Wee hours. Genie drops into room.
DearOne sleeping the way he does. T-shirt over his head
sheikh style. Six-foot furrow in a field of bed. Inert as a row of beans.
DearOne’ll wake if I sigh too loudly. If I toot just barely.
If I think too hard.
Yet Genie appearing, lights flashing, no prob! Of course no
problem with lights flashing. DearOne wears mask in addition to t-shirt on
head. Think Snoopy vs. Red Baron.
Genie. Shaved head like Mr. Clean. Steam snorting out
nostrils. Biceps plumping. Harem pants red as lipstick on Great Aunt Ossie.
Eyebrows arched (Aunt Ossie again).
What can I do for you Oh Beautiful? I am yours to command!
More lights. Thunder sounds. Symphonic music. DearOne
stirring now: Babe, you OK?
To DearOne: There’s a genie in here and I have three wishes.
To Genie: Three, right?
Genie nodding.
The question is can I find my wishes. Can I reach right down
to – which chakra is it? Fifth? Seventh? Shit, I should know. Can I reach like
pulling a rabbit out of a top hat? Ta Da! Presto! Three wishes. Three wishes.
Shit! Shit! Three! Quiet DearOne, puh-leaze! Let me think…
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