The Ring: Part 2
The rest of the day passed quickly, like a train speeding towards a broken rail. My heartbeat struck out the seconds like a countdown, echoing in my breastbone. I felt sick.
Some of my friends noticed, and gave me hugs between the last few classes. Lindsey found me in the parking lot after school, and offered to drive me home. I declined, and drove myself after getting another tender hug from her.
The walk up the driveway was the longest it had ever been.
When I opened the door, I was greeted with silence. My heart fluttered when I saw the piece of paper on the counter, and I held my breath as I read the thin crisp handwriting of my mother.
They were out for dinner with friends. Last minute changes. They wouldn’t be home until later. I could cook for myself. As I read the words, I felt such a strong sense of release and foreboding that it almost hurt. At first the relief was like a waterfall pouring on my head, quenching the furious pounding of my heart. Then, the realization that this was merely a postponement of the inevitable settled around my stomach, and what release I felt was pulled to the earth like a stone.
I wasn’t hungry yet, so I went to my room, throwing my book bag on the bed, and myself after it. I lay there, staring at the ceiling while my stomach gnawed away at itself, when my thoughts drifted to the ring.
I felt foolish even thinking about it. I was seventeen years old — I was far too old to believe in fairy stories. I gave up my stuffed animals years ago at my parents insistence, and hadn’t needed a security blanket since I was five. Why now should I find myself drawn to the idea of a magical man that might fix everything if I simply wished hard enough?
Finally, I sat up, and pulled my jewelry box off of the dresser, tossing it onto the bed. I pulled it open to see the small black ring box tucked in the corner, surrounded by rings, necklaces, and earrings. I pulled out the box and stared at it, feeling the rough and warn velvet surface under my fingers and the weight of it in my palm.
Slowly I pulled at the box, feeling the ancient spring resist only for a moment before giving way and popping open the lid and revealing the simple ring inside.
My heart was fluttering in my chest like a bird in a cage. I tried to breathe calmly as I reached for the glittering gemstone.
It felt like such a little thing, small and insignificant. Something so mild and unassuming couldn’t do magic or help me avoid my parent’s disapproval. It was just another ring — no more, no less. I wasn’t going to wear it in hopes of a granted wish, it was simply a pretty ring. I liked it. I was simply wearing it because it looked nice.
My hand still shook as I slipped the ring on.
When there was no thunderclap or burst of sparks, I tucked my knees under my chin and sat next to my bed. I didn’t know whether to be glad or disappointed.
A knock on the front door startled me, and I clapped my hands to my mouth to keep from crying out. I held my breath, listening intently as the house settled around me. After a few moments, the knock came again. Slowly and as quietly as I could, I pushed myself off the floor and crept down the hallway towards the door.
I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had knocked on our door. Half of me was staring at this spindly little girl trying to keep quiet with scorn. The other half was daring to hope — what for I wasn’t sure.
I approached the front door, reached out for the doorknob, and stopped. Perhaps they had gone already? Changing my mind, I leaned forward, trying to listen to see if I could hear anyone outside.
No sooner had my ear touched the wood, then the knock came again — softer, as though aware that I was very near now, and simply needed encouragement. I took a deep breath and carefully opened the door.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello,” I replied, my voice sounding squeaky and breathless to my ears. His hair was unchanged, his eyes still burning. His face still held that same vague and calm interest, like he was seeing me for the first time. His clothing had changed — now he was dressed in dusty brown slacks and a white button-up shirt with an open jacket. We stared at each other for almost a minute, while I became very aware of my hands and feet.
“May I come inside?” he asked, politely.
“Could I stop you?” I asked, only half jokingly. He looked embarrassed as he scratched at the back of his neck with a thin and perfectly shaped hand.
“I need the invitation,” he said.
“I thought that was vampires?” I said, stepping away from the door to let him enter.
“It’s a lot of things,” he said, carefully stepping through the doorway. I closed the door behind him as he turned to look at me, slipping his hands into his pockets.
“Are vampires real too?” I asked, not entirely sure if I wanted an answer.
