I Dream Of Johnny (novella) (3 page)

Was he serious? What kind of genie hands over a grown human being who can’t dress himself? I didn’t ask for a baby.

“Okay,” I drew a breath. “You’re a smart guy, Jonathan...”

“I know. My IQ is so high they had to make a new category for it.” He smiled victoriously. His fashion IQ would probably require a new category too —in the negatives.

“Well, all you have to do is pull these suspenders down over your shoulders, undo the button and zipper on your shorts...” I pointed, keeping a safe distance. “Pull them down and step out of them, and then lift your shirt up from the bottom and pull it over your head.”

“Right, I think I’ve got it.”

He better bloody get it.

“Oh, and first of all, take off your shoes by undoing the strap...” I demonstrated by undoing mine and then doing it back up again. God, I’d have to buy him new shoes and socks too. I hoped he knew how to do up shoelaces or I’d have to take him to one of those children’s shoe fitting specialists, have him sit on the ‘steps to the castle’ and reward him with lollies for good behaviour.

His eyes moved around as though he was memorising my instructions and then he closed the door, allowing me a moment of peace to sit and breathe.

Only twenty-four hours, that’s nothing. It’ll fly by. Tomorrow he’ll be a distant memory and I can have the wish I
really
want.

I couldn’t help but notice Jonathan’s thin hairy legs beneath the dressing room door as he hopped about on one foot, trying to keep his balance. “Yes!” he exclaimed when both shoes had been removed and placed on the floor next to his bony bare feet. Another “yes!” escaped his mouth at the same time he flung his beige shorts over the dressing room door, followed by his olive green polo shirt.

“Mandy, do I remove my underwear too?”

I shot up. “No!” I cleared my throat. “I mean, no, please keep them on. Now put on the suit pants, like I instructed.”

“Right-e-o darling!”

I waved away the sales person who peeked through the door to ask how we were getting on, and smiled as I looked around at the luxurious decor. I could buy this place if I wanted to. I had the money. I could buy anything I wanted to! I almost dashed out the door in a flurry of financial bliss when I remembered I’d probably be met with a sudden bump to the face if I tried to leave Jonathan on his own.

“Ah, Mandy?”

“Yes?”

“It’s stuck.”

“What’s stuck?”

“The zipper, I can’t get it to go up all the way, it’s caught on my underpants.”

Holy hell.
“Um...just slide it down and then back up again, okay?”

“I’m trying!”

I wished I’d brought some Moët with me to provide some much needed Dutch courage but a deep breath and pure willpower would have to do. He opened the door and I eased myself in there, appraising the severity of the situation. My hands moved in on the target ever so carefully, as though I was about to deactivate a bomb or play a really intense
game of Jenga. I clasped the zipper handle delicately with two fingers and the suit pants with two others, and got Jonathan to hold the top of his...er...underpants. I yanked down swiftly, freeing the underpants from the zipper’s grip, along with something else I wished I hadn’t seen. I turned away momentarily, and then turned back. The pants seemed much smaller than when I took them off the rack.

“Jonathan, forget these pants, try this suit instead.” I took the next size up off its hanger and left him alone again to hopefully achieve his mission this time. It worked. A few minutes later he was shouting “Hallelujah” and pushing open the door to reveal his accomplishment.

He stood with hands on hips. “I did it. I’m wearing a suit!”

Except it looked five sizes too large. The pants hung low and baggy like jeans on a homeboy and the jacket could have belonged to Hagrid from Harry Potter.
What the hell?

Jonathan’s forehead crinkled on seeing my stunned expression. “What’s wrong?”

I ignored his question and picked up another suit jacket that looked like it would be the perfect fit. “Take your jacket off and put this one on in front of me. Keep the door open.”

He wriggled out of the large one and threaded his arms through the jacket I handed to him. It looked fine, until the sleeves suddenly tightened, squeezing his arms like he was being vacuum-packed to save space.

“Ouch! This one hurts!” He tugged at the sleeves which were so tight they appeared painted on. I pulled at the hem of one sleeve and mustered a grunt to try and pull it down his arm, but it only moved a smidgen.

“Is everything alright in there?” a voice spoke through a crack in the dressing area door.

