The Golden Pebble

When she found it, the day was hot, the breezes lazy, and grass thick and green. The quintessential summer day in suburbia. She, Jade Andros, seemed at first the perfect cookie-cutout wife, the fourth figure in the perfect family, like all the other perfect little families in the perfect little house in the perfect little suburban community, Sunnyvale. But she was not, as her neighbors were not. Perfect lawns hide a multitude of secrets. And sins. Under the placid porch steps of the blue and white house, lay perhaps routine little horned monster, a sin, a sin called Adultery. Jade’s husband was ruled by the head in the underwear, not the one on his shoulders, and beside the little horny toad like being that was Adultery, grew another sin, green, slimmer. Envy. And that sort of emotion, all those emotions we classify as stressful or bad, ignoring how ridiculous it is to call an emotion bad, it kept easy company with alcohol. Copious quantities in fact, often swirling in Jade’s belly, in hopes of drowning the croaky voice of the monster under the shiny veneer she cast on her life. That afternoon, a Thursday, the kids at school, the man at work. Jade drank a margarita and two martinis, and stumbled out onto the Homes-and-Garden-esque back yard. Why she went is unclear, but what is clear, and central to this story, is what she found. She found, glinting beside a dandelion, was golden pebble. Small, utter smooth, and oddly round for an ordinary pebble. And she picked it up. Some would say this was mistake number one. Perhaps it was the booze, or the heartbreak, or the incredibly golden sheen the pebble had that made her wish on it, as if it were a the lamp of a genie. This, we could call mistake number two. She held it up, high, clenched in her fist, and proclaimed, “I wish she was gone. That little- I wish I was the only woman!” then she collapsed into hiccoughpy sobs. The pebble, unnoticed, slipped into her pockets. Now, she may have been too inebriated to remember her words, but they cannot be unsaid, and that makes all the difference. That day, the husband’s mistress, his secretary (will wonders never cease?), was involved in a gruesome car accident. So gruesome in fact that several seasoned EMTs and law enforcement officers lost their lunch. Anyway, the incident will be cut brief in this story, because it is not really that worth mentioning. The husband came home that day, all torn up, into the always benevolent and welcoming arms of Jade. And the wish was granted. A week or so passed, and the incident has been forgotten when Jade remembered the pebble, and decided to keep it, setting in on her vanity. “What a curious thing” she thought, and then thought no more of it. At least Scotty’s tantrum. Scotty, the younger son, and generally favored one, was a loud rude ugly little monkey. His parents however, saw him as angelic, and let him get away with horrible pranks and screeching fits and rewarded him for things that would get him a slap from most parents, even the most controlled ones. That day, Scotty decided to have a real screaming fight. For that reason, and that alone, so nothing anybody could say could calm him. He shouted, threw things, pounded on the floor, the walls, his nanny, and the dog. Normally his mother would have left it to the hired care takers, but that day she was having a truly awful headache, and one of the nannies had just quit, and the cook had called in sick. At first she let him carry on, hoping he would tire himself out. But little boys have far more energy than they are given credit for. Then she tried the usual bribery, offers of sweets or trips. But the boy would not stop. Then he tried to be authoritarian, yelling some herself, and threatening. The boy wailed louder. Then she gave up and locked herself in her room, which did nothing as the boy’s wailing cut straight through the walls. And there, on the vanity, the pebble sat glinting. Almost as if it were calling her attention. So she took in her hand, gritted her teeth and said “Stop him”. Nothing happened. She tried again, nothing. Then “I wish he would be quiet!” and the noise just stopped. Midscream. As if a flip had been switched, or the boy had died from lack of air. Frightened, she dropped the pebble and went to find her son. He was sitting on the rug, eyes wide, mouth shut. He would never speak again. The parents took him to ten doctors, twenty doctors. But no one gave them any explanation, or found anything wrong. The boy simply could not speak, or make any sound. They had a sleepless fortnight, and Jade began to drink again. Heavily. When drunk, she cried big fat tears and told anyone that would listen that it was all her fault. No one listens to drunks. After a month of this, her husband (now around a lot more and thus noticing her behavior) and confronted her, and she did stop drinking, thought the fact that he poured all the booze down the drain probably helped. After that, her head clear, she went and found the pebble. It wasn’t glinting, and she wished in a million different ways for her son to speak again. Nothing happened. Sorry, the pebble seemed to say, no refunds.