Genie in the Lamp

Simple story of a solitary man who collects bits and bobs.

 

 

Genie in the Lamp

Harvey had no brothers or sisters, he was an only child born to working class parents.  He spent a lot of time around adults, chewed his fingernails and was often advised to speak when spoken to. His family never lived or visited any mystical, exotic places like Asia, or Turkey, nor did they have any distant relatives from Romania. The closest he ever got to any exotic magic was at school, when on hot afternoons, his second grade teacher would read stories about Aladdin and a thousand and one Arabian knights aloud to the class. He’d sit with his head on top a cool school desk and day dream about flying on carpets and rubbing lamps for wishes. To most second graders, anything in the future was unknown and therefore magical. When the carnival came to town, his mother, god fearing, straight-laced Baptist that she was, wouldn’t dream of letting some sideshow Gypsy gaze into a chrystal ball and tell him his fortune, even just for fun. The closest Harvey ever got to a crystal ball was when his uncle Louie gave him a Magic Eight-ball one Christmas. The odd toy fascinated young Harvey, he’d shake the glossy black sphere bearing a white circle with a black 8 in the middle, ask it a question about his future, then turn it over and watch as ambiguous, one word answers magically appeared through a murky portal on the bottom of the orb. 

Harvey eventually graduated high school and soon after, began a career as a bank teller in a small town, not far from where he was born. Adult Harvey left behind all vestiges of magic toys and granted wishes. His life was mundane, comprised of all things meat and potatoes, and buttoned-down, like his Oxford shirt collars- but Harvey had a secret he kept all to himself. On Saturdays, after mowing his lawn, he’d spend the rest of the afternoon going to antique stores, curio shops and second hand pawn brokers, even venturing out as far as neighboring counties to rummage through estate sales. It was his very own secret indulgence. Wandering through display after display of objects and furniture from bygone days, he’d get a palpable thrill speculating about their provenance- a thrill he didn’t get from his 9-to-5 life. 

During one such Saturday adventure, Harvey came across an unusual shop, that sat on a corner lot sissored between two rural highways. Across from the shop sat a busy truck stop and greasy spoon diner. The name of the shop was 3 Mile. As Harvey parked his car and opened the door, a semi released its jack brake with a screech and a bang. Road dust from passing 16-wheel rigs swept around him as he entered the store. Inside, a riot of old objects, antique furniture, vintage glass bottles, toys, tools, old signs- a magical world of heirloom nostalgia greeted him. 

The store had so many eclectic displays, he didn’t know where to start. There were consignment areas that resembled miniature museums, shelf above shelf of Knick-knacks, glass displays showcasing hordes of jewelry that would make a pirate envious. He thumbed through dusty photo-books, and wielded iron tools hand-forged by blacksmiths. He gently tipped the back of a carved rocking chair, and imagined a specter of the original owner still sitting there as it rocked. Once the chair ceased its ghostly motion, Harvey moved on. 

After a good hour, Harvey had worked his way deeper into the labyrinth of curiosities. The store entrance was no longer in his direct line of sight. Only a scant suggestion of window light penetrated to his surroundings. He turned in place and marveled wide-eyed at all the things around him. To his right, at waist level sitting atop a dinged and scarred end table, was an antique, brass table lamp. Its body a stack of oblong spheres. He fiddled with the bare harp above the empty light bulb socket, on which a lampshade could be hung. He rotated the lamp back and forth and suddenly thought he saw something reflected in the Lamp’s curved contours. Harvey took out his handkerchief and gently wiped a coating of dust from the lamp’s brass surface. It was at this moment, the sudden appearance of a face staring back at him gave him a start.

His curiosity aroused, he leaned down and stuck his face closer to the lamp. No sooner had he done so, the mysterious face loomed up at him from the lamp’s interior. Harvey took a quick, defensive step back and studied the lamp. The brass was dark and tarnished and only caught faint glints of light now and again. He waited for the face to reappear, but nothing happened. After a few minutes, Harvey slowly moved closer to the largest brass oblong in the middle of the lamp and the face cautiously appeared from the lamp’s dark depths. This time it didn’t startle him. He stared at the face and the face stared back. Any distinguishing facial features were clouded by the tarnished brass surface. Harvey didn’t recognize the face that studied him as intently as he studied it. Harvey stood up and the face submerged deep into the lamp. 

Without a second thought, Harvey grabbed the lamp and took it back to the store entrance where he promptly paid cash, rushed to his car, laid the lamp on the back seat and drove directly home. Immediately entering his house, Harvey set the lamp on a coffee table in the middle of his living room. He didn’t care if its design didn’t fit the room’s decor, that’s not why he bought it. Something else intrigued him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but something that inexplicably set his mind to wander. He collected rags and solutions to better clean the old lamp and try to bring it back to its original splendor. Harvey didn’t see any reflections in the lamp as he cleaned it, and he worried whether he’d be able to find a suitable shade for it. The cleaning done, he sat on the sofa and admired his new lamp. He just stared into the lamp’s dark, smoky reflections. 

