What happens happens, no matter how hard I wish it wouldn’t. I’m a Genie.

The day I made my first wish was the day I realized that I was a Genie. I was five years old, sitting at a play kitchen that my great aunt had made for me for Christmas. My mother had just left for work, and my father was still asleep in his room. I had a toy frying pan in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other, and I really wanted some eggs. I closed my eyes and wished. When I opened them, I was holding a real frying pan, and there was an egg and butter on the counter next to the stove. I’d never cracked an egg before, and the first one got all over the counter, the second one got all over my feet, and the third went into the little frying pan I had. It was a little brown on the bottom, but it was perfect. I remember the look on my fathers face when he came into the kitchen to find his little girl eating eggs on the floor. He asked me how I had made them, and I told him that “I wished”. He laughed and said that I must have gotten a Genie! That night when my mother came home, my father asked me to show her how I had cooked the eggs. I closed my eyes and wished. When I opened them, I was holding a real frying pan, and there was an egg and butter on the counter next to the stove. I’d never cracked an egg before, and the first one got all over the counter, the second one got all over my feet, and the third went into the little frying pan I had. It was a little brown on the bottom, but it was perfect. My mother put her hand over her mouth and her eyes went wide. She looked at my father, then me, then back at my father. She took a deep breath and asked me to show her how I had made them again. I closed my eyes and wished. When I opened them, I was holding a real frying pan, and there was an egg and butter on the counter next to the stove. I’d never cracked an egg before, and the first one got all over the counter, the second one got all over my feet, and the third went into the little frying pan I had. It was a little brown on the bottom, but it was perfect. My mother left the kitchen. I heard her talking to my father in the living room. She was upset. I didn’t know why. I’d done what she asked me to do. He came back into the kitchen and sat down next to me. He looked at the pan of eggs on the floor and then back at me. He smiled. He said that maybe I shouldn’t make any more food. I agreed, and he took the pan away. I think my mother was afraid of what I had done, but my father thought it was neat. He would ask me to wish for him sometimes. It was always the same thing. I didn’t know how to make it different. I wished shoes one time. I got the exact same shoes I already had. I wished my favorite food one time. It was the exact same food I had eaten the time before. I tried wishing for nothing, just for fun, but I still got exactly what I had wished for the last time. Nothing. It was frustrating at first, but after a while it didn’t bother me. If I wanted a specific thing, I had to start from scratch the first time. I didn’t wish very often. Mostly because it was so hard to get what I wanted on the first try. Also, because my mom didn’t like that I was doing it. Dad thought it was cute, and even though it was frustrating, I thought so too. But mom didn’t. She told dad that he was making me look like a freak. She told him that I should be normal. That I should be like her. I think that my mom resented me. She wished a lot in the years following my first wish. She wished she was rich, that she was pretty, that she could sing. None of her wishes ever came true. She hated that. I felt bad for her, but I also felt bad for me. I wanted to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, not ten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But I never got to make just one. I got to make ten every time. And I never got to make them twice. She was right. I was a freak. No one could do what I did. It was like having super powers, but without the super cool super powers. I could make food, and shoes, and pillows appear. I could turn the TV on and make it change the channel. But I could never make the same thing twice. As I got older, I realized that everyone wished. My father would wish for world peace when he heard about horrible things on the news. My mother would wish that she didn’t burn dinner. My friends would wish that they got good grades, and that their boyfriends would love them forever. But their wishes never came true. Mine always did. At first, it was neat. I could wish for anything, and it would happen. But as I got older, it became more and more of a burden. I wished my mother would get a better job so that my brother and I wouldn’t have to move to a new house. I got a better job instead, working in an office as a data entry specialist. I didn’t like it. It was boring. I wished that my father would be healthier, but I was the one who stopped being lactose intolerant. I love milk and cheese, but I never get to have any. I wished my brother would stop wetting the bed. It made him mad, and he thought it was embarrassing. But it wasn’t him that stopped. It was me. I’ve learned to be careful about what I wish for, because I don’t get to choose what I get. I get what I ask for, but it’s never what I want. Because what happens happens, no matter how hard I wish it wouldn’t.

What happens happens, no matter how hard I wish it wouldn’t. I’m a Genie.

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