Two wishes wasted; this third and final one was our last chance. We sat in silence for a time, wondering how things had become so complicated. Wishes were supposed to be easy, simple things. Like, “I wish for lots of money,” or “I wish for a new car.” We’d learned they weren’t.
“Remember the day we found the lamp?” She knew I remembered.
I nodded, “In all the pottery shards at the dig.”
She giggled, and poked my arm, “You tripped over it. Then got up and kicked it.”
I’d nearly broke my foot. The lamp didn’t weigh much, but it was anchored in the ground, just it’s top showing. I kicked it, it didn’t move, and I announced that fact with a string of four letter words.
I had to laugh, “Then, we dug it up, and brushed the dirt off.”
“And out came the genie!”
“Do you know what it’s like to live in a lamp for hundreds of years?”
Of course, we hadn’t turned the lamp in. It would have gone into a museum. The genie said we were the finders of the lamp, so we had three wishes. “Be very careful. Wishes are more complicated than anyone believes.”
“You didn’t believe in the genie,” I reminded her.
“Neither did you.”
“Yeah, but I’m not the one that made a wish.”
“It’s not my fault he turned out to be a real genie.”
I remembered her words. “Yeah. You grant wishes? OK. I wish for a magic carpet. One that flies.”
“As you wish,” the genie replied, as he shook his head, he waved his hand, and there it was. A magic carpet. One that flies. But only if nothing’s on it. “You have two wishes left. Use them wisely.”
“But I can’t ride the carpet!”
“You only wished for a magic carpet that flies. I have granted your wish.”
We spent two hours on our second wish. We planned it out, in detail. “Genie, we wish for a blue Lamborghini Aventador LP 700-4.”
Our genie shook his head, sadly, waved his hands, and in a puff of smoke, there it was. A 1/24th scale model of a blue Lamborghini Aventador. “Your second wish is granted.”
That’s when we realized we’d left too many details out of our wish.
We spent all night on our third wish. Trying to get the details right. Asking each other what we’d forgotten. Wishes, it seemed, were nearly impossible to get right. “Do you have a third wish?”
“Yes, we do.”
“What is it?”
“We’ll tell you when we get our wish right. We’re not screwing this one up.”
That was six years ago. And once a month, we pull out the lamp, and work on our wish. If we ever get the details figured out, we’ll rub the lamp, and call the genie, and make our wish.
It turned out, wishes are a bitch to make.