The Genie Lamp
by Zee bo Bee
~this one is for Victor, who likes lamp!~
He found a lamp once, some ten years ago. He had been exploring, the way only ten year-olds know how, in his family store-room. "Treasure Hunting!" he had told himself as he unearthed - amongst clouds of dust - cardboard boxes that were really treasure chests. But the one box that caught his eye, was that with the word PRIVATE stamped in red across its crumbling sides.
Of course, upon reading this brilliant warning any respectable child would probably turn his attention elsewhere, but a ten year old playing pretend can hardly be counted on to remember such things as manners, and so he began to rummage through the pile anyway.
He came upon the jewels first. Jewels of all shapes and sizes. Some of them red like rubies, some glinting like stars, but Jewels, nontheless. Next, he came upon the gold; perfectly sculpted gold statues, depicting warriors in various acts of combat, all as big as his biggest action figures and, occasionally, gold medalions as huge as his fists.
The jewels were really little more than colourful keychains, the gold statues his father's trophies and the gold medalions his mother's Chess medals. But he wasn't to know that of course. Not while he was playing anyway.
And throughout the day he unearthed other sorts of odds and ends. He even found once, to his bewilderment, a photograph depicting a crowd of naked people dancing at a party. This, he shoved hastily back beneath the pile, for what piques the interest of say, you or me, will most likely be abhorrent to a ten-year-old.
"Yuck!" he said "I sure hope mom and dad weren't one of those naked people!" And that's when he found it. Small and unassuming. The lamp.
Now, it would perhaps be best to draw to your attention, that this lamp was not just a figment of the boy's imagination. For unlike the keychain-jewels and trophy-statues the lamp was very much real. It was very much like the lamps one might see in the Arabian Nights or in Aladdin, that is to say, an elongated teapot, but the boy could not really help but wonder how shabby such lamps really look in real life.
And shabby it was. It might have been silver once, but the silver (if indeed that was what it was) had tarnished so badly the lamp was little more than a lumpy black husk. He noted though that there were rhinestones - REAL rhinestones - running down along its side from the handle all the way to its slender spout where a dried up wick was falling apart.
You would know at a glance, if you had been there to see it, that this lamp was probably some antique that was worth a fair ammount of money, but alas, such things are of no consequence to little boys of that age. There were more important things at hand and he picked it up and said it aloud, "A genie lamp!" in reverrent tones.
Of course, the first thing - or rather the second thing if you had counted the initial wonderment at finding the lamp the first - that came to his mind was simply "what on earth am I going to to with it now!" of course, to you and me, that logical thing to do would be to rub the magic lamp and elicit one's three wishes from the sentient cloud of purple vapour residing within.
But little boys, or at least THIS little boy at any rate, had read countless of stories about genies and, besides the one shown in Disney's Aladdin, most of them turned out to be frightfully horrible cheats. "And just like a heathen too!" he had said, for he was the sort who had been brought up to say that sort of thing.
And so he placed the lamp down on the floor, carefully so as not to rub it by accident, and began to circle it the way a scientist might circle a particularly rare bird in its cage. "I can't simply rub it!" he said to himself "what if it does something nasty to me, or turn me into something simply horrible?!"
for you see, he had just finished a rather riveting book where the genie, upon release, turned the two poor men who freed him into toads. And although he wouldn't mind so much living the rest of his life as a slimy pock-marked amphibian, he couldn't help but think "I'm sure Mother would object to that!"
and that's when it hit him. "Why," he thought slowly "I should just ask Mother what to do with it. I'm sure she would know!"
And off he trotted, with the lamp held securely in his hands, to find Mother. Mother was, as it happened to be at that moment, preparing lunch. "What is it dear?" she had asked him, all the while making short work of the onions on her chopping board. "A genie!" he told her, still trembling with excitement. "Whatever are you talking abou-" she began but then noticed the lamp he held clutched in his hands. "Where did you get that?" she asked, advancing on him.
Of course, if he were slightly older he may have learnt to simply shut up right then but, being a ten year old and as excited by his discovery as he was, he piped "A genie lamp mum! It's genie lamp! I found it in the store -"
But she did not let him finish. "You have no right," she began "to rummage through other people's private belongings". And then followed an increasingly boring lecture from Mother about how important it is to respect the privacies of others.
All the while the poor little boy could not help but think to himself "what's the big deal?" He just could not see why Mother was angered so over what was surely a small act of curiousity on his part. Nothing dire, really, and most certainly nothing worth a lecture of this proportions
But perhaps, if she had told him the rest of the story, he would see. For the box contained, along with its odds and ends, the bitter-sweet memories of her past. Sweet because she had enjoyed being a young and free woman but bitter because she had to sacrifice ever single one of them to become a mother and a housewife. Each thing in the box was a reminder to her, of a single most exciting moment of her life, such moments which were, invariably lost forever.