“Lots of people are vampires,” a flicker of a smile flashed across his lips. “And most of them don’t even know it.”
“Ghosts? Aliens?” I leaned with my back against the door, my hands clasped behind me.
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I don’t know a lot of things — I’m not as strong as other spirits.”
“How strong are you?” I asked, feeling a small trickle of confidence seep into my body.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked. I felt something shiver in my stomach.
“Make me dinner,” I said, desperate to find out exactly how far this genie could be pushed. With a swift nod of his spiky head, he turned and walked calmly to the kitchen. I followed, eager to see what he would do.
When I stepped through the kitchen door, my breath caught in my throat. I had expected music or flashing lights. Magic words, or even a puff of smoke.
Instead, what I saw was a collection of bowls filled with Indian food arranged beautifully on the kitchen table. A tablecloth I had never seen before lay gently over the table, covered in lace and embroidered flowers. The bowls were darkly glazed, with sharp red and yellow shapes spreading across their surfaces. A basket of flat-bread sat next to a tall candle that the boy was lighting with a match.
There was no magic, no fanfare, no effects of any kind. The food was just there. I must have stood in the doorway for minutes, simply staring at the food and trying to think of some way to rationalize what I was seeing — but there was none. After a while, the boy walked over to the chair closest to me, and pulled it out from the table.
The sound of the chairs wooden legs on the linoleum floor snapped my mind out of its stupor. Dreamlike, I walked over to the chair and sat, letting him push in my chair and lay a napkin in my lap. I tried to think of something to say, but then the smell of the food hit my nostrils, and I realized how hungry I suddenly was.
It was some of the best Indian food I had ever had. The bread was light and fluffy, with crisp edges that snapped when I bit through them. The Dal was just spicy enough to tickle the tongue, and thick and hearty enough to settle comfortably in the stomach. The vegetables were fresh and flavorful, the hummus rich and creamy, the rice smooth and soft as dandelion fluff. When I reached for the water I realized he had poured for me a thick ruby-red wine that was sweet and delicious.
I don’t know how long I ate, but I didn’t ever want to stop.
Finally my stomach strained against my jeans, and no matter how much my tongue wanted to taste, my hands simply couldn’t bring any more food to my mouth.
I was drunk, less on wine and food but more on contentment. I felt warm and comfortable, my full stomach urging me to find some thick plush cousin to lay down on. I stood from the table, downing the last swallow of wine from my glass, and staggered towards the living-room.
“Have you had enough to eat?” he asked from the corner when I walked into the room. I jumped at his voice, startled that he wasn’t still in the kitchen like I thought he had been.
“More than enough,” I said, collapsing onto the couch with a loud thump. “Can you take care of the dishes?” I giggled at the sound of the familiar words coming from my mouth instead of my mother’s.
“It is already done,” he said, stepping closer. “How else can I serve you?”
I looked up from the couch, pushing my hair away from my eyes to look him in the face. He still held the same calm expression, the same spiky hair, the same smoldering eyes. The eyes that seemed to be so full, and deep. Eyes that held back something powerful…
Reality slowly crept back into my head as the food in my belly settled.
“Can you change my grade?” I asked, remembering why I had put on the ring in the first place. “I got a B.”
“I can change the paper,” he said, frowning slightly. “I could move the ink, but I cannot change the past. I can fix the records, no more.”
“That’s enough,” I said, eagerly, pushing myself up off the couch and sitting on my heels. “I just don’t want my parents to see a B on my report card.”
“It is done,” he said, nodding. “What else can I do for you?”
I kicked my legs out from under me and jumped off the couch, moving towards the stairs. I don’t know why I didn’t trust him — after the miraculous dinner, I couldn’t imagine something as simple as changing a B to an A would pose any trouble for him, but I had to see. Running to my room, I pulled open my book bag and pulled my midterm report card out of my binder.
Straight A’s, from top to bottom.
I turned around, and he was there, standing in the doorway, his eyes glittering in the dim light. My mind was fizzing, high on the food, wine, and relief at what I had just seen. I tossed the report card aside and ran to him, throwing my arms around his neck and giving him the biggest hug I had ever given anyone.
