Bathed in the subdued glow, seated in the round, on a silken cushion of the finest quality. Scarves adorn the curvaceous walls, ensconced in gems and glittering jewels, some the size of hand fruits. He hardly notices the muffled chatter from the outside anymore, but when he does, his eyes take on a look reminiscent of a loyal pup looking out the window and waiting for his master to return. It’s been ages since anyone outside of this arrangement spoke to him as himself and not some contrived servant, instantly there, simply to cater to every little whim.
I always loved the notion of the fabled genie in the lamp. There’s something so morosely poetic in the granting of three, and only three, of the heart’s deepest desires and then, poof, you’re on your own. There must be lessons here to learn. Something about careful wishing or how our possessions end up owning us, some moral to this story. This classic fable, a timeless test for those most greedy; always calculating, wishing for more wishes. A trap for those thirsty for far more than their portion.
As the story goes, in the throes of such fervent gluttony, those who are found wanting wind up eternally bound to the lamp, thus freeing the poor trapped soul who made the very same mistake eons ago. The ancient art of trading places with a fool, giving credence to that old adage, about one being born every minute… perhaps it was simply a numbers game. Like a con man or a telemarketer, someone is bound to bite sooner or later. But I digress, in all of this, I can’t help but think of the past, of her. Funny how the mind works.
I recollect a time when we ended our six years together. How I felt the initial shock of her infidelity, choking on the lump of anguish in my throat, my face flushed in humiliation from the betrayal. The stifling sadness of losing my love, my light, my world, to another man. So unceremoniously stabbed in the back. How hopelessly dramatic of me. At the time it was painful, the end of an era. My emotions were raw and rare.
I can still see his face, leaning in too close at times, the two of them sneaking around under my nose, as he jealously coveted all that I once had, or so he perceived. I remember an evening when we visited his apartment as invited friends, and he wooed her in front of me with a Beatles tune, a George song, of all things, (and one of my favorites). He played in such lonesome desperation; lacking polish, technique, or any rhythm to speak of. I could see it all unfolding right before my eyes. It wasn’t long before I was freed from my time in that lamp at last. Room to run, the light, the air, unimagined possibilities waited for me, while this pitiable soul would remain, ensnared with her for the rest of their days. Despite the luxury of that gilded cage, the lush appointments, and the quickly fading glimmer of those lovely gems; somehow I knew that for years to come, far more than his guitar would gently weep.
by D. Ryan Lafferty
Note. Originally published in the People Papers column, Literary Crumbs, November 2023.
Literary Crumbs: Poems & Short Stories to Savor by D. Ryan Lafferty 