Genie

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A small hand reached from beneath a massive mound of blankets and stuffed animals, grabbing the cell phone from the nightstand before withdrawing back into the cocoon of warmth and darkness. After a couple of taps, the phone fell silent.

The tangled mass of sheets and blankets and quilts shifted. And stretched. The cocoon refused to yield to its occupant until, finally, a pair of stockinged feet emerged, tentatively searching for purchase on the carpeted floor.

“Katie, are you up?” an unseen voice bellowed.

Now completely free of her 600 thread count manacles, Katie, a diminutive fourteen-year-old clad in flannel bottoms and an old t-shirt, looked at the door. As the sleepy fog enshrouding her mind receded, Katie slowly walked to the door. She turned the knob, instinctively bracing for the bright hallway light waiting just outside her door. And the sounds of a morning already underway emanating up from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” she shouted before heading to the bathroom.

She flicked the light switch. The sconces above the sink shone brightly. Katie looked at the face in the mirror.

A bubbly, effervescent whirling dervish by nature, Katie normally hurtled full tilt through her routine. But this morning, a pallid impostor, staring back with tired, weary eyes, reflected in the mirror. There would be no triumphant charge.

She turned on the faucet. Grabbed a washcloth from the counter. Placed the threadbare blue towel beneath the stream of warming water.

After a moment, Katie turned off the faucet. Retrieved the washcloth. Wrang out the excess.

Katie never once took her eyes off her reflection.

She wiped her face, hoping the warm water would wash away her troubles.

She tossed the washcloth on the counter. Then she reached for her facial cleanser.

But she stopped short. Her hand frozen. Her eyes locked on the bottle’s label.

Katie quickly jerked her hand back as if avoiding an open flame.

Heart pounding, she looked at the rest of the products lined up neatly on her counter. Nausea swept in like a sudden tsunami.

Katie flung open a drawer. Retrieved a hair tie. Hastily tied her hair back into a ponytail. Then abandoned the remainder of her morning ritual, opting instead to head for the door.

Back in the hallway, breakfast aromas wafted up the stairs, bringing a smile to Katie’s face.

Every weekday morning, for as long as she could remember, Dad cooked her breakfast before school.

And they would listen to music. Sometimes his playlist. Sometimes hers.

Or during baseball season, they would watch highlights of the previous day’s games together. All in all, a great way to start the day. Except…

Dad was cooking breakfast.

In the oven.

The briefly forgotten nausea renewed its assault as she shuffled down the stairs like the condemned to the gallows, fearing that not even Dad could make things better this time.

Katie wandered into the kitchen. Climbed onto a stool at the counter.

Her dad looked up from his phone and put down his half eaten smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel to greet his daughter with his usual early morning smile. A smile that faded quickly at the sight of his daughter’s distraught disposition.

“What’s wrong, pookie?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep that well,” Katie replied unconvincingly.

Dad continued to stare at his daughter. His beautiful, sweet little girl. His strong, smart young lady. His completely guileless daughter whose numerous talents did not include a proficiency for deception.

“Are you worried about your project? he asked, continuing to press for answers.

“Maybe a little.”

Dad nodded.

“Well, I’ve been there. You’ll feel better after you eat something.”

He returned his attention to his phone. Tapped the screen a few times.

“I’m thinking pancakes and sausage links should do the trick.”

The oven whirred to life. Its coils began warming.

Then a mechanical arm stirred, waving back and forth over the tray, stitching and weaving together a breakfast feast seemingly from nothing. After a few moments, an alarm dinged. Dad slipped on an oven mitt and reached inside.

“Here we go.”

Dad lifted the plate, a piping hot medley of pancakes and sausage links, out of the oven and placed the plate in front of his daughter.

“Just what the doctor ordered.”

Katie stared sullenly at the steaming feast.

“Syrup. You need syrup,” Dad said as he scurried over to the pantry.

