GENIE FOR A JUNKIE

 

 

Leonard staggered through the dark alley gripping his chest. He hadn’t been shot, nor was he having a heart attack. Leonard was dope sick, and also suffering from alcohol withdrawal. He’d scored ten bucks panhandling at Exit 5A. Now he was looking to put it to good use. What better place than the hidden backstreets of Seneca Boulevard?

He passed a foul-smelling dumpster and noticed a pudgy man sitting against the wall. The man was wearing ragged clothing with a worn fedora sitting atop the wild dreadlocks covering his head. He appeared to be staring at something sitting in his lap, or perhaps just sleeping off a drunk.

Leonard stopped. He cleared his throat and said, “Hey, pal? Rough night, eh?”

No response.

“Look, man, I ain’t trying to annoy you or nothing like that, but I could really use a fix. I’ll give you ten bucks for a tenth. Or just a hit of whatever you got. What’ya say, man?”

The man slowly lifted his head, the moonlight reflecting off his round cheeks. He smiled, surprising Leonard with a glowing set of white teeth, teeth that only movie stars possessed. “One hit, huh?” he said with a scratchy voice.

“One hit. Ten bucks. I’m hurting, man. Can you help a brother out?”

The man’s smile disappeared. “Dope sick, huh? I got no fix for you, young fella. But I got something better. Something that was given to me. Now I’ll give it to you.” He lifted his arm and held out an object for Leonard to see. At first glance it looked like a metallic light bulb, but as it gleamed in the dim light, Leonard could see that it was a large golden pipe resembling a bong. “I can’t use it anymore. Here, take it.”

“You’re just gonna give it to me?”

“That’s what I said.”

Leonard reached out and snatched it from the man’s hands.

“But I need to tell you something,” the man said, leaning his head back against the wall. His eyes seemed luminescent in the shadows. “It’s not just a pipe, man. It’s a genie’s pipe.”

“A what?”

“A genie’s pipe. You know, like I Dream of Jeannie. Three wishes.” The man showed his brilliant teeth again.

Leonard’s mouth contorted into a cynical grin. He thought this fat little man must be off of his homeless rocker. But the pipe, the pipe was beautiful. He could sell it, especially if it was real gold. And what if there was some residue inside—tar he could scrape and shoot, or smoke?

The chubby man then stood up slowly, and began to walk away.

“Hey,” Leonard said, “where you going?”

“I made my three wishes. I’m going to go collect my last one now.” The man turned and looked at Leonard. “Just rub the pipe, my guy, like in the movies. But I can tell you—it ain’t no Barbara Eden that comes out.” The man laughed and walked off. As he disappeared in the shadows, he muttered, “And be careful what you wish for.”

Leonard looked at the shiny object in his hands. He sat on the ground where the man had been sitting. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches. What could it hurt, he thought. He lit the empty bowl of the pipe and sucked hard. The pipe suddenly jerked in his grip. He chucked it to the ground and froze.

He stared at the thing. It lay motionless, shining and inviting again. Leonard knew he was horribly dope sick and hallucinating. What else could it be? No biggie, right? He picked up the pipe and rested it in his lap. He thought about what to do with it, where to take it. Maybe a head shop would take it off his hands for a decent price. As he contemplated, he stroked the pipe.

The thing moved again. He shoved it from his lap and watched it roll a few feet away. After coming to a halt, the pipe rattled for a few seconds, then stopped. Blue smoke began to emit from its mouthpiece. Leonard watched in amazement as the smoke billows started swirling above his head. The vortex drifted and skipped around, with a solid mass forming in its center. As the smoke cleared, a figure emerged, like the shape of a tall, thin man.

Leonard’s jaw dropped and his bloodshot eyes opened fully. Something from an absurd dream stood before him, unreal, but tangible as the filthy alley around him. The figure wore a trench coat, if you could call it a figure. Under its tattered red stocking cap was a head made of crumpled tin foil, which dazzled in the lunar light. Its eyes were pills, the kind that come in an amber bottle from the pharmacy, like the spotted Lortabs. Its nose was constructed of two vertical slits, similar to a skinless human skull. It had a gaping mouth with teeth—pointed crystals—much like the jagged shards Leonard had smoked so many times. Jutting from its sleeves were hands made of syringes full of brown liquid. Its visible legs and feet were constructed of beer and whiskey bottles. The thing’s coat pockets bulged and overflowed with baggies and joints and other tempting paraphernalia.

“Good evening, Leonard,” it said in a hoarse rasping voice.

