Bottled

by Carol Riggs

  “I’m busy this weekend,” I say with haste.

  “Then maybe Thursday or Friday.” He offers me a small bag of chips and a hopeful expression. “I can adjust my work schedule.”

  I’m perceiving an increased level of irritation from Cherie at his insistence. I shake my head so hard my earrings bump against my jaw. “Busy then, too.”

  “Some other time maybe,” Nathan says. “Adeelah, check this out. Cherie works at the ritziest restaurant in town. She wears black slacks and a white blouse with a bow tie, all proper and smart. Makes a killing in tips.”

  I relax a little. It’s a welcome relief Nathan is stepping in to divert the conversation. Beagley’s persistence is wearing. “That’s impressive.”

  “I’m saving most of my tips for college,” Cherie says.

  Beagley shifts to stand next to me. “Are you going to college, Adeelah?”

  “Er, I haven’t decided.” I take a step back and squint at his hair. “How in the eternal stars above did you get your hair to be the color of grass? I can’t see the purpose of having it that hue.”

  His face goes serious as his mood dims. “As a matter of fact, I was born this way.”

  I stare at his face to gauge his seriousness as Cherie giggles. Along with his fake gravity, however, I sense an inexplicable trace of disappointment. Nathan takes a slurp of his Coke while trying to hide a smile. Beagley’s dust-brown eyes meet mine. His underlying mood brightens again as he studies my face.

  “Yeah,” he says. “In fact, those nurses at the hospital were freaked when I popped out with a mess of downy green fuzz on my head. Mom was cool with it, though. She just shrugged, stuck a bottle of formula in my mouth, and consulted her calendar for her next appointment.”

  There’s something else behind his flippant words, but I’m uncertain what it is. “I have a suspicion you’re joking with me.”

  “Never.”

  Cherie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Beagley has a wild imagination. He’s fantastic at writing poetry, insanely quirky stuff. His dad has four books that’ve been on the New York Times bestseller list, so writing is in his genes.”

  I glance at Beagley’s jeans. Faded blue. Scrunched up near his shoelaces. As far as I can see, his clothing doesn’t appear any different from Nathan’s or mine. Nothing to indicate any writing genius, at least. “Poetry is a commendable endeavor.”

  Beagley’s mood intensifies, and he sidles closer. “A woman with a vocabulary. Nice.”

  Nathan claps Beagley on the back. “Let’s go play some air hockey, man. Best seven out of ten games. See if you can do something about that heinous losing streak of yours.”

  “Hogwash,” Beagley says. “I do not have a heinous losing streak and I’ll prove it.” He gives a brisk salute to Cherie and me, and takes off with Nathan.

  Cherie sips her drink and leans against the wall. “His manic energy wears me out sometimes.”

  “Who, Nathan?”

  “No, Beagley. Nathan’s the calm one. Good thing one of them is calm. I couldn’t deal with it if both of them were high-wired.”

  I leap right into my inquiry. “Do you prefer calmer or this ‘high-wired’?”

  “Depends on my mood,” she says with a shrug. “Nathan has hung out with me since kindergarten. We played on swings and monkey bars together. Beagley moved here from Nevada when we were in sixth grade. They’re different, and they balance each other out.”

  My senses pick up a wary tension behind her casual words. I sit on an adjacent bench and try a more direct attack. “Do you have female friends too, or a boyfriend?”

  “I have both guy and girl friends. Most of the time, I hang with three girls who used to take Saturday jazz classes with me in middle school. But now that it’s summer, we’re all working different schedules. It’s harder to get together and do stuff.”

  Rot it all. I shouldn’t have asked two questions at once. It’s too easy to skirt the important one. And a tingle at the back of my skull tells me she avoided it on purpose. “What about a boyfriend?”

  She sighs. “No boyfriend. I wouldn’t mind having one, but I’m working most of the time anyway. Maybe I’ll meet the right someone when I go off to college.” Her words are too casual, too aloof. “How about you?”

  “I have a fantastic boyfriend, whom I love,” I say, glad to dispel any suspicions she may have about me wearing Nathan’s jacket at the café, as well as accompanying him around town lately. “His name is Karim. He’s in The Bahamas, and I hope to see him soon.”

