Dear Magic Genie Inc.,

I am writing you about my extreme discontent with your service. I have been on the waitlist for over three years now.

It was my friend Elisabeth Cahill who first referred me to you. She explained to me that you could grant me three wishes, in exchange for the purchase of the medium golden lamp model #385227. Naturally, I didn’t believe her, until we saw each other again. Suddenly, her husband George, who had been bald since he was thirty, had a beautiful mane of hair. As for her, all the weight she had tried to lose since we were girls was gone! She refused to tell me what her third wish was, but I have seen George in a speedo many times, and there is no fooling me.

Anyhow, I have now bought five separate lamps (FIVE!), and I still haven’t been granted one single wish. So, since you choose to ignore my purchases, I am sending you my wishes officially through this email. Elisabeth already told me you don’t accept any of the wishing for more wishes crap, nor being the “most” something, so I guess that’s out of the question.

Firstly, I’d like for my mother to finally get on her train to hell. She’s clearly overextending her stay. That cranky old trot has somehow made it to a hundred and one. Who the hell actually makes it past ninety? She just knows that, as long as she lives, I have to visit her every damn week. If not, I am sure she would take me out of the will. She always loved having me as her little puppet. What a controlling wench. So please, for the love of God, take her to the bonfire.

Secondly, it would be great if you found me a mistress for my husband. She must be worse than me, of course, I don’t want him to leave me. But she has to be good in bed, maybe like that he will stop complaining about every little thing I do. “I wanted chips, Margie, not popcorn”, Who cares? It’s a fucking snack. I know, I know, “you could leave him”, Yes, well, then I would have to get serious with my mistress. To be fair, she is beautiful and sweet, but the poor thing isn’t very bright. Also, I’d rather not come out at sixty-nine.

In fact, that leads me to my third wish. I’m not sure if this is something I can ask for. Do you think you could help me find Linda Moss?  I discovered I liked women in college because of her. She lived in the dorm across from mine and made me question my life every day. What a beautiful and intelligent woman, always had such big dreams… You could say she truly is the one that got away.

Perhaps, if my mom had died earlier, things would’ve been different. I wouldn’t have had to keep pretending to be someone I am not just to satisfy her. I guess now it’s too late, I am too deep into my marriage. Adam is quite an annoying man, but I still respect him. After all, we have been married for over forty years. I wouldn’t want to do that to him. So, at least, I want to talk to her again. I have always wondered what she ended up doing. I wonder often where she is now.

Ugh, I just wish I would’ve been comfortable with my sexuality when I had a chance with Linda.

Anyway, that’s all. I hope this email finds you. Not necessarily well. But finds you. I demand my wishes, I deserve those… or at least a refund, your lamps are expensive as shit.

Bye for now,

Margie.

Margaret pressed send and laid all her weight back on her chair. She looked out the window and saw how the sun escaped the day behind the fields. She wondered how long it would take for them to reply if they ever did. She looked at the time on her computer. Almost dinner time.

 “Adam, can you please set the table?”, she said loudly as she headed to the kitchen. She took out a casserole from the fridge and put it in the preheated oven. She shouted again, “Adam?”. No answer. Margaret and Adam always communicated through screams that navigated the house. She heard a noise coming from the living room. “Adam?”, she asked once more. When no one replied, a strange feeling started crawling on Margaret’s back. He never took this long. She bit her nails, and looked through the drawers for a knife, in case she needed to protect herself. Slowly, Margaret walked towards the door and opened it with her trembling hand. As the door stopped blocking her view, she realized she wasn’t looking at her living room. It seemed like a different room, but she couldn’t recognize it in the darkness.

Leaving the fear behind, she walked into it. Her frown accompanied her. The moment both her feet were in, the kitchen door slammed behind her. Her fear came back as she turned abruptly, raising the knife to an empty room. It seemed as if the door had disappeared into the wall, leaving her trapped in the void. It couldn’t be, it was just too dark. She squinted her eyes, trying to find a switch that could give some light to the situation. She dragged her fingers through the bumpy wall until she reached the tiny smooth square she was looking for. She flicked it up, and the light turned on. Her eyes opened widely, and her body and head started spinning around, in pure shock. She was in her college dorm, back in Bunker Hill Community College. She couldn’t possibly understand. Just a few minutes ago she was in Connecticut and now, she was in Massachusetts?

Everything looked the exact same. Her bed was made with the quilt her grandmother had knitted. The wall above her bed was covered in all the posters she had hung. Ones from movies such as The Godfather, and Wanda, and others with artists like Joni Mitchell. In between all her posters, were tons of Polaroid pictures of her high school years and her very first days of university. The ones from later years hadn’t been hung there yet. There were even some of her old clothes placed over the study chair like they were waiting for her.

Margaret kept on looking around, staring at every single detail in the room. She was in her dorm… Her childhood teddy bear was staring at her, books she had read years ago were now on her desk, and the floral smell of an Avon’s perfume was flooding the room. She decided she had to investigate outside of the room. See how far this could go. As she opened the door, she found herself in her dormitory building. And just as she was stepping out into the hallway, the door across from her was also opening.

There she was, Linda Moss. Her red hair tangled into small tornados, and her hands filled with rings, accompanying a perfectly curated manicure. She smiled at Maggie, showing the small gap between her front teeth that gave her a whiff of childish innocence. Margaret raised her gaze slowly from Linda’s mouth, through her freckled nose, to her dark-as-her-humor eyes. “Hi”, said Linda, playing with her tornados the way Maggie dreamt of doing. “Hi”, said Margaret as her teeth appeared shily behind her lips.