Leonard stood there staring, much like junkies do. He didn’t know whether to scream and run, or wait for whatever happened next. The pill eyes watched, waiting, so Leonard’s mouth slowly opened and he said, “Hi.”

“I am your genie,” the creature said. It bowed its head then took a couple steps toward Leonard, its foot bottles clacking on the concrete. Leonard pressed his back against the wall and yelped. “Don’t be scared, Leonard. I’m not here to hurt you, my man. I’m here to grant you three wishes.” It held up three syringe fingers.

Leonard remained still, sweating, blinking rapidly as he looked the abomination up and down. The very laws of nature defied the creature’s physical possibility, yet it inched closer and closer with every passing second.

“This ain’t real,” slipped from Leonard’s mouth.

The genie’s foil mouth formed into a smile. It aimed its index needle at Leonard and squirted a stream of liquid on his face. Leonard flinched, then the odor of vinegar hit him. He wiped the pungent substance from his cheek, knowing damned well that it was heroin.

“Did that feel real, Leonard?”

Leonard nodded cautiously. “Yes,” he said, then an awkward moment of silence ensued. He looked at the pipe on the ground, then back at the creature. “You were living in that pipe?”

The genie coughed. A puff of smoke shot from its foil mouth, then it said, “That’s right, my man. I’ve been around for a very, very long time. I’ve lived in just about every contraption man has made to use to get high with, past to present, civilization to civilization. The Egyptians, the Mayans, the Nazis—you name it. But I’ve changed in appearance over the centuries. There was a time when I looked like a plant. You feel me?” The thing laughed a wheezy, metallic laugh.

Leonard nodded, but on his face was a look of confusion. He scratched his head and said, “So you've been giving wishes to people all the way back from the Pyramid days, then?”

“Now you’ve got it, my boy! Many people. And now I’m giving you three wishes. So make your first wish, Leonard.” The thing straightened up and its pill eyes focussed intently on him.

Leonard rose to his feet, his eyes glued to the supernatural being. “Anything I want?”

“Whatever you want. But only three, and you cannot take them back.”

Leonard licked his lips and rubbed his hands together. Three wishes. Anything he desired. Boy, did his mind race. Leonard knew how fucked up the world was, with its poverty, disease, injustice, suffering. Couldn’t he make the world a better place with the right wish? Sure he could.

But his thoughts directed to one thing. “I’m awful sick,” he said. “I need to feel better to make my next two wishes count. So I . . . I wish for a shot of heroin, a whole gram, of the good stuff—none of that shitty scag.”

“Hold your arm out for me,” the genie said, its pill eyes cold and fixed. Leonard held out his arm. The genie leaned forward and reached out a prickly hand and jabbed Leonard right in the vein like a veteran nurse. The syringe finger emptied its brown contents into Leonard’s circulatory system.

“First wish granted, my man. What is your second wish?”

Leonard felt the effects flood him. Rapture tingled through his body, leaving him warm and euphoric. He felt alive and no longer sick, heightened with delights, but only for a moment. This stuff was strong. A gram of pure heroin is real strong.

He felt himself sinking, deeper into a languid world of delirium and doom. The world skewed before him, and his motor skills left him. His legs buckled, and he collapsed.

Leonard was overdosing, and in that moment, he knew that the only thing that could save him was a wish: his second wish. It would have to be something that would pick him up, that would kickstart him. He had overdosed before, but the paramedic’s Narcan had made him feel worse than dope sick when he regained consciousness. He didn’t want that again. He wanted to level out. But he had to wish fast.

As his vision narrowed into a tunnel of gloom and his heart rate plummeted, he cried out the best he could: “Genie, I wish for one small rail of pure cocaine . . . please . . .”

In a flash, the genie whipped out a small straw and saucer from its coat pocket, the syringe hands working with flawless dexterity. It leaned down and presented its gift right in front of Leonard’s face, with a small white line of powder on the dish ready for consumption.

Leonard struggled to get the straw into his nostril, but successfully connected nose to straw to powder. He sniffed, then dropped to the ground. Within seconds the coke smacked his brain. His eyes shot open and he gasped. A new euphoria opened her arms to him, and he stood up with a bliss that he hadn’t experienced since his first days of drugging.

“Second wish granted, Leonard.”

“Why did you let me overdose, Genie?”

“It was your wish to shoot a whole gram of pure heroin. I granted your wish.”

Leonard’s confused gaze softened and he nodded his head. He smiled. “That’s the best coke I’ve ever had. Shit, man.”

