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“Thank fuck for that. I mean don’t get me wrong, I would have worked out if that’s what you wanted, but it’s not exactly my idea of a good night,” she says, and she draws another booming laugh out of me.
“Tell me, Whirlwind. What is your idea of a good night? Let us do that.”
“Oh no you don’t,” she says, waving her finger at me in that beguiling way of hers.
“You’re not flipping this around and making this another night all about me. You’re going to do something you want, and you’re going to enjoy it. Got it?”
“Understood,” I reply with a chuckle.
“So, try harder to think. What do you do when you’re hanging around in that lamp of yours?”
“My life in the lamp is merely an existence. I have no desires of my own, therefore I seek nothing to please me,” I say, and although this is how my life always has been, when I speak the words out loud, they no longer ring true. I do have a desire now, and it’s her.
“No offense, because I know you’ve spent a bazillion years doing that, but that sounds really boring.”
Another laugh rips out of me. I can’t contain them around her. Everything she says delights me.
“You must teach me how to have fun. Show me your human ways, and maybe I shall enjoy them too.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” she says, tapping her finger against her pretty pink lips.
“Usually when a friend comes around, you have food and drinks, but that’s a no-go for you,” she says, and hearing her refer to me as a friend spreads a blissful warm glow through me.
“I’ve got it!” she yelps, jabbing her finger into the air sharply.
“Come with me!” she says, instinctively reaching out to grab my hand, and then blushing when her fingers pass straight through.
“Sorry, you’d think I’d remember by now,” she says, with a shake of her head.
“I enjoy that you keep endeavoring to touch me,” I say, and she rolls her eyes to the ceiling.
“I know, because I’m a calamity and you find it amusing when I screw up,” she tuts.
“Far from it. I find you captivating, and every time you reach to touch me, it makes me feel wanted. You make me feel special, Whirlwind,” I say, attempting to articulate the new feelings she is rousing inside of me but not able to come anywhere near close.
“You’re a genie who grants magical wishes. It’s pretty obvious you’re special,” she snorts, turning her back to me and walking into the living room without even the slightest idea of the effect she has on me.
I float behind her and wait with anticipation as she snatches up the remote control from the zebra print footstool and switches on the television.
“Are we to watch a show?” I ask, vaguely aware that humans of this era enjoy watching performances on thin square screens in their homes.
“Better than that,” she says, putting her hand on her hip while she presses buttons until the words YouTube flash up. “We’re going to sing karaoke.”
“What variety of music is karaoke?” I ask, thinking back to how the music preferences of humans have changed throughout my existence.
“Any kind you want. That’s the best part. You just pick a song and sing it. What’s your favorite type of music?”
“I have no preference,” I say honestly, and she laughs and shakes her head.
“Let’s see what comes up first,” she says and proceeds to type the words most popular karaoke song with lyrics.
The words ABBA, Dancing Queen flash up in glaring white against a pitch-black screen.
“Okay,” she hums. “Not something I’d usually pick, but this will do,” she says, tossing the remote onto the couch and then bobbing her head in time to the upbeat music.
“All you need to do is follow the words on the screen and sing along. I’ll go first to show you how.”
I watch with eager fascination as she sways her hips from side to side. Two women appear on the screen with guitar players behind, the music trills louder and the words start to scroll.