I felt him stiffen, and then slowly yield to my embrace. His arms slowly encircled my shoulders, tightening ever so gently to return the comforting hug. We stood there, together, for what felt like an hour, and then I released him. His arms immediately dropped as I took a step back.
“Thank you,” I said, feeling a little foolish. At first I had avoided even considering wearing the ring again, and now here I was, embracing someone I knew nothing about, simply because he made me dinner, and doctored a report card.
He nodded, his burning eyes boring into mine. Slowly, he raised his hand to my cheek, and where he touched I felt tears that I hadn’t even realized I was shedding.
“What’s your name?” I asked, turning away before he saw my blush as I wiped my eyes furiously. He took a step towards me, and then stopped.
“We have no names,” he sighed, turning to face the window. “We are the wind and clouds, drifting through the air. We are but a part of a whole. You don’t name each gust of wind, do you? Or every blade of grass? Every grain of sand?”
“I would if I needed to tell the difference between them,” I countered. The brief smile flashed again. “What should I call you?”
“Genie is what I am usually called,” he shrugged, “or slave. I will know when you are speaking to me, so you need never call — you may simply speak, and I will know.”
“Where do you go, when you’re not here?” I asked. I tried not to let him see how shaken I was by the word ‘slave.’ That was something I wasn’t ready to think about. “Do you live in the ring, like a lamp?”
“No,” he looked at me, “I do not live. I simply go until you need me again.”
“But go where?” I asked. I was getting curious, in spite of myself. I wasn’t sure it was wise to pry too deeply into the magics of this strange spirit, but at the same time I was fascinated. “What do you see?”
“I see nothing,” he shrugged again, “there is nothing when there is no one to serve.”
“No light, or… anything?”
“Nothing.” He looked back out the window, the light from the sunset glistening over his skin like stars on a lake. “No time, no space, no thought.”
“So, if I told you to go away,” I asked, trying to wrap my brain around the idea, “the next thing you would know, we’d be somewhere else, and I’d be asking you for help? You… travel through time?”
“If you like,” he said, taking a deep breath as the sun sunk lower. “Perhaps it is similar to how you sleep. All I know is that without you, I do not exist.”
The front door slammed, making me jump. The muttered voices of my mother and father drifted up the stairs, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I leapt from my bed and ran to the door, sticking my head out to better hear what they were saying.
Confident they were not talking about me, I turned back to the Genie, only to see that he had vanished from my room. I lay back down on my bed, and closed my eyes, remembering his strong arms, and burning eyes.
“How long have you lived?” I asked him one Saturday evening, as we walked down the street after dinner. “Were you around in ancient Egypt? Or during the crusades?”
“I don’t know,” He said, shrugging in his noncommittal way. It was refreshing to be friends with someone who was so much more casual and carefree than I was. “Time is a very human thing. I have had hundreds of masters — that is how I track my time.”
“Anyone famous?” I asked, leaning into his bronzed arm. “Anyone from my history book whose name I’d recognize?” He thought for a few moments, and then shrugged again.
“I was once made servant to the great King Moraman of Mot. He demanded I save his daughter’s life.”
“Did you?” I asked, tactfully neglecting to mention that I had never heard of any land called Mot before. He shook his head.
“I could not,” he sighed. “She was too near the arms of death to be snatched back. He asked me for seven days straight, taking no food and only a little water, barely sleeping, until she died.”
“He must have loved her very much,” I held his arm tighter. I tried to imagine my father doing the same for me. I tried to hear his voice pleading with the Genie, begging to bring me back for a single day.
“He told me he did,” the Genie looked at me, something glittering in his dark eyes. “I never saw him again.”
“You mean he asked for one thing, and then forgot about you?” I couldn’t imagine anyone forgetting about a Genie. Perhaps in ancient times, magical beasts and spirits were far more common.
“I doubt he forgot,” he flashed a smile. “But nevertheless, I never saw him again.”
“Who else?” I asked, nudging him further.