“Oh yes...” I said in between grunts. “We’re almost done!” Jonathan held onto the clothes hook for leverage and I yanked the sleeve off, his arm bumping me in the chest and the hook coming off the wall.

“Oops,” he said, holding the hook awkwardly in his hand.

“Quick, let’s get this thing off and get out of here!” I yanked at the other sleeve and freed his arm, then closed the door as he removed the oversized pants and shirt. I plucked the magic lamp from my bag and typed in a search for
why do clothes keep changing size on the person you sent me?

No results found. Please contact customer service for assistance.

When Jonathan emerged dressed again in his geeky get-up, I tried to shove the hook back in the wall but it wouldn’t take. So I grabbed the clothes and dashed out to the sales floor, dumping them as delicately as possible into the sales person’s hands.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just had an emergency phone call and have to leave immediately.” I feigned a look of immense worry —which didn’t take much effort considering my circumstances —and ushered Jonathan outside.

“But I thought we were buying clothes.”

“I thought so too.” I gave Jonathan another squashed mint to chew, dialled the customer service number and waited, wondering who on Earth (or some other planet) would answer my call.

“Welcome to World of Wishes. Press 1 for sales, 2 for accounts, and 3 for customer assistance.”

I pressed 3.

“All our virtual genies are busy with other calls right now, but your call is very important to us. So we can help you best, please speak clearly and tell us why you are calling.”

“Oh, c’mon!” I rolled my eyes, while Jonathan kept himself occupied counting the cars driving past.

“I’m sorry, can you say that again? Our system could not understand your message.”

I held back a laugh. This was like calling a telephone company. I swallowed a lump of disbelief and spoke. “I tried to buy new clothes for the fashion un-conscious geek you sent me but they kept changing size.”

“Right, so you’re trying to buy new clothes but you’re an unconscious geek who keeps changing size? Say ‘yes’ to confirm or ‘no’ to start again.”

Holy mother of God. “No.”

“Please tell us why you are calling.”

“My geek cannot wear any new clothes!” I shouted.

“Right, so you’re Greek and not wearing any clothes?”

Oh geez,
now
they choose to get the Greek word correct! “No!”

“Please tell us why you are calling.”

Okay, calm down and speak simply and clearly, Mandy.
“I wished for a Geek God and tried to buy him new clothes. Why don’t they fit?” I dragged each word out slowly and separately, attracting a few awkward glances from passersby.

“Right, so you’re trying to buy new clothes for your Geek God but they don’t fit?”

“Yes!” Finally.

“Please wait while we transfer your call to an appropriate genie... I’m sorry, all our virtual genies are busy with other calls right now, but your call is...” I removed the phone from my ear and tipped my head back in frustration. As odd music kept my call on hold I walked with Jonathan for a couple of blocks, then bought him a vegetarian wrap that he salivated over as we approached a window display of lunch treats.
Who gets excited by a vegetarian wrap?
I bought a sausage roll for myself and prompted Jonathan to use a paper napkin as a sliver of zucchini slid down his chin.

“Thank you for waiting, I understand you’re trying to buy new clothes for your Geek God but they don’t fit?” An unnatural-sounding voice asked over the phone. I hoped the genies had a better understanding of the English language than the system I’d dealt with initially.

“Yes, why do the clothes keep changing size?”

“Let me process your concern...” The odd music returned and I waited again. “It appears your problem is due to item four thousand and sixty one in section three hundred and fifty two of part two of our terms and conditions: One cannot change the appearance of one’s wish. What you wish is what you get.”

“Huh? So I can’t even get him a new hairstyle?”

The genie repeated the earlier statement from the terms and conditions and I hung up. I eyed Jonathan for a moment then grabbed his glasses. They remained firmly attached to his face. I ruffled his hair but it instantly manoeuvred itself back to its comb-over. I wasn’t prepared to get his sideburns shaved off only to have new hair sprout right in front of the hairdresser and try to explain what was going on. Nope, there’d be no makeover for Jonathan what’s-his-name. He’d be staying just the way he was. His socks and sandalled feet
and I would be walking into that church this afternoon whether I liked it or not. Maybe I could pray for a miracle. I sure as hell —
I mean heaven
—needed one.

