A Lamp on Line Hill

The question ran through my ears and out my mouth like a bowl of soup. I stuttered, stammered, slurred. Not an intelligible word came out of me and the man just gave me this look that told me I was the crazy one.

Me? Crazy? This situation was the thing that was crazy! I had no earthly idea of what I should say. This man--this strange man wearing a crisp-cut chip jacket with denim boots and leather jeans--was the crazy one. In an alley, framed by loose wires and the sloppy slab wall of that thrown-up building which he was leaning on. I had been as well, until he put all this on me and my hands went from resting at my sides to practically ripping my hair out.

I thought he was a lamp. I really truly thought he was a lamp, from where I first saw him, out in the road. I looked down the alley as a tram whistled behind me, and saw a small light standing perfectly still on a thin rod. I would've thought twice if my mother didn't need a lamp so badly. She complained constantly for it, begging night and day, and she was fixated on it. She knew what she wanted. So I made my way down the alley, to the "lamp."

It was dark, it was night. The wires were slung haphazardly, like a criss-cross ceiling. And as I approached the "lamp," the light went off. It came on again, and I could see it better now. It was coming from his mouth, and illuminating the rest of his body. His face was that veiny-skin red that comes about from shining a light into your finger, and his body was stiff as a board and standing straight. I shouted, probably creating the loudest sound our quiet city had ever heard.

I questioned how he had done it. He told me, "Well, Herrot, it wouldn't do to tell. But I can show you. You can do it, too." I would've ran--I mean, he knew my name!--if it weren't for the disorienting effect of the light now shining on us. It was a nowhere light. Like the city had forgotten a texture, any sort of light fixture at all. Still, it came from everywhere, and I could see him clearly now. His mouth, now free of the horrific red light which enthralled his eye sockets, said, "I can give you anything, but it'd be just... the one... thing."

"Anything?" I asked him. I mean surely, he didn't mean anything.

"Anything," he repeated. "But just the one. So, what'll it be?"

Now, I'll be honest and tell you that the first thing that came to mind and almost fell out of my mouth was "a lamp." The word was on the tip of my tongue, really already fondling my lips, when the rest came crashing onto me. I entered into a steady stream of gibberish. My mind raced, like really raced, like I was an F1 driver and every corner could've sent me flying into a wall at 200 miles per hour.

I walked out of there, no clear discernible word I could find comfort in, except for the one: "Tomorrow." I made certain he heard it, he gave me a thumbs up. And so I had tomorrow.

I got home. It was late. Much later than I should've been out for. My mother was asleep watching TV on the couch, her legs sprawled out over the side of it. A perfect place for a lamp.

I tucked myself into bed. I rolled around in a pile of haphazard ideas, no through-line--lamp, live forever, new house, money, farm, lamp, movie theater, new phone, lamp--until the sun came up. The sun rose through my window and assaulted me until I heeded its call. I went to return my clothes to my body, only to find I had went to bed with them on. Convenient enough. So I stepped into my sneakers and went outside.

Blurs flew past me on their way to work, other people walked with me in my same direction, likely headed to tend to the farms and wind turbines. I was headed out to go to Line Hill. Not its name but that's what we called it, my friends and I. Some more small condos and apartment complexes whisked by me as my feet tried to race as fast as my mind; little shops and boutiques and cafés whose owners were just waking up in the rooms above; then, a small workshop where people and machines clanged together giant sheets of steel in some unknown goal; some single-family homes with mooing cows and chicken coops. The city, before you knew it, transitioned from the scent of concrete and air-pumped fumes to manure, feed, and fresh grass.

My head was burning up by then, but luckily Line Hill was under my feet in seconds and I began our ritual act of tightrope walking the grassy ridge. It was a small knoll that came up to a pinched crease where we would frequently walk and talk amid the rural bustle and urban beauty. Now, though, I needed time to think.

It was more than just what to ask for. I was wishing something into existence! There could be innumerable ramifications from my decision. Who could be hurt, what could be unalterably changed? And also, what about how to phrase it? What qualifications would I need, how would he try to spin it and change it? Like those genies! They never give you quite what you want. I needed to be careful about this, I decided, on the hill.

I ruled out a lamp pretty early on--while my mother wanted it, and arguably needed it, it was so trivial compared to the power of this one wish. No lamp in the world could do what this wish could. My mother and I could achieve eternal happiness. Maybe I could make my name not sound so much like "carrot." We could get an all-expenses paid vacation anywhere I choose. Heck, we could have all the money in the world and never need to work again, turn our life into a vacation. Her every problem fixed, food on the table at all times. Maybe whatever food we have instantly transforms into the exact thing we want in that moment! A perfect charm, following you around for the rest of your life.

A bit of time passed and I felt I could never run out of ideas. A book that can become any book of your choosing, a simulation that can put you in the shoes of anyone or anytime, or tells the future! Maybe I could wish to see the future. That would pretty much solve every other problem. Maybe I could just wish that I'm the luckiest person in the world, or that everything goes right for me. Could I wish to have infinite wishes? I'm not sure he'd allow that. Maybe I could wish that my life changes until it's perfect, within a short time frame of course. Otherwise, he could very well make it last an eternity. And the amount of work I'd have to do making sure there's no way he can twist my words would be astronomical. He looked a very twisty sort of person. I'd have no way of doing it all.

