(I'm having much too much fun with this blogging stuff. What I'm supposed to be doing is working on my narration, which I hate like poison. (Narration in general, not specifically mine.) This is an exercise in narration I did a couple-three weeks ago. The title changes daily; at the moment, it is as above. Hope you like it.)
Joel Abbott owned and operated the only antique store in town. The lack of competition, however, had not led to any noticeable degree of success or prosperity for Joel. There are a lot of little towns in South Carolina and a lot of bigger ones, too, and nearly every one of them is wall to wall with antique stores. These towns are blessed with greater or lesser quantities of natural charm. Joel's hometown, Barnville, definitely fell on the lesser end of the scale.
So it was lucky for Joel that he had a well-to-do grandmother with a passion for antiques and a soft spot in her heart and pocketbook for her grandson. Joel tried hard; he really did. But Barnville really didn't have sufficient population or spare cash to support an antique store, and its lack of quaintness generally kept out-of-town visitors away.
Joel spent most of his days noodling on the Internet or battling computer Solitaire. He was always happy to see a customer and waited on them with whatever attentiveness they seemed to require. On this particular Wednesday afternoon, an older lady walked in carrying a small box, so Joel hopped to it.
"Good day, madam. Do you have an antique you'd like to show me?"
The lady looked like a film star. Granted, a film star from forty or fifty years back, but she had an innate loveliness of face and carriage that had triumphed over the years.
She smiled. "I do indeed. A very special antique. I hope you'll like it-- and will be careful with it," she said, handing him the box.
Joel opened the box, carefully indeed, and bit back the temptation to say, "You're kidding." He was looking at what appeared to be an antique, or even ancient, oil lamp. A lamp exactly like every depiction of Aladdin's lamp in film, book and cartoon.
"Is this-- what it looks like?" was the best he could manage.
"An oil lamp? An antique oil lamp? Yes, son, that's what it is."
"Is there a genie?"
"That would be telling. What kind of offer can you give me for it?"
"Mrs. ...," he offered.
"Davis," she countered.
"Mrs. Davis, I'll be honest. You're the first customer I've seen this week. I don't think there's any chance I could sell this lamp. I could give you $10 just because it's such a great conversation piece, but that's the best I can possibly do."
"That will be fine, Mr. ..."
"Abbott."
"Mr. Abbott. Really, I'm quite finished with the lamp."
"It really does have a genie, doesn't it?"
"You'll find out soon enough, Mr. Abbott. Soon enough."
They completed the transaction genially and Joel wished Mrs. Davis a very lovely day. He thought, Well, am I going to try again to get up to 52% win percentage at Solitaire, or am I going to rub this stupid lamp? He thought about going looking for an appropriate rag for the job, then noticed one in the box Mrs. Davis had brought. Thoughtful lady, he thought, and rubbed the lamp. Nothing whatever happened.
Joel continued rubbing the lamp, feeling more than a little foolish. And a smoke or steam emerged from the lamp. Cramping a bit in the forearm from the effort, he rubbed harder and the smoke started to coalesce. Out of the smoke (or steam) emerged a figure looking exactly like Jack Nicholson in "Chinatown." For the second time in a few minutes, Joel had to stifle an urge to say, "You're kidding." Instead, he said, "You're the genie."
"I'm the genie," said the genie.
"And you look like Jack Nicholson in 'Chinatown'?"
"I look like whatever the genie in your mind looks like. For you, it was Jake Gittes from "Chinatown." For Mrs. Davis, it was-- ah, a long time ago; Don Ameche, I think. If a talking Shetland pony would go over better, I'm a talking Shetland pony. Versatility is my watchword."
"Riiiiight. And I get three wishes?"
"No, you get one wish. But it can be a really big one."
"What's the catch?"
"No catch. Well, there's always a catch, but there isn't any kind of trick. We genies get a lot of bad press. Tell me what you might want to wish for, and I'll tell you the catches and pitfalls before you make your wish. Honest."
"Well, there's this girl..."
"Yes, there nearly always is."
"...named Natalie. She works at the little bank branch in town. Auburn hair, pretty face..."
"...nice personality, intelligent conversation, cute body. I know all, Joel. Remember, I'm a genie."
"I'd like to marry her and make her happy."
"There's your pitfall right there, Joel. I'm sorry to tell you this, but she would never be happy married to you. Well, I shouldn't say never. But not now and not for a long time."
"Oh," Joel said flatly. "Isn't there something I could do to-- change that?"
"With a wish? Sure. But wouldn't that be like a lifelong version of using a drug for date rape? That doesn't sound like you, Joel."
"No it doesn't. So, what you're telling me is, that I can marry Natalie or I can make her happy, is that it?"
"That's it. Sorry, Joel."
"Will she know that it's me making her happy?"
"Not now. Not soon. Not for a long time."
"How long?"
"Ten years. After ten years, you can tell her."
"No wonder you guys get such bad press. You're kind of an asshole, you know that?"
"Fate is implacable and cruel. I'm just capricious and random. You know, you could always wish for a billion dollars and have dozens of girls like Natalie."
"An asshole. No question. Capricious and random or whatever. I don't want dozens of girls like Natalie. I want the one girl I know who's exactly like Natalie. And if I can't have her..." He swallowed. "If I can't have her, I want her to be happy. Very happy."
"That's your wish?"
"That's my wish."
"You'll receive my reports regularly," was the genie's reply as he vanished.
Ten years went by. Joel Abbott got thicker in the middle and thinner on the top. His grandmother passed on, leaving him enough to allow him to continue her hobby by proxy even from beyond the grave, but not enough for him to sell up and move to anywhere more expensive to live than Barnville. The suburbs of Greenville were trying to extend tendrils to the town but hadn't gotten there yet, so business hadn't gotten a lot better. He sold the lamp somewhere along the line, but the genie was as good as his word and reported on Natalie's progress over the years. Apparently, he didn't really need anyone to rub the lamp in order to leave. Capricious, random and sneaky.
"Not now and not for a long time," the genie had said regarding how long it would be before there would be a chance that he and Natalie could be happy together. "Not now and not for a long time," the genie had also said regarding how long it would be before he would be allowed to tell her that he was the agent of her happiness. Could it be? Could it be that if he told her, she would fall into his arms and he would have his happily ever after? Was that what the genie was telling him?
On another Wednesday, a customer walked into Joel's shop just as lovely as the one who had done so ten years earlier, but much younger and much more radiant.
"Joel!" she said.
"Natalie!" he exclaimed back.
"You look just the same," she lied.
"You, too! How have you been?" he asked, knowing the answer.
"Wonderful, Joel. I married Ray, who used to work at the golf course, you know, about nine years ago. Well, he turned out to have a real head for business, and now he owns the golf course and about ten others. Our little boy Ray Junior is 7 now, and our little Mimi is 5. Everything turned out great, and I couldn't be happier."
Joel looked at her lovely, happy, untroubled face and thought about the ten years of loneliness, ten years of hope, ten years of wishing for this moment when he could finally tell her the truth.
"I'm so happy for you," Joel said.
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