He returned with a bottle of syrup, pouring a steady stream over the pancakes.

And a neat little puddle.

Katie liked dunking the sausage links in syrup.

Something about salty and sweet.

Katie still showed no interest in the feast before her.

“C’mon honey. It’s your favorite. And you need fuel to face the day.”

“I’m just not hungry,” she replied, pushing the plate away.

With more than a year’s experience dealing with a teenage daughter, Dad knew better than to press the issue. He simply walked around the counter and hugged his daughter.

“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want. Why don’t you finish getting ready for school? The bus should be here soon.”

“Thanks Dad,” Katie replied as silent tears began to form in her eyes.

Dad kissed her on the top of her head.

“Of course, sweetie.”

Without another word, Katie slid out from under her dad’s grasp and headed back upstairs. Dad ate a bite of sausage. Then, on a whim, he dunked the link in maple syrup before popping the rest of the link into his mouth.

“Damn, that’s good,” he muttered to himself.

**

Upstairs, Katie changed out of her pajamas into her usual school attire. A dry fit t-shirt and leggings. Then she threw on a well-worn hooded sweatshirt. On her way out of the bedroom, she tossed her pajamas in the laundry basket by the door.

Katie ventured into the bathroom. Reflexively, she reached for her toothbrush. Then the toothpaste. Which she dropped like a hot coal burning her flesh.

Her beauty products.

Her breakfast.

Even the toothpaste.

All shared a commonality.

All were made by Genie.

Her empty stomach boiled and bubbled.

With an unsteady hand, Katie slowly put her unused toothbrush back in the holder and exited the bathroom.

At the foot of the stairs stood her dad. Sporting a hopeful smile. Holding her backpack. And an overstuffed lunch bag.

“There’s my girl. Ready to walk to the bus stop?”

Katie stopped walking down the stairs. Hesitated.

“Do you mind if I walk by myself today?”

For the briefest of moments, Dad looked like he had been punched in the stomach. He had known that their morning walks to the bus stop wouldn’t last forever. He just never thought today would be the day they came to an end. But he put on a brave face. A smile he forced himself to feel.

“Of course. I have an early conference call. Should probably prep for that.”

Katie, now standing alongside her dad, smiled weakly as she accepted the transfer of the backpack. And the lunch bag.

“Thanks Dad. I love you.”

Dad threw his arms around his daughter.

“I love you too, honey. I hope you have a wonderful day at school. I can’t wait to hear about how well your presentation goes.”

“Thanks Dad,” Katie replied, squeezing her father all the tighter.

Dad heard the squeal of poorly maintained brakes and reluctantly released his daughter.

Opened the front door.

And sent her out to face the day.

Without him.

Katie hustled down the driveway, crossing the street just as the bus slowed to a halt.

**

With a whoosh, the door opened, and Katie ascended the stairs. After a half-hearted half-smile to the bus driver, Katie shuffled to the back of the bus. To her assigned seat.

As Katie sat down, the boy in the seat across the aisle, Mitchell, smiled broadly.

“Hey Katie! I was getting worried about you. Why didn’t you respond to the group chat last night? Working on your project? Yeah, I was too. It took forever. I can’t wait to be done with this project. Hey, are you going to the football game tonight?”

Katie sighed. Normally she took Mitchell’s amateur attempts at flirtation in stride. Smiled enough to be polite. But not enough that he got the wrong idea. Today was not normal though. The young boy’s unyielding stream of consciousness scrambled her brains like eggs in a frying pan.

“I hadn’t really thought about the game tonight. Not sure if I feel up to going,” Katie said when Mitchell paused momentarily to catch his breath.

Another tidal wave of words issued forth in response. But Katie did not hear a word. Ever since last night, her mind could only focus on one subject.

The reason for a night of fitful sleep.

The reason for her unwashed face.

The reason for her empty stomach.

Her project.

A simple research project.

Should have only taken a couple of hours.

But it wasn’t simple.

