The lamp. Clearing out the attic was both a treasure hunt and a reliving of my childhood.
I heard childish laughter. Debate over if it was your turn to be lamp-rubber or genie. Perfecting our genie voice. Practicing our three wishes. Before adulthood, before we knew how important those three wishes could be.
With dust motes dancing in the filtered light, I sat cross-legged on the floor. I gently rubbed the grimy lamp three times.
After the third rub, the lamp came to life. It vibrated and hummed. My hands felt wrapped in electric current. As I placed it on the floor, a thin tendril of smoke rose from the spout. The smoke began to take shape.
“At your service.”