“Thank you, my man. I remember Ivan the Terrible once told me the same thing, except he had my opium. Blackbeard said the same thing when I gave him my pure rum.” The tin foil face appeared to grin. “In any case, you have one wish left. Choose wisely, but choose quickly, for I must get back to my pipe soon. I’m not of this world.”

Leonard nodded again, then turned and began to think. His eyes wandered the alley until they fixed on the stars above. One wish left. The big one . . .

The dopamine overflowed in Leonard’s brain, causing a rising tide of emotions. Nostalgia captured his mind and he went back to a time when he had untainted happiness, a time when he was in love with Abby, a shy girl who always squinted and smiled when they talked.

He’d met Abby in a rehab, not because he was strung out and homeless, but because the courts had mandated him after he caught a small possession charge at the age of twenty. Abby, a year younger than Leonard, was there because her mother caught her huffing Nitrous Oxide out of balloons with her friends one weekend. Mom sent her to rehab a day later.

Over the thirty day stint at the facility, the two connected extraordinarily. They became inseparable soon after their completion of the program. Unfortunately, the two lovebirds became a maelstrom of rebellion in pursuit of thrills and spun into a cycle of drug addiction within a few months. When Abby’s mother caught on, she put Abby on a plane to live with her military dad for a summer, four states away.

Leonard never got to say goodbye, and was unable to contact her no matter how hard he tried. He vowed to reunite with his soulmate, the only true love of his life that stirred his spirit within. But years passed and Leonard deteriorated into a hopeless dope fiend. He pushed Abby so far in the recesses of his mind and made sure she stayed there with every hit, drink, snort and shot he took.

But here she was again, fresh in his coked-out mind. And here was his vow standing feet away. All he had to do was make a wish.

A tear streamed down his face as he looked into the genie’s pharmaceutical eyes. “I want to be with Abby again. Abigail Martin. I love her. Reunite us, Genie.”

“Are you sure this is your final wish?”

“Yes.”

The genie nodded its foil head. “You must close your eyes for this wish, because it involves the metaphysical.”

Leonard didn’t hesitate.

“Good luck, Leonard, and enjoy your final wish.”

Leonard immediately felt something press against his back. He opened his eyes to see nothing except darkness. From the shift in his weight, he realized he was lying down. He reached out into the black and his palms found something cushioned, but solid underneath the fabric. He tried to shift his legs, but the same surface restricted his movements.

He could hear himself breathe in the silence. Panic started to brew and he tried to reach out from his sides. He couldn’t even extend his arms fully. He could feel something cold under the thin fabric, like the surface of a ceramic tile or metal. He banged on it, but it didn’t give.

His heart was thumping now, and whatever was underneath him felt awkward and poked into his back. He could feel the warmth emanating in the confined space, and felt the sweat beads starting to form all over his body. The bliss had left him. Terror crept into the void.

Then it came to him. A lighter. He had a fucking lighter in his pocket. He plunged his hand into his pocket and found his Bic. After holding it in the air for a few seconds, he took a deep breath and sparked the flint. Light illuminated the contents of the space. He was inside of something closed. The trunk of a car?

No. It was too long and narrow. And the fabric looked to be silk or satin.

Leonard held his breath, or simply forgot to breathe. His reality glitched like an aging computer. No matter what thought came next, what memory, good or bad, or what decisions he was about to make, nothing could trump one concrete fact that was more powerful than anything in existence at the moment: Leonard was locked inside of a coffin.

He became unhinged, knowing the terror and agony he would face as he gasped for his last breath. The anguish alone may kill him. But why? WHY had the genie lied? This isn’t what Leonard wished for. A split second before the instinct to thrash set in, three words came to him: Or Was It? Something foul crept through Leonard’s psyche, and he knew what he had to do.

With a slow turn of the head, Leonard took in what was underneath him. A slick, gray face painted with cracked makeup gleamed in the firelight. The stitching holding the mouth shut was visible, as were the plastic caps underneath the eyelids. Abby’s face had changed, no longer full of color and life, no longer smiling, but dead and gray, screaming in its silence.

Leonard shut down. But he didn’t thrash. He didn’t yell. Instead he gently twisted his body around until the two lovebirds were facing each other. He gazed at her lurid face for a little while, then smiled.

He lay his head on her shoulder, forehead to cheek. The genie did grant him his wish. His vow was now fulfilled. “Thank you, Genie,” he whispered.

Leonard then closed his eyes and let his thumb off the lighter.