Dustbin and the Magic Stone

Dustbin and the Magic Stone

By Ken Ely

Once upon a time and many years ago in a land just down the street from here, there lived a boy called Dustbin. He was a very clean boy, contrary to what his name might lead you to believe; and a very handsome boy; and a very smart, good, and kind boy.
Now, some boys are paupers, some are princes, but Dustbin was neither. His family was middle-class, which meant that Dustbin’s father made a reasonable amount of money but it was never quite enough due to ever-inflating costs of tennis shoes and food, not to mention school pictures (with sports, there were twelve sets taken every year for the four children in the family). And although Dustbin never went hungry or naked; he just didn’t have much of an allowance to play around with, which was tough because strict fiscal management was not one of his strong suits. So when he lay drowsing at night after his grumpy father had told him and his little brother seven or eight times to be quiet and go to sleep, Dustbin would dream of Nike Air Pumps, limitless supplies of chips and Pepsi for snacks, and just enough Nintendo games to lose a few to borrowing friends with his worry-wart parents being concerned.

One particular night as he lay thus dreaming, a soft light began to shine in the room. At first, the light was pink; then it resolved to purple; then it shifted to light blue, like the Good Witch Bellinda in the Pinocchio story.

As he watched the colors went through their cycle again, so Dustbin sat up to see where the light was coming from.
It was coming from below the foot of the bed!
He leaned forward to look over the end of the bed but he still couldn’t see the source of the light.
He got up on his hands and knees and craned forward to peer over the edge of the bed.
There it was! A stone, about the size of an ordinary grade AA extra-large chicken egg. It was irregular, like any other rock one might fetch up out of the creek or off the beach but it wasn’t gray or black or speckled like any other rock. This rock looked like it was crystal or glass.

Dustbin lay down, resting his chin upon his folded arms, and watched the colors turn.

‘How did the stone get there?’ he wondered in his head.

As if in response to his unspoken question, a shining figure of changing colors like the stone appeared in the room and said, “I brought it.”

The figure was blurry at first but, after Dustbin watched it for a minute or two, it became sharp and clear. Well, almost clear: he could see through it imperfectly. And it had wings, like an angel. A big, clear, colored-light-revolving angel. 
“I am an angel,” the figure said, “and I have brought you a gift.”

Dustbin regarded him speculatively for a moment.

“What is it?” he asked. “A night-light?”

The angle chuckled, “No, it’s a magic stone.”
“Of course,” Dustbin replied skeptically.
“No, no,” the angel objected, “it really is. Really.”
Dustbin just looked at him so the angle pushed on.
“Look. Why would I bring you a night-light? Your dad can give you that.”
“No, he can’t,” Dustbin argued. “Dad has to buy school pictures and tennis shoes.”
“Yes, well, with this magic stone, you can have all the tennis shoes you want. What’s your pleasure? Reeboks?”

“Air Pumps,” Dustbin said.
“Then Air Pumps it is,” the angel said with a flourish.
He bent over the stone as if looking into it.
“Yes, I see Air Pumps in there. All you have to do is pull ’em out.”

“Let me see,” Dustbin said in disbelief and moved off the bed to gaze into the stone.

Sure enough, there were Air Pumps visible inside it.

“Pull ’em out?” he asked the angel.

“Just reach right in and pull ’em out,” the angel assured him.

Dustbin leaned down, reached toward the shoes, and Bing! The stone suddenly expanded to the size of his mom’s kitchen stove. He reached in and picked up the shoes and, as soon as they were outside the stone, it zapped down to its original size.

Dustbin looked the shoes over. Sure enough, they were the Real McCoy.

He set them on the foot of his bed.

“Aren’t you going to try them on?” the angel asked, incredulous.
“In the morning,” Dustbin replied, climbing back into bed. “Dad doesn’t let us put our shoes on the couch, much less wear them in bed.”
“Are you hungry?” the angel asked.

“Not especially.”

“How about some chips? Or a Pepsi?