And it was just then that I heard a rattling shouting sound piping up and down the hill. "Herrot!" called my friend. "Herrot!" I could see her now, Emilko, running down the ridge toward me. "Hey, hey, Herrot! Didn't think I'd see you here. Missing school, you know."

"Oh yeah, I mean I guess I figured that. Just kinda forgot."

"Right, right, okay. What're ya doing up here?" she asked.

"Okay. Sit down with me. You're probably not gonna believe me, but I swear it's true." And I told her. She did not believe me, but agreed to a thought experiment of what the best wish would be.

"Hmm. Hmm. Oh, oh! Wish for more wishes!" she said excitedly.

"I thought about that but I don't know if he'd accept that answer." When she clashed with me on whether or not this mystery "he" mattered, I said, "Well, anyway, that's not a real answer. We can do better."

So we sat for a time. The wind was a gentle beast at our side and licked our hair persistently. Emilko's hair flowed over her backpack. Everything was wet with the night's rain and morning's dew. Birds sang opera. The sun shone a sliver of heaven. And the clouds were cotton candy, all different shapes, colors, and flavors. A single train sped off in the distance along the flat grassy coast.

"Oh, oh!" Emilko sprang up. "What about a wish to solve all the world's problems? That would help you and everyone else. That has to be the best answer there is!"

Well, she slapped me in the face with that. The entire world! Of course, it had to be something beneficial to the whole world. Plus, me, mother, and Emilko. We laughed excitedly about our newfound discovery. Cows mooed amidst the houses whose backyards had fused into the bottom of Line Hill.

"Maybe," I began, "it could be to, like, make everyone in the world, including myself, the same level of satisfaction and happiness as I would be if I lived in a completely perfect world."

"Woah, that's really, really good. That might just be it." Our giddiness was palpable. "But what's so bad about your world now?" she asked, half-joking.

"Well, I mean, there's nothing wrong with it. It's just probably not perfect, you know?"

"Hmm. I don't know. If you can't think of anything wrong with it, isn't that what perfect is?"

The trees rang at us as a flock of birds were spewed from its verdant canopy. "Well, if that's what it is, I don't think we've found a perfect wish yet. Let's try and keep working on it."

"Right, right."

"You know, I almost told the guy I wanted a lamp."

"A lamp?" She giggled and asked, "Why a lamp?"

"Well, my mother needs one. She's been asking for it."

"Ah. Would be nice for your mom, though."

"It would."

School had definitely ended by the time I realized the time. Emilko had fallen asleep in the grass and I was about ready to do the same. An effort had to be made to stop a spindle of drool escaping my mouth. Emilko had not made that effort. The sun was a milky orange along the humble city skyline. I watched it droop below the horizon until it made a thick silhouette upon the curve of the Earth.

Emilko lived in one of the cow houses at the base of Line Hill. She left me, with a yawn and a wave, to make the trek to the alley alone.

I would've taken the tram but I needed time to think and to cool my nerves. Walking on the city calms me down. The people blurring past me in the morning were now walking with beaming grins to their homes. Winsome flower patches festooned the shops and eateries, now closing up for the night. A cement-floral scent tracked me along the entire journey.

And before I knew it, I was at the alley. Without any idea what I should say, knowing what I would say.

He was still there, wearing the same clothes, the same face. His mouth light had been turned out but the nothing light illuminated his presence. He looked very pleased to see me.

"So?" came his voice as I approached. "What is it you have chosen for me?"

I would've said a million other things. A million and one even. If not for the day I'd had, my time on Line Hill. I still smelt the fresh grass on me, saw the hegemonic orange in the sunset, heard cows and birds and trees. And heard my mother snoring, her feet tossed over the side of her couch.

So I said, perfectly, with confidence, "A lamp."

Well, okay, I didn't just say "a lamp." Here's what I said, unabridged, in its entirety:

"I wish for a metal floor lamp that will perfectly, meaning without any reason for complaint or any issue whatsoever in any way, correspond with my mother's personal preferences in lamp type and quality but more so align with exactly the kind of lamp that she would desire to go in the space, one which this lamp must be properly apportioned for in accordance with standard norms and my mother's personal preferences which take precedent, next to the couch in our living room in the only home we legally own in the city. The lamp will appear here, next to you and me in this alley without any complications or unforeseen consequences or events, and will in no way be or resemble anything that would be offensive, violent, rude, defamatory, or be possessing qualities that would be considered negative by my mother or the vast majority of humans, in addition to it being an ordinary lamp that cannot live, breathe, control minds, or do anything otherwise supernatural, malicious, or odd. Any personal preferences of my mother for the kind of lamp she would be most happy to see in the space described supersede any other stipulation which would contradict those preferences. The lamp described will appear immediately after I finish this sentence."