Nothing, she feared, ever would be again.

**

Katie spent the ride to school silently debating about what she could share, should share with her class. Before any real clarity presented itself, the bus pulled into the parking lot around the back of the school.

On autopilot, Katie exited the bus.

With Mitchell right on her heels.

Talking the whole time.

While the duo navigated the hallways to their homeroom class, Katie continued to struggle with her reservations about her project.

Katie walked head down, avoiding eye contact, to her seat. Mitchell, still jabbering unabated, sat down at the neighboring desk, clearly unperturbed by the lack of response.

When the bell rang, Katie snapped out of her contemplative trance, her eyes tracking her teacher as the middle-aged woman stood up and walked around her desk.

“Good morning, children,” the teacher started.

Without raising his hand, Mitchell interrupted his teacher.

“I forgot my laptop at home.”

The teacher sighed. Walked over to her desk. Grabbed her phone. Tapped the screen a few times.

At the front of the classroom, a large metal enclosure sporting the Genie branding, whirred to life. Mechanical arms weaved and stitched within the device. After a moment, the device dinged. The teacher retrieved the laptop and placed it on Mitchell’s desk.

“I can’t keep printing laptops for you. We only get so much filament each semester,” the teacher chided halfheartedly, recognizing that, once again, her entreaty would fall on deaf ears.

“Yes ma’am.”

The teacher smiled at the class.

“OK, guys. It’s time to get our day started. Today is presentation day. I can’t wait to see what you’ve prepared for the class. Do we have a volunteer to go first?”

Of course no one volunteered.

Katie rubbed her eyes in a futile attempt to chase away an approaching headache and raised her hand reluctantly.

“Katie, thanks for volunteering. Please come up.”

Katie slowly rose from her chair and headed to the front of the class where she handed her teacher a flash drive. After plugging the flash drive into her laptop, the teacher picked up a remote and pressed a few buttons. The smart board hanging on the wall at the front of the classroom sprang to life.

Displayed in a bold font was a name.

Preston Sherwood.

“Class, please give Katie your undivided attention.”

The chirping chatter slowly abated, and all eyes turned to a suddenly nervous Katie. She cleared her throat. Only once she felt she could trust her voice did Katie begin her presentation.

“Thank you. My presentation is about Preston Sherwood.”

The teacher clicked a button on the remote. The next slide appeared on the screen, displaying an old photo of a young Preston Sherwood. Twenty-something and awkward but a light in his eyes.

“Preston Sherwood grew up in a house of dreams. His father, a jazz musician of some note, imbued young Preston with a love of music. Of pure creation. Creating something out of nothing. His mother had dreams of her own. Dreams that one day her son would not have to scrimp and scrounge to stock the refrigerator or keep the lights on for another month.”

The teacher yawned with obvious disinterest as her star student recited the manufactured tripe from her subject’s Wikipedia page. Katie’s opening failed to captivate her classmates as well. The great man’s biography had been hashed and rehashed. Accepted without question. Like a multiplication table.

Katie, perhaps anticipating this onset of ennui, shifted gears, speeding through the recap to get to the crux of her presentation.

“You all know this part of his story. We’ve all heard it over and over. Mr. Sherwood took his love of music and brought about a revolution. No longer did you have to go to a store and buy a CD. You could simply download that same music, any music, to your phone at any point, anywhere. All you needed was the Internet.”

Same disinterested looks. A few students at least pretended to pay attention. Others abandoned all pretense, opting instead to listen to music or play mobile games on their phone. Katie picked up her pace further.

“From there, an empire sprung. Mr. Sherwood was a fierce advocate for all artistic creation, not just music. He created platforms for all artists to share their creations with the world. Musicians, writers, painters. Everyone was welcome.”

The teacher picked at her nails absentmindedly, not even bothering to advance the slides anymore. Katie sighed. Then she walked over and grabbed the remote.

“But none of you care about that.”

