Everyone has a Genie

 

A cigarette hangs out of the corner of my mouth as I’m sprawled out on my bed. I stare up at the ceiling with my blood shot eyes and suck on the filter. The blinds are drawn and dust particles skate across the air streaked with tiny beams of sunlight. That is the only light source, aside from the lava lamp glowing upon my dresser. Its sensual orange glimmer illuminates the darkest corner of the room ever so subtly.

I flick my lighter on and off in front of my face for a few moments before finally lighting my cigarette. I inhale deeply and hold the smoke in my lungs for a quick second before exhaling slowly. The smoke lingers above my bed and dances along with the Nirvana that is playing softly in the background. Then, just as the nicotine hits me and the marijuana buzz begins to even out, he appears.

“You know, Master…” he begins.

“Shut up, I don’t want to hear it,” I say.

He floats over my bed and folds his hands over his chest, “You’re too young to be this cynical.”

I take another drag of my cigarette and don’t peel my eyes from the ceiling, “Or I’m just young enough.”

He c***s his head to the side and nods in agreement.

“I skipped school again today. Smoked the last of my weed, I’m on my last pack of cigarettes, and I’m probably going to call into work.”

“I saw, and I know,” he replies. “You’re also dusted.”

I shrug nonchalantly.

“You’re a loser,” he says.

“I know.”

“You know… you could wish to be sober so you can go into work.”

I glance over at him with a crooked smile, “You’re not getting rid of me that fast.”

He floats over to the side of my bed and meets me at eye level. “I’ve been your Genie for six months now. Make a wish, for god’s sakes. I’m so sick of you. I should be floating over some kid who’s too smart to go to a public college but to poor to go to a private one. Not inhaling second hand smoke from a brat such as yourself.”

I take a contemplative drag of my cigarette and blow the smoke out the side of my mouth, “Alright, so I wear dirty clothes sometimes and I sleep in class. I never think that anything I’ve ever done is wrong. I take too many sick days because I’m too hung over. I pay Mexicans to do my chores for me and Asians to do my homework. I listen to crappy music that’s only good if you’re high. What of it? I’m a dirt bag. I’ve come to peace with the fact. You will, too, in time.”

 “You know, you could be more than this,” he says.

I flick the last of the ashes from my cigarette then drop it into a dirty cup beside my bed. “Stop with the lecture. My parents and teachers exhausted that years ago. Let me just do what I want, like everyone else does, and things will go smoothly for you. If not, you’re life with me as your Master will be a living hell.”

He sighs heavily.

“I know, I know. What are you going to do with me?”

“Yes, what to do with you? You know, I’ve been around for millions of years and I’ve never met someone as persistent to keep me as you are. Not Van Gough, who was crazy. Not King Louie, who was greedy and not even the hand full of needy teenage girls I’ve served.”

I shrugged, “If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m not one who needs a lot of things nor am I one who cares about a lot of things.”

“In other words, I can look forward to being your Genie for quite some time?”

“Yup.”

He rolls his eyes and floats back to his lava lamp; the dust particles still dancing, the music still playing, the smoke still lingering and the powder still, still…