“Peasants,” the Genie shrugged. “A merchant or two. A priest or wandering storyteller. Thieves and beggars and farmers have all worn my ring.”
“Did any of them become a king?” I asked.
“Many asked,” he replied. “I am not that strong of a Genie, alas. I couldn’t give them a kingdom. No, none of them became kings or queens. They all remained what they were at heart. Peasants and beggars and thieves.”
“Queens? You had women masters too?” I felt silly asking — if he really had lived as long as he said, it was only natural that he should have had at least a few. He looked at me, his burning eyes answering my question far better than any words could. “Did they…” I stopped, not knowing how to ask the question.
“I think…” he stopped. We stood still, next to each other for a few minutes. We were close enough that I could feel the wind dance through the small cracks between our bodies. I could smell the spice on him, and felt his breath stirring the air. I wondered if spirits really needed to breathe.
“I think I had better go,” he said.
“Go?” Something in my chest felt hollow. “Go where?”
“I should leave,” he said, gently pulling himself away from my arm. “It’s getting late.”
“You don’t sleep,” I reminded him, feeling the empty pit of my stomach falling further away.
“Nevertheless,” he bowed his head slightly. “I should let you have your walk alone.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” I said, quickly, before I realized which words I had chosen. His burning eyes stared deeply into mine for a split second, and I was worried I had said something wrong, when he gave a small nod.
“Then I will not,” he said simply. He offered his arm, and we continued our walk.
“I’m sorry,” I said, when we had finished our walk and were at my front door. The Genie looked confused. “I shouldn’t have wished you to stay when you wanted to leave.”
“I didn’t want to leave,” he said, his smile flickering again. “That’s why I needed to.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, matching his smoldering gaze with one of my own.
“I think you should take off my ring,” he said, with the closest thing to a frown I had ever seen on his face. “Genies like myself are powerful, but there are limits to what we can do — to what we should do.”
“You’re afraid I might ask you to do something you can’t?” I asked, letting a smile spread across my lips.
“I’m afraid I might do something I shouldn’t,” he said, his hands gently grabbing my shoulders. I suddenly was aware of exactly how close we were to each other — how close our faces were.
The sound of my front door opening pulled us apart. I turned to see my Mother coming to a halt as she looked up from the garbage bag she was maneuvering through the doorway. Genie lowered his hands and gave me a small nod.
“Give me a call,” he said, quietly, “and I’ll be there for you.” He gave a small wave to my mother, and then turned away, walking casually down the road. I watched him leave for a few moments before turning to face my mother, who was looking at me with a strange glint in her eye.
“Who was that?” she asked, her suggestive tone very clear.
“No one,” I quickly lied, slipping past her and the garbage bag into the house.
“Ah, ’no one’.” she called back, shaking her head as she dropped the bag into the nearby trash can. “I’ve been wondering if you were ever going to meet a ’no one’…”
“I’ve had boyfriends before,” I protested from the doorway, trying to avoid the conversation I knew my mother would try to force upon me.
“Oh yes,” she said, walking towards me with a smile. “You’ve brought home several friends, and you always told me and your father their names. You practically listed their resumes, hoping we’d approve of them. And we always did, didn’t we?”
“Dad didn’t like Mickey,” I muttered. Mother waved her hand dismissively.
“Oh he liked him fine, he just hated his taste in clothing. The point is you’ve never hid one from us before, and I think that means this one feels… a bit different?”
I think my smile told her everything.
“What can I do for you?” Genie asked, stepping into my room. I didn’t remember thinking I wanted to talk to him, but he was there all the same. I looked up from the bed, my eyes stinging when they looked into his burning gaze.
He looked different to me somehow — we had been together for the whole school year, spending more and more time together. I still remember how he looked every day of that wonderful year. But now…
“Did you know?” I asked. His face didn’t move — his smooth, calm, unflappable face that looked so strong and peaceful. He stepped closer to the bed, sitting down next to me.
“Did I know what?” he asked back. I looked back at the paper in my hands, blinking away the burning tears that rimmed my eyes. He reached out his hand to brush my cheeks, but I pulled away.
