, you were a prince then. A king?”
“I have already said too much.”
“A duke, perhaps?”
“Would you prefer tea or coffee, milady?”
“So you’re just going to ignore me. Asking you a question is like beating a dead horse.”
He smiles slyly but doesn’t say anything.
I am becoming more curious every passing minute. Who is this genie? What happened to him? If he’s not willing to tell me more, I’ll have to find out on my own. I know that he is centuries old, English, and of royal blood. His name is Arthur…could he be the King Arthur? Please, a genie is already enough! I don’t need to believe in Camelot and the round table as well.
Oops. I must’ve zoned out for a while, because King Arthur here is eyeing me suspiciously.
“Hm, coffee would be fine.”
“Coffee for the lady,” he enthuses, pouring me a cup.
“You know, you didn’t have to do all of this.”
“Milk?”
“Yes, please. It must have taken you all night.”
“Not at all. Sugar?”
“Yes. You know there is no way I can finish all this stuff by myself.”
“I was not sure about how you usually break your fast, milady. And I thought you might have a social gathering planned, it being Sunday.”
“Oh Genie, if you weren’t already here they should invent you. Anyway, breakfast is more of a quick deal these days.”
I begin to devour everything within my reach. Mmm, these pastries are delicious…and I can eat as many as I want. Ha—I am not going to get fat. The loud purring sound constantly coming from the floor tells me Sugar is enjoying the surprise as much as I am.
“Sit down, King Arthur, don’t stand there looming over.”
“I beg you, milady, not to joke about my lineage,” he replies gravely.
“You need to loosen up a bit, you know.”
“Speaking of kings,” he says, “pray tell me: who is king these days?”
“There is no king,” I reply, amused. “We have a president.”
“England has no king?” he asks, astonished.
“Well, England does have a queen, but we’re not in England!”
“Where are we?” he asks, even more shocked.
“US of A.”
“And where is that?”
“You know, across the ocean.”
“The New World?” he asks, nonplussed.
“Yes, the New World,” I reply with a smile. This guy is so much fun.
“You are living in the colonies?”
“We’re not much of a colony anymore.”
“This explains the lack of style, of elegance…”
“Hey, snobbish British you. The United States is the most powerful country in the world, even more than your precious little England!”
“Well, power does not add any sophistication to it,” he replies. “Besides, what can you expect from a land artificially populated with the scum of society, outcasts, and criminals? Basically a horde of barbarians.”
“Hey, no need to offend. And how does it feel to have had your butt kicked back to Mother England by low-class scum and outcasts?”
“Everybody thought it was a temporary setback.”
“Well, it wasn’t.” I decide to put an end to the discussion. “We should get going. We have some serious shopping to do.”
“Shopping?”
“Yes, I need a new wardrobe.”
“Why?”
“I am at war.”
“At war, milady? Why, and with whom?”
“A she-devil.” It’s my turn to be mysterious.
“And new clothes would help?”
“A lot, believe me. And you…” I say, and eye his attire, which hasn’t changed since last night. “We’d better update your gear as well. You need to change before we go out.”
As I enjoy a sip of my hot coffee, he raises his brows questioningly.
“I mean, you don’t have to dress in that absurd lord costume, right?” I add. “It isn’t some kind of genie uniform?”
“This is no costume! All my garments follow the latest fashion in London.”
“No doubt they were good two hundred years ago, but if you go around dressed like this in this century, everybody will think you are a freak. Can you change?”
“Yes, I can. You just have to provide me some new garments of your liking, milady.”
I still don’t understand if this milady thing is a mockery, or if he is serious. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.
“I imagine the most convenient choice would be to have a tailor come to the house and take my measurements. Are there any good tailors on this side of the world?” he asks, slightly wrinkling his nose.
“No time to have your personal tailor come to the house,” I reply, not sure he will catch the irony in my answer. “Can’t you magically change into new clothes?”
“No.”
“So you can create a food feast, produce the finest porcelain set I have ever seen…but you can’t make your own clothes. Why?”
“Allow me to remind you that I did not set the rules. And for the one who did, she was a woman whom I cannot presume to praise. She probably regarded food as a necessity, but did not feel similarly toward garments.”
So this curser person was a woman after all. I bet she had red hair.
“Well, I don’t have any male clothing in the house,” I say without pointing out the information he has just given up.
“I most certainly will not wear female ones,” he protests.
“Then you’ll have to stay invisible while I go shopping, and I’ll buy you something.”
“I was much anticipating the feeling of the sun on my skin after so long, but what it is another day of wait compared to centuries?”