And it grieved and annoyed her much, that her son had been rummaging and making himself privy to her lost past. For of course, in her grief, she forgot the ten-year-old boys are hardly likely to be able to piece together memories by merely staring at a bunch of odds and ends.
But needless to say, he did not ask her the question out loud and, needless to say, she felt no need to tell him and all he had to show for, when all was said and done was a lesson that good little boys should never snoop.
And the lamp had been taken away and sealed back in its box along with the rest of the unearthed trinkets - except for the picture of the naked people which his mother discreetly pocketed within her apron - and the box was placed on an impossibly tall shelf, never to be seen again. "But I didn't even get to rub the lamp," he had said. Full of remorse.
It's been ten years now since that happened, two years since they had moved to this new house and, as fate would have it, he found himself rummaging through the boxes of this new store-room. He wasn't, of course, playing pretend anymore - for such things are lost to children as they grow older - but searching for his pair of dress-shoes that he was going to wear tonight when he took Laura out on that romantic date he had planned for her.
Instead, he found the box. The carboard box, its sides more worn then ever but still emblazoned with the words "Private" stamped across them in red. Mother's lesson completely ignored, he decided to have another look at the lamp. "Besides," he reasoned, "I can very well seal it up afterwards and no one need be the wiser!"
And so he tore off the selotape that held its top together and peered inside. But alas, there was no lamp.
Surely it would have been lying on top if it was, as he recalled, the last thing Mother had replaced in the box before she sealed it shut and placed it on that infernally tall shelf. But it wasn't there. And neither was it, to his utter bewilderment and dissapointment, at the bottom. Search and search as he might, the lamp simply wasn't anywhere to be found.
It was almost time for his date when he finally gave up and resumed his search for the pair of dress shoes he knew he had brought along when they had moved, and while he was most certainly too old to believe in things like genies or fairy tales, he couldn't help but wonder to himself; what would have happened if he had rubbed that lamp? Would it make any difference, if he had? What if he hadn't been so afraid? What if he hadn't gone to Mother? What if?
And then he realised that there are some instances in life that are lost forever if we did not immediately take the plunge. That there are some things that can dissappear in the short time it takes to get a second opinion. And he realised then, even if he hadn't always did, that he knew that. That's why he asked Laura out the moment he saw her and not wait to "consult" his friends.
But his thoughts still kept on shifting back, again and again, to the lost lamp that may or may not have contained a genie. There was, after all, only one way to be sure and such an opportunity appeared to be lost to him for all time.
"If only," he said with a sigh. "If only I had rubbed the lamp."
PEACE OUT
by Zee bo Bee
~this one is for Victor, who likes lamp!~
He found a lamp once, some ten years ago. He had been exploring, the way only ten year-olds know how, in his family store-room. "Treasure Hunting!" he had told himself as he unearthed - amongst clouds of dust - cardboard boxes that were really treasure chests. But the one box that caught his eye, was that with the word PRIVATE stamped in red across its crumbling sides.
Of course, upon reading this brilliant warning any respectable child would probably turn his attention elsewhere, but a ten year old playing pretend can hardly be counted on to remember such things as manners, and so he began to rummage through the pile anyway.
He came upon the jewels first. Jewels of all shapes and sizes. Some of them red like rubies, some glinting like stars, but Jewels, nontheless. Next, he came upon the gold; perfectly sculpted gold statues, depicting warriors in various acts of combat, all as big as his biggest action figures and, occasionally, gold medalions as huge as his fists.
The jewels were really little more than colourful keychains, the gold statues his father's trophies and the gold medalions his mother's Chess medals. But he wasn't to know that of course. Not while he was playing anyway.
And throughout the day he unearthed other sorts of odds and ends. He even found once, to his bewilderment, a photograph depicting a crowd of naked people dancing at a party. This, he shoved hastily back beneath the pile, for what piques the interest of say, you or me, will most likely be abhorrent to a ten-year-old.
"Yuck!" he said "I sure hope mom and dad weren't one of those naked people!" And that's when he found it. Small and unassuming. The lamp.
Now, it would perhaps be best to draw to your attention, that this lamp was not just a figment of the boy's imagination. For unlike the keychain-jewels and trophy-statues the lamp was very much real. It was very much like the lamps one might see in the Arabian Nights or in Aladdin, that is to say, an elongated teapot, but the boy could not really help but wonder how shabby such lamps really look in real life.
And shabby it was. It might have been silver once, but the silver (if indeed that was what it was) had tarnished so badly the lamp was little more than a lumpy black husk. He noted though that there were rhinestones - REAL rhinestones - running down along its side from the handle all the way to its slender spout where a dried up wick was falling apart.
You would know at a glance, if you had been there to see it, that this lamp was probably some antique that was worth a fair ammount of money, but alas, such things are of no consequence to little boys of that age. There were more important things at hand and he picked it up and said it aloud, "A genie lamp!" in reverrent tones.