  “How exciting. Did you meet him there on vacation or something?” Her words are more sincere now, although tinged with other emotions. Wistfulness. An odd mix of envy, resentment, and relief.

  “No. I…I met him in Arabia.” Oh, dear. This isn’t what I want to talk about. I take a quick gulp of my Coke to try it out. To my horror, it explodes in my mouth, fizzing and sizzling. I cough and choke and drool frothy liquid onto the floor.

  Cherie jumps up and snatches a wad of paper napkins from the table. “Gosh, are you okay?”

  I take the napkins without touching her hand, and cough some more. I can’t fathom why anyone would want to create—or consume—such a volatile beverage. “Thanks. I’m fine. I just didn’t expect all those little bubbles.”

  “Yeah, it’s super carbonated.” She reaches out as if she’s going to pat my back, and I hold my hand up. Luckily that stops her.

  “I’m fine. Really.” I give another strangled cough. While I mop up the floor, I try to figure out how to get back to the subject of Nathan. I toss the soggy paper into a rubbish bin and straighten to find Cherie staring over at Nathan and Beagley playing their game. She breaks into a smile when Nathan throws his arms into the air and whoops, followed by Beagley mock-punching him.

  “Wow, they’re such clowns,” Cherie says, chuckling.

  There’s my opening. “Do you care for either of them? I mean, as more than friends?”

  She chuckles again, but it sounds hollow this time. “I don’t think of them that way. I’m like their sister, ya know.”

  “Are you certain? Maybe one of them would be interested in having you as his girlfriend.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “If either of them did like you, would you want one as your boyfriend?”

  Cherie gives a light laugh. “There’s no point in supposing. It’d never happen, not in a trillion years.” She eyes me. “Why do you want to know?” She asks the question with a casual tone, even though her underlying emotions shout otherwise. The wistfulness is gone. A touch of resentment flares and her mental hackles are up.

  Heavens, I believe she’s worried I’m after Nathan or Beagley. “I’m merely making idle conversation,” I hasten to say.

  “Ah. Well, they both went through super bad breakups last year. I’m sure neither of them is ready for another girlfriend.” It’s as if she’s warning me. She jerks her head in the boys’ direction. “Let’s go see how they’re doing. I bet Nathan’s whomping Beagley something fierce. Beagley’s amazing at playing pool, but Nathan’s better at ping-pong and air hockey.”

  And with that, she ends our girl chat for the evening.

  * * *

  After a couple of excruciating hours in which for the most part I inhabit a corner to avoid physical contact, I leave the teen center with Nathan at last.

  As soon as we’re in the car with the doors closed, he raises his eyebrows. “So how’d it go?”

  “I didn’t get a definite answer.” I wonder if I should mention Cherie’s comments about his “breakup” and about him not being ready for a relationship. She sounded protective of him because of it. “Her words didn’t match her emotions or behavior. She said you and Beagley think of her as a sister, and I got the impression she wants more than that.”

  “That’s great.”

  “She didn’t like me asking questions. Even though I told her I had a boyfriend, I think she’s afraid I’m interested in you or Beagley.”

  “M
aybe she’s jealous. That’s a good sign. Maybe with you around, she’ll realize she wants more than a brotherly-friend-thing with me.”

  “I do not want to be used to make someone jealous,” I say, Bello and Rehema flashing into my mind. “I’ve been in that position before and it ended badly.”

  “Oh. Sorry to hear that. But I see why girls would be jealous. You’re gorgeous beyond belief, smart, and fascinating. And then there’s all that cool stuff no one even knows, like how you’re a thousand years old and you magically live in a container the size of a wine bottle. You sense things humans can’t. You grant wishes. You can’t be killed because no one can touch you, and you’re gonna live forever.”

  I fight a warmth that rises into my cheeks. It’s sweet of him to say I’m gorgeous, smart, and fascinating. As far as those other things, they don’t matter so much. “Those last items on your list aren’t positive qualities. I’d much rather be human again.”

  Nathan taps his fingers on the wheel, then starts the Mustang. He’s quiet for a few minutes as we drive down dark streets half-illuminated by tall pole-lights. “So you were human when you met Karim, and you once had a human family?”