Eyes became alert, offended by the careless application of truth.

“Preston Sherwood will always be known as the man who created Genie.”

Katie pointed at the device sitting on the table next to the smart board. The one that had moments earlier spawned a laptop.

A few kids sipped overly sweetened coffee from their Genie branded tumblers. Others doomscrolled on their Genie branded phones.

“And why shouldn’t he be? Every home, school, business in this country and most of the world has at least one of those devices. A magical device that creates something out of nothing.”

More tapping. More slurping.

Katie paused for effect. And to find the courage to sharpen her words.

“But it’s not really nothing is it? The first iterations of the device utilized a nonorganic filament to create rudimentary objects. Then, as the technology progressed, different types of filaments were developed, allowing for more sophisticated designs. As the demand for filament skyrocketed, new sources needed to be developed. Enter the Recycle Initiative. Nonorganic waste, previously destined for a landfill, could now serve a purpose again. The environment would be saved!”

The few engaged children cheered.

“The fact that entire sectors of manufacturing disappeared altogether seemed like a trivial concern,” Katie muttered.

The teacher now eyed Katie with suspicious eyes.

“What crisis could be tackled next? Global hunger? Of course. So, then the next iteration of Genie was designed to utilize a new organic filament, made from distilled food scraps previously destined for a dumpster, that could now be turned into various food stuffs to fill the bellies of the world.”

More enthusiastic cheering for the marvelous device.

“Never mind that apart from a few devices serving as props for photo ops, Genies did not exist in villages in Africa or even in low-income areas of our own country. The Genie became the latest crutch of the otherwise abled,” Katie continued, no longer muttering.

The teacher’s eyes narrowed. Even a few of the coffee drinkers who possessed enough self-awareness to recognize the dig became a little less disinterested.

“Katie, your presentation was to be about Mr. Sherwood, not the Genie.”

“How can I speak about Mr. Sherwood without discussing his greatest creation?” Katie asked with secretly sarcastic sincerity.

“Please wrap it up,” the teacher replied impatiently before taking a sip of her Genie brand caramel Frappuccino.

Katie felt the last of her fear, the last of her apprehension dissipate. In its place, a red-hot anger boiled as she walked over to the desk of one of her classmates and pointed at a half-eaten breakfast sandwich, wrapped in paper emblazoned with the Genie logo.

“You know you are eating a dead person, right?”

The teacher nearly choked on her coffee.

“Katie!”

No more sipping. No more tapping.

All eyes were on Katie as she clicked a button on the remote. On the screen was a legal document.

The class began to froth and foam like a raging sea, swirling with nervous laughter and disgust.

“Seriously. Last night, I read the EULA…” Katie started.

“The what?” one classmate blurted.

“The yada yada,” another replied smugly.

“Buried about halfway down, there is a statement. Any owner of a Genie who passes away agrees to donate their body to Sherwood International.”

“Katie, stop this nonsense right now!” the teacher shouted as she looked for the remote.

Too late to turn back now.

“It wasn’t bad enough that they put farmers out of business. I mean how could they compete with a device that could instantly prepare food. No transportation costs. No storage costs. Sherwood International swooped in, bought farms for pennies on the dollar, and reduced everything to filament.”

“Katie, keep this up and you will get detention!” her teacher threatened futilely.

“But even after assuming control of the vast majority of the world’s agricultural output, they still couldn’t keep up with our need to consume. So now, when you die, you’ll come back as a sausage biscuit.”

The classroom erupted into a cacophony of shouted profanity, insecure sarcasm and horrified sobs.

The teacher sprang from her seat. Grabbed Katie roughly by the shoulder.

An unheard knock at the door.

Without waiting for a response, the principal opened the door.

At the sight of the giant bear of a man, the students went silent.

“Katie, I need you to come to my office.”

Katie freed herself from the teacher’s grip.

Tossed the remote to her.

And followed the principal from the classroom.

With a relieved smile on her face.