Can anybody be any more passive-aggressive than this? He has succeeded in making me feel guilty.
Let me see…he could perhaps keep the shirt, get rid of the tailcoat, the tie, the vest, and all the accessories…hat, gloves, and cane. The buckskin pants will make some heads turn, but he is European so he is allowed a certain degree of eccentricity. The only real problem here is the boots with the golden tassels. Nothing could make them pass for normal or fashionably acceptable.
He can make me feel as guilty as he wants, but considering the circumstances there’s really nothing I can do. Unless… Do I want to go there? I don’t think I’m ready. No, no way. He’ll have to sit this one out. Oh, he’s giving me the puppy dog eyes. I can’t leave him at home. Damn, I need to learn how to say no.
“Come with me,” I say, defeated. “Maybe there’s something we can do.”
If he had a tail, he would be madly wiggling it right now.
I drag a chair next to my closet, mentally preparing myself for the task ahead. I climb up onto the chair and begin emptying the top shelf, passing a myriad of linens, comforters, and towels to the genie. Finally, I reach the most secluded spot of the shelf where a nice lilac box has remained hidden and untouched for over a year. I take it down, refusing to pass it to the genie, instead keeping it close to my body.
I carefully lay it on the bed, lifting the cover with trembling hands. Inside I can see all the gifts James ever gave me, plus some small things he left in my apartment after breaking up with me. I rummage inside to do a quick inventory, until I see a stupid teddy bear wearing a blue t-shirt with the name James printed across it, the kind you buy for newborns. He gave it to me one time when he was on a business trip for a week, saying it was so I would not miss him. I touch it and smile sadly. This was a bad idea. I’m not ready for this. I quickly grab James’s old flip-flops and seal the box and its contents out of sight, afraid I might start crying otherwise.
For the record, as far as family and friends know, I’ve thrown away all the gifts he gave me and the things that he left at my apartment. But I could never bring myself to actually do it. I am glad at least there were no pictures; that would have been too much. Luckily, they’re all safely stored in a faraway cyber cloud.
I feel a bit weird about giving the genie things that belonged to James, but there’s no other option at the moment. These are literally the only shoes in the house that will fit him.
“We’ll have to keep your pants. I don’t have any.”
“Is this particular, hmm…footwear fashionable these days?” he asks, examining the flip-flops skeptically.
“Absolutely,” I lie.
“May I inquire whose shoes these are?”
“No.”
“Very well. Are they at least clean?”
“Wear them or stay at home. I don’t care,” I say, exiting the room.
I need some more java after this ordeal of memories.
BANG!
While I’m pouring myself a nice cup of steaming coffee, the genie goes and makes that stupid magic noise again. It startles me so much that I throw both mug and jug in the air, splashing myself, the entire kitchen, and part of the living room with black coffee.
“Are you nuts?”
“I apologize. I did not intend to startle you, milady, I was just trying to oblige your plea.”
“Did you really need to make all this fuss just to change your shoes?”
“I beg your forgiveness once again. Have I at least pleased you?” he replies, outlining his frame with his hands.
His whole gentleman’s attire complemented by flip-flops is hilarious.
“Not yet,” I say, suppressing a smirk. “You’ll have to remove everything else except your pants and the shirt.”
“Everything?”
“Yep.”
“Gentlemen do not carry a cane or a hat? No gloves?”
“Gentleman may still wear them, but I’m afraid the problem is that there aren’t many left. Come on, go ahead,” I urge him. “Without any bang, please,” I quickly add.
“There will be no more bangs for the lady,” he replies, smirking.
Did he mean…? Is he messing with me, or am I imagining it? No, I am sure it was an innocent reply. They surely didn’t use “bang” to say that in the 1700s.
POOF!
This time, a soft poof accompanies his magic.
“What say you now?” he challenges.
I only see his top half from the kitchen, and I have to admit he is really handsome without all those distracting frills and only a simple white shirt on. I remain quite impressed, until I turn the bar corner and take in his full figure. The shirt with the riding pants and the blue flip-flops are an atrocious ensemble.
“Not bad for an old fossil like you,” I tease, smiling. I don’t want him to feel self-conscious; he most likely doesn’t have a clue that he’ll still be perceived as a total weirdo.
“Not bad, indeed,” he replies with a dashing smile.
I don’t know what got him into trouble all those years ago, but I am beginning to form an opinion.
“Can you do something about all this mess?” I ask, pointing at the coffee stains adorning my entire house.
Another soft POOF and my favorite mug is back in one piece on the countertop, steaming with the hot liquid inside. Every trace of the previous disaster is completely erased.