“Did you know what you were doing to me?” I asked, sharply. He gave a small sigh, and gently took my final high-school report card from my hand. I didn’t bother to resist.
“Yes,” he said, my report card resting in his palm. My mind was racing, trying to think of something to say, to do, that could show him exactly what was happening.
“Lindsey says I was just distracted, but that wasn’t it, was it?” I asked him. He didn’t say anything for a few moments.
“No,” he answered.
“I asked if you ate,” I began, slowly. “I wondered if you breathed, or drank water, or… or anything. I guess I thought you were a ghost, but even they need something, don’t they?” He didn’t answer. “It’s your fault, isn’t it?”
I turned to face him again, but he had turned away, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head bowed.
“Your old masters,” I said, carefully, choosing my words as carefully as my heart would let me. “You said they all stayed what they were — peasants. I realize why now… They never tried to be anything more, did they? You could have helped give them opportunities and improve their potential… but why would they wish for that? Why wish for anything when you could wish for comfort.”
His head bowed lower.
“What you will become,” he said, quietly, “is your own choosing.”
“But why choose to be anything when I can wish to be happy?” I shot back. He nodded.
“I have seen them,” he said, “day by day become less than what they could be, until they are little more than slaves themselves to their own whims. I couldn’t bear to see that happen to you… I…” he stopped.
“You… what?” I asked, leaning closer.
“I think I…” he stopped again, his voice quivering slightly. “I love you.”
Time should have stopped, I realized. I should have heard birds chirping and the winds of the world blowing into our lungs, drawing us closer. Sound should have faded until all I could hear would be our heartbeats, beating in tandem.
Instead, I heard my voice saying:
“Why?”
He looked at me in shock. “Why?” he repeated in confusion, the most emotion I had ever seen from him in all of our time together. He looked almost hurt, like I didn’t trust the one truthful thing he had ever told me.
“Who else have you met?” I asked, not letting his gaze shake my firm resolve. “Me, and who else? Your other masters? Did you love them too? Or just the lonely ones?”
He stood up then, as though I had struck him full in the face. I crawled towards him on the bed, my mouth still speaking though I had lost track of the words.
“It’s not just what I wish for, is it? I didn’t wish to be saved from that car when we first met — you saved me on your own. What other wishes have you been answering deep in my heart? In all of your masters’ hearts? Comfort? Ease?”
“Happiness,” he said, moving away from me towards the window. He pressed his hands against the pane like a frog in an aquarium. “Freedom from cares, from worries and pain.”
“And none of them became anything, did they?” I pressed on. “They all just stayed peasants. And that’s what’s happening to me, isn’t it?” I almost cried, pointing at my report card. “Three! Three B’s, and I could just as easily wish them away, couldn’t I? I could wish my way through college, into and out of jobs, relationships, money… and never have to actually work again, couldn’t I?”
“If that’s what you want me to do —” he began.
“I don’t know!” I interrupted. “Don’t you understand, I don’t know anymore! I thought I loved you too, and now I see that loving you could ruin everything I could become! I was going to be a great engineer, or a physicist! I was going to help people and build things, and now I’m worried that I’ll be satisfied with being an office temp as long as I’m with you!”
He stared back at me, his eyes flickering in the dim light.
“I do love you,” he said.
“I’ll never be able to believe you,” I answered, my cheeks streaming with tears. “I want you to love me, and I’ll never be able to trust you’re not simply obeying my wish.”
“I need you,” he said, stepping closer to me. “Don’t you understand? Without you I am nothing — I have no form, no life, no thoughts… I have no purpose except to make you happy… can that not be love, whatever the motivation?”
“I don’t need you any more, slave,” I said, taking the ring off, and dropping it off the edge of the bed. “Please leave.”
His form blurred, perhaps through magic, perhaps through my tears, and when I wiped my eyes, he was gone. Slowly, I stood up from my bed, and picked up the ring from the thick rug where it had fallen. I carefully put the ring back in the small black box, and tucked it away in my dresser, towards the back, closing the drawer as quietly as I could.
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