  “Yes.” Those details aren’t ones I want to discuss at the moment. Or perhaps ever. There’s no point since the loss and turmoil of those events can’t be changed. “There’s no need to trouble yourself by driving me all the way to the YMCA, Master. I’m tired and we have a busy day tomorrow. I’ll see you in the afternoon.” I cringe at how abrupt my words sound, and throw him a semi-contrite look. “That is, if you’re not cross with me for failing to discover Cherie’s feelings with any absolute certainty, or for speaking my mind about how I feel about the subject of jealousy.”

  “Please call me Nathan.”

  “I mean, Nathan.”

  “And no, I’m not cross with you.” His words are as soft as feathers. He tilts his head and studies me. His eyes upon me are soft, too.

  I’m unsure what these things mean. Is he sympathizing with me, pitying me? I don’t need pity. “Very well, Nathan,” I say, and when I sense his release permission, I disintegrate from his car.

  The interior of my bottle comforts me like a balm to my soul. Yet part of me remains troubled, with Nathan’s words about my condition slashing through me like sabers. I shove the piles of modern clothing he wished for me onto the floor, and sprawl across my cushions. Bah. Bondage. How I despise it. What I’ve become vexes me. It was never my choice to be magical or to live forever.

  I’d welcome the sweet release of death any day over an eternity of forced obedience. Being bottled is a punishment I’ve had to bear much too long.

  It’s like being buried alive, unable to die. I’m chained forever to spiteful, greedy humans.

  A violet sweater catches my eye, and my misery dissolves. No. I’m generalizing and being unfair. I’ve also experienced the occasional kind master like Nathan, and he’s the kindest thus far. He utilizes my services but calls me by name and shares caramel bars with me. And tomorrow he’s wishing me to The Bahamas to meet Karim.

  Karim! Tomorrow. In less than fourteen hours, I could see him.

  My turbulent emotions prevent me from sleeping. After a while I give up trying, and prepare myself for Nathan’s eventual summoning, removing my jeweled hair clips and brushing my waist-long hair until it gleams. I dress in my modern clothing and flat black shoes. By the time the gong sounds, I’m almost frothing with nerves and anticipation.

  Nathan’s standing in his room wearing sneakers and knee-length tan pants. He’s also wearing a blue shirt that makes his blue-gray eyes much bluer in his handsome face. I force my focus away from his muscular legs. Oh, boundless heavens. He’s not exuding a Jamaal-like energy to me right now. My brother Jamaal never made my blood race like this.

  “I’m all set to go,” he says, as I try to breathe like a normal genie. “If you prefer shorts or a dress, you’d be cooler and look more like a real tourist.”

  “Yes, if you please. A dress would be nice.” Whatever a tourist is.

  “Consider it wished.”

  I comply and find myself wearing a sundress with abundant yellow roses on it. It’s pretty, even though it’s mid-thigh in length and makes me feel a trifle exposed. I notice Nathan’s attention on my legs as we head for the door, but to his credit, he appears to be fighting not to stare at them. I tug on the hem and walk with care. We drive to the YMCA to secure my bottle. On the way back, Nathan waves to the beggar he calls Ted, who bobs his grizzled head and gives us a vigorous wave of his own.

  “I’ve been wondering how to help Ted,” Nathan says. “Can you fix his bad knee?”

  “If you recall, I can’t directly alter or heal anyone’s body. I’m sorry.” I don’t want to mention that healing potions may help as an indirect wish. Because like the elixir Faruq makes, the preparations are often grisly or immoral.

  “No, don’t apologize. Maybe giving him lots of money would help. I’ll have to think about it some more.”

  Nathan drives us back to his house. In the living room, he plucks his phone from a large pocket on the side of his shorts. “We should make sure your guy’s still on the island. Let’s find his exact location today.”

  “That’s a wise idea.” We sit on the sofa. He taps up a map image, hands it to me, and the magical journey begins. Greens and browns and blues rise up. My heart races along with the bird’s-flight view of mountains and seas, sailing along, and grinds to a halt when the red pointer lands on a northern beach near a resort. Fortune is smiling upon me. Karim hasn’t left the island.