Of course, the first thing - or rather the second thing if you had counted the initial wonderment at finding the lamp the first - that came to his mind was simply "what on earth am I going to to with it now!" of course, to you and me, that logical thing to do would be to rub the magic lamp and elicit one's three wishes from the sentient cloud of purple vapour residing within.
But little boys, or at least THIS little boy at any rate, had read countless of stories about genies and, besides the one shown in Disney's Aladdin, most of them turned out to be frightfully horrible cheats. "And just like a heathen too!" he had said, for he was the sort who had been brought up to say that sort of thing.
And so he placed the lamp down on the floor, carefully so as not to rub it by accident, and began to circle it the way a scientist might circle a particularly rare bird in its cage. "I can't simply rub it!" he said to himself "what if it does something nasty to me, or turn me into something simply horrible?!"
for you see, he had just finished a rather riveting book where the genie, upon release, turned the two poor men who freed him into toads. And although he wouldn't mind so much living the rest of his life as a slimy pock-marked amphibian, he couldn't help but think "I'm sure Mother would object to that!"
and that's when it hit him. "Why," he thought slowly "I should just ask Mother what to do with it. I'm sure she would know!"
And off he trotted, with the lamp held securely in his hands, to find Mother. Mother was, as it happened to be at that moment, preparing lunch. "What is it dear?" she had asked him, all the while making short work of the onions on her chopping board. "A genie!" he told her, still trembling with excitement. "Whatever are you talking abou-" she began but then noticed the lamp he held clutched in his hands. "Where did you get that?" she asked, advancing on him.
Of course, if he were slightly older he may have learnt to simply shut up right then but, being a ten year old and as excited by his discovery as he was, he piped "A genie lamp mum! It's genie lamp! I found it in the store -"
But she did not let him finish. "You have no right," she began "to rummage through other people's private belongings". And then followed an increasingly boring lecture from Mother about how important it is to respect the privacies of others.
All the while the poor little boy could not help but think to himself "what's the big deal?" He just could not see why Mother was angered so over what was surely a small act of curiousity on his part. Nothing dire, really, and most certainly nothing worth a lecture of this proportions
But perhaps, if she had told him the rest of the story, he would see. For the box contained, along with its odds and ends, the bitter-sweet memories of her past. Sweet because she had enjoyed being a young and free woman but bitter because she had to sacrifice ever single one of them to become a mother and a housewife. Each thing in the box was a reminder to her, of a single most exciting moment of her life, such moments which were, invariably lost forever.
And it grieved and annoyed her much, that her son had been rummaging and making himself privy to her lost past. For of course, in her grief, she forgot the ten-year-old boys are hardly likely to be able to piece together memories by merely staring at a bunch of odds and ends.
But needless to say, he did not ask her the question out loud and, needless to say, she felt no need to tell him and all he had to show for, when all was said and done was a lesson that good little boys should never snoop.
And the lamp had been taken away and sealed back in its box along with the rest of the unearthed trinkets - except for the picture of the naked people which his mother discreetly pocketed within her apron - and the box was placed on an impossibly tall shelf, never to be seen again. "But I didn't even get to rub the lamp," he had said. Full of remorse.
It's been ten years now since that happened, two years since they had moved to this new house and, as fate would have it, he found himself rummaging through the boxes of this new store-room. He wasn't, of course, playing pretend anymore - for such things are lost to children as they grow older - but searching for his pair of dress-shoes that he was going to wear tonight when he took Laura out on that romantic date he had planned for her.
Instead, he found the box. The carboard box, its sides more worn then ever but still emblazoned with the words "Private" stamped across them in red. Mother's lesson completely ignored, he decided to have another look at the lamp. "Besides," he reasoned, "I can very well seal it up afterwards and no one need be the wiser!"
And so he tore off the selotape that held its top together and peered inside. But alas, there was no lamp.
Surely it would have been lying on top if it was, as he recalled, the last thing Mother had replaced in the box before she sealed it shut and placed it on that infernally tall shelf. But it wasn't there. And neither was it, to his utter bewilderment and dissapointment, at the bottom. Search and search as he might, the lamp simply wasn't anywhere to be found.
It was almost time for his date when he finally gave up and resumed his search for the pair of dress shoes he knew he had brought along when they had moved, and while he was most certainly too old to believe in things like genies or fairy tales, he couldn't help but wonder to himself; what would have happened if he had rubbed that lamp? Would it make any difference, if he had? What if he hadn't been so afraid? What if he hadn't gone to Mother? What if?
And then he realised that there are some instances in life that are lost forever if we did not immediately take the plunge. That there are some things that can dissappear in the short time it takes to get a second opinion. And he realised then, even if he hadn't always did, that he knew that. That's why he asked Laura out the moment he saw her and not wait to "consult" his friends.
But his thoughts still kept on shifting back, again and again, to the lost lamp that may or may not have contained a genie. There was, after all, only one way to be sure and such an opportunity appeared to be lost to him for all time.
"If only," he said with a sigh. "If only I had rubbed the lamp."
PEACE OUT