I dragged Jonathan away from the weary taxi driver whose ears had been practically eroded by Jonathan’s non-stop commentary about the history of vehicular transportation, and stomped up the steps to my house. My neighbour, Mrs Kramer, nodded a hello as she sat on the wicker chair on her verandah, its frame just as wiry and fragile as her body. Jonathan noticed the woman and approached the hedges dividing our yards.

“Hello there, I’m Jonathan Fortran Schnecklmyer.” He held out a hand.

“Oh, I’d come over and shake your hand but I’m afraid the old rheumatoid arthritis won’t let me.” She smiled an apology. “But it’s nice to meet you, Jonathan.”

Wish I had that excuse. Better yet, I wish
he
had that excuse.

Jonathan dropped his hand to his side. “Rheumatoid arthritis is an autoimmune disease, mostly causing inflammation of the joints with synovial hyperplasia and pannus formation. I can see that you’re badly affected. You’ve most likely lost much of your articular cartilage, and ankylosis is setting in.” He pointed to her unmoving, knobbly, and mildly deformed fingers.

“Jonathan!” I scolded, tugging on his arm and ushering him towards the front door. I mouthed a “sorry” at Mrs Kramer and shut the door behind us as we entered the house. “It’s not nice to tell people those things!”

“I was simply informing her about her medical condition. Knowledge is power, you know.”

“I’m sure she already knows a lot about her condition, and it doesn’t do any good to emphasise the problem. Now go and sit down, I need a drink.”

“Oh, I’ll get it —”

“No! Sit. I’ll get it.” I poured a glass of red and sculled it, then headed for the bathroom. “I have to get ready for the wedding. My computer’s over there,” I pointed at the messy desk against the wall. “Go play...um...”
What do geeks play?
“...a game or something.”

I locked myself in the bathroom, thankful I could at least leave him alone in a different room, if not a different building. Soothing jets of water streamed down my skin and I wished Dan wasn’t coming to the wedding, but he was good mates with Jodie’s fiancé —that’s how we’d met. With any luck he wouldn’t think Jonathan and I were together. With any luck,
no one
would think Jonathan and I were together.

I turned off the water flow when repeated knocking sounded on the bathroom door.

“Mandy.”

Knock-knock-knock.

“Mandy.”

Knock-knock-knock.

“Mandy.”

Knock-knock-knock.

Great, he was channelling his inner Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory.

“What do you want?”

“May I turn on your television and watch Science Weekly?”

“Yes, Jonathan, turn on the TV. Now please let me get ready in peace.”

A moment later, a monotone voice discussing something to do with genetic modification travelled through the walls, and I drowned it out by turning the shower back on. I couldn’t believe this was happening. It felt like I was in some kind of alternate reality.
I’d actually received three wishes?
I obviously goofed up big time on the third, but the others...the endless money was a good choice, but the tidy house was probably a waste. I could have just bought a new one! Duh!

I washed my hair that was long overdue for a cut and stepped out of the shower. The monotone voice from the TV was now discussing the chemistry of ozone depletion. I dried off and ducked into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me, and slipped, or rather,
squeezed
, into my purple shift dress. So I’d worn it to my cousin’s wedding a few months ago —big whoop. Today’s wedding would be a different crowd and they’d be none the wiser.

I applied make-up and turned on the hair dryer, rolling a brush along my drab blonde strands in the hope of adding some much needed volume. When I’d groomed myself to an adequate standard, a ‘woohoo!’ emerged from Jonathan’s mouth in the living room. Who knew Science Weekly could be so exciting?

I exited the bedroom to find him moving about in front of the TV, Wii remote in hand.

“I’m fitter than I thought!” he exclaimed.

“Jonathan, you set up the Wii for me?”

He nodded. “And the DVR and the new television. When I started watching Science Weekly on your little TV I noticed you had new equipment lying around, so I took the liberty of setting it all up. It was so much fun! Why they bother with including instructions I have no idea, it’s so easy a child could do it.”

But not a grown woman.
Anyway, it didn’t matter. My ego may have been bruised but my problem was solved!

“Well, thank you, Jonathan. That’s a big help to me,” I said, and his face glowed with satisfaction.