  “I’m confused about how this works,” Nathan says, rising to his feet. “You poof us there somehow?”

  “No. It’s too dangerous for you to accompany me. I must transfer alone.”

  He stands there unfazed, stance steady. “I can take care of myself. It’d be great to visit a warm beach for once. Shouldn’t be crowded either, since summer’s not their tourist season.”

  “I can’t be harmed or detained,” I point out. “You can. Faruq might kill you if he discovers you’re my master.”

  “All you have to do is poof us back if things get dicey. Right? I’m ordering that as a safety-net wish before we leave.” He folds his pale but muscular arms. “Besides, I’m curious to see how you do this cross-country traveling, and what your Karim looks like. See if he’s worth waiting a millennium for.”

  I blast out a long exhale. “I don’t see why you should care.”

  “Like I said, I’m curious. And I insist on going. Case closed.”

  Stubborn, knob-kneed camel of a wishmaster. This is a reckless decision, one I hope we don’t regret. “Yes, Master.”

  He gives an amused grunt at my purposeful slight and uncrosses his arms. “All right, Tinkerbell. Sprinkle your magic fairy dust, and let’s be on our way to Neverland.”

  I don’t try to understand his cryptic nonsense.

  Karim awaits.

  I concentrate on the exact location. With a mighty gust of dissolving particles, we enter the dimension of transfer space.

  Chapter 10

  I aim for the specific area displayed on Nathan’s device. We shimmer back into physical forms beside aqua water and white sands. A cluster of palm trees hides our initial arrival from the tanned and ebony-skinned people strolling along the beach. Humid air droplets cling to us like overly friendly sprites. We step out into the sun.

  “What a rush!” Nathan sways, his pupils dilated. The outburst earns him a puzzled glance from a man near an outdoor café a short distance away.

  Judging from the sun’s position, it’s later in the afternoon here by a few hours. I scan the occupants at the café tables with an eagerness rivaling hunger. The fear that I’ll see Faruq among the diners sharpens the feeling in an unpleasant way. There are a handful of chattering families, cozy couples, and solo diners, but none of them is Karim. Or, thankfully, Faruq.

  I check the beach. Where is Karim? Is he searching for me? Everything feels dreamli
ke. It’s hard to believe I’m close to him at last.

  My shoes sink into the hot sand and a faint breeze sends a fishy smell into my nose. Nathan’s essence pulses close to me, cinnamon-scented. It’s distracting. I draw away a few steps to think more clearly.

  He scrutinizes the people around us. “What does Karim look like?”

  As I start to answer, a lone figure saunters from behind the corner of the whitewashed fence surrounding the café. Golden-brown skin. Square jaw, a commanding presence. Expensive tailored shirt and shorts. I point at the young man. A thrill surges through me, cascading down my arm and out my extended fingertip.

  “Like that,” I say. “Exactly like that.”

  “That’s him?” Nathan’s words are strained and distant in my ears.

  “Yes. Stay where I can see you and watch out for Arabian strangers,” I tell him, my words coming out tangled, hurried.

  “Stinkin’ good-looking dude,” Nathan mutters as I set off.

  Karim is absorbed in a phone call, the modern technological device looking out of place in his hand. His black hair is shorter, cropped into slight curls above his ears. Instead of clean-shaven, he sports a trim goatee. It makes him look older than his apparent years. He’s different from how I’ve envisioned him all these years, but it’s unmistakably him.

  My feet carry me toward him. I scuff through the sand. The sun observes me, slanting into my eyes. Time slows. It’s crisp, focused. Karim speaks a brief phrase into his phone and slips it into a pocket. His gaze lifts. My forward movement catches his eye, and his attention locks onto my face. Time stops entirely.

  “Adeelah,” he says, breaking into a glorious smile that spans the remaining distance between us.

  A powerful wave floods me with so much intensity that I don’t know how to feel. I can’t even manage a return smile. It’s all too momentous, too frighteningly wonderful. My heartbeat stutters, then beats with extra force when I see he’s wearing a ka’dadd flower pinned to his shirt pocket.