"All you had to do, kid."
I think I recovered pretty well from the surprise of the apparition.
"Thank God," I said, "I finally answered that imperative for historical preservation."
***
It started out a bad day, with paperwork to finish that was likely to be a horror, and I’d decided to distract myself for a couple of hours with simple but productive work. Of a soothing or even hypnotic nature.
Mostly I loathe housework but I like making wood look pretty, and I had a new tin of lavender-scented conditioning wax to play with.
I did the wooden spoons, and the cutting boards, and every kitchen object having even the least bit of wood appertaining to it, but I still felt somewhat under-exorcised.
Then I remembered the cheesebox.
Breakstone's Cream Cheese three-pound crate. Dovetail joints! You can’t find those even in furniture these days!
Held spice jars in my mother's kitchen cabinet from at least the beginning of time and you know how it is with dead moms. All their stuff acquires posthumous holiness.
It settled quietly into my pantry when I moved up here, with no obvious need for urgent attention.
Now I rubbed in that lovely wax with energetic devotion.
***
The surge of salt water filled my dining room, high enough to tickle the ceiling. I knew it was a magic wave because nothing got wet and I wasn't drowning.
A genie soft-shoed from the spray and pulled out a chair before I could warn him.
"A freebie for you, kid. No strings." And he went ahead and mended all six. "Want 'em to match, too?"
I shook my head. I suspected the pitfalls here of declarative sentences.
Minus that ruby in his ear, he could've come straight off the living-room sofa in almost any apartment on Rockaway Parkway or Burnside Avenue, a couple of lifetimes ago. He had on a pair of ordinary carpet slippers, and paisley flannel pajamas with one pocket more stretched out than the other and little burn holes all over, as though he kept getting caught in meteor showers. He smelled lovely, like a cream herring.
"You've been living in a box without a lid that was my mom's spice rack, and this—" I waved my polishing rag at him—"has summoned you?"
"All you had to do, kid."
And after pausing for my moment of positive self reflection, I said, "I appreciate you not transmuting from a cloud of smoke." This whole place is sprinklered.
"But I'm confused about the thematic relevance of—"
"Coulda been a puddle of whey. Ain't I cuter on the half-shell?"
Is there any rejoinder to that?
"All righty, kid," he said. "Put up some coffee and let's get started."
"Can't you stop calling me kid?"
"Compared to me, kiddo, you ain't even been born yet."
***
I only had instant, for guests who didn't like tea.
"Company's gotta bring their own hospitality? Sad, kid, sad."
He cleared the table with an elbow and twirled a hand in an airy pirouette.
The coffee was Turkish.
"Surprised? Had it at a friend’s party. Great stuff. You got a yen for anything?"
He started lathering fresh cherry cream cheese on a hunk of pumpernickel. "What's it been? Forty years since you had this? Longer for me, kid " He laughed, very jolly.
He took a big bite and then looked up as though he'd forgotten something.
"You gotta be invited in your own house? Simon says sit down!"
He filled a plate for me and crooked a finger and I had a mug of tea, scalding hot like I like it.
"So what's your first wish?"
Who hasn't imagined a moment like this? I always had quite a list.
I looked at him. Real, or conjured from a moderate state of over-aggravation? Wouldn't change my answer.
"Just let everyone I love be safe always," I said.
"That's it?"
"Isn't that everything?"
"Don't you want them to be happy, too?"
"Won't that be up to them?"
"A little philosopher, huh?" He drummed his fingers on the table, humming. "Okey dokey. You want to toss two good wishes down the toilet, up to you, kid." He stood, dusting crumbs off his fingers.
"Going, going—"
I caught him by the sleeve and his eyes flashed.
"I wish you to go free. But can I keep the cheesebox?"
"Heck sure, kid. And much obliged. Don't forget to put all that in the fridge." He tipped an imaginary hat to me and ambled out the door.
***
He was back, twenty minutes later.
"Stuck to your guns, alright. But I figure I owe you one more chance. Saved you that last wish. Anything you ask for."
I knew he could do it. The crumbs on our plates proved it. His eyes glittered at me like a counterman holding up his fattest smoked whitefish chub by the tail.
I gave him a good hard hug. He felt wonderfully corporeal, just like my grandpa a long time ago. Worth a lot, a feeling like that.
"Just give me what you'd like me to have," I said.
***
"Maidel!"
Of course he wasn't my actual real grandpa. This guy's read The Monkey's Paw too.
But he shows up whenever I need him to, and he always brings the food and I never have to clean up afterwards, and the leftovers stay good for a month.
Another masterpiece. The short story is a form that exceeds my capability.
Same thing happened to me during the lockdown :) I too wished a combination of
1. Practical - it all balances out
2. Wise - priceless
Well done, stay connected to Source!