Harvey sat staring, past dinner time. Past the time he usually spent watching television. He sat there past bedtime. All the while, the room grew darker and reflections drifting around the lamp’s contours slowed and grew dim. It was at this late hour, Harvey again moved his face close to the middle of the lamp. The face greeted him by staring back. The house was quiet except for a low hum coming from the kitchen refrigerator. Outside, street lights shed a faint green glow over neighborhood shrubbery and rooftops. 

The strange face appeared in the lamp very much like the way answers in Harvey’s old Magic Eight-ball toy appeared, floating slowly to the surface with a slight wobbling movement. Feeling a bit eerie, he took a cloth and slowly pawed at the face, trying to wipe some recognition into its visage. He wanted to say something to the face, talk to it and ask it questions. A full moon rose invisible behind dense cloud cover. After what seemed like an eternity, Harvey heard himself say: 

     “I’m Harvey.” The shrouded face made no reply. 

Harvey leaned closer to the lamp and turned his head so only one eye faced the surface and peered as if looking into a keyhole. The face in the lamp turned, grew close and went out of focus until Harvey sat back again. The face wobbled, floated into focus and stared back silently.

     “I’m Harvey, can you hear me?” No answer. Harvey hadn’t had any dinner and he let out a sigh and said quietly, but aloud, “I’m hungry.” He stretched, arms overhead, leaned against the sofa back and yawned. The face in the lamp disappeared. Harvey finally got up and went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Inside he found two Chinese food, take-out cartons. Harvey couldn’t remember ordering any Chinese food, that day or any previous day, yet there sat the cartons. Without thinking twice, he grabbed one, opened it and began eating. He returned to the living room, a carton of Egg Foo Young in hand. He ate standing up while he contemplated the mysterious lamp. 

     “Hey, nice Chinese… you do that?” He asked the lamp, wiggling the half-empty carton in his hand. No reply. Harvey bent lower, closer to the lamp, “Hey, you in there?” The face floated to the surface and blinked back at Harvey. “Ah, there you are. Don’t talk much do ya?”

Harvey finished his take-out and threw the empty carton in the trash. He returned to the living room, sat on the sofa, rubbed his eyes a minute, then leaned in toward the lamp. The face appeared. “So, like what else can you do?” The face only wobbled in response. Harvey gave it a sideways glance. The face returned the same expression. “Oh, cheeky devil, aren’t ya?” Try as he might, Harvey couldn’t recognize the facial features, even though he thought there was a hint of familiarity about them. “Well, I got to get to bed, got church in the morning.” And with that last comment, Harvey went to bed and fell asleep. 

The next morning, he rose early, showered, shaved, dressed in his only Sunday suit, ate toast and coffee for breakfast and went to morning church service. When he returned home, he changed his clothes, poured another cup of coffee and took a seat on the sofa across from the lamp. 

     “Well, same old, same ol’ at church” he said to the lamp. He sipped some coffee and waited for the lamp to respond- silence.  “Yeah, I’m not much good at small talk either.” Harvey peered closer into the lamp, just to see if the face was still there. “Good, for a minute there, I thought you’d gone.”

Harvey finished his coffee, took the cup back to the kitchen and placed it in the sink. He returned to the living room. He considered the shade-less lamp and figured it looked o.k. without one. He then grabbed a wooden chair from against the wall and brought it closer to the lamp. Sitting close-up, the face seemed clearer, and more animated. 

     “So, what do you think about this: I was going to ask the boss’s secretary out for a date…any thoughts?” Harvey sat and patiently waited for an answer. He brushed lint off his pants.

     “Yeah, her name’s Jennifer, she’s a blonde. I like blondes, they remind me of cheesecake. We haven’t actually talked yet, that’s why I asked what you thought.”

Harvey continued his conversation well into the night, through the dawn, right up until it was time to leave for work the next day. 

Author's Note

First original write in over a year and a half… no excuse though. The photograph is an original taken by me. Don’t be gentle. Critiques and comments welcome.

Reviews

[Philip Gaber]

Also, interesting image.Makes me think of Orson Welles. He always had dynamic angles.

[Philip Gaber]

I like the lick, " I like blondes, they remind me of cheesecake." Terrific write-of-passage tale. Increase the font size of your text.. Middle-aged folks like me have s****y eyesight. I like your passion, Bill.

[roarke]

Sorry about wc’s default font size, hopefully 15pt reads a little better. Glad you liked Philip.

[Philip Gaber]

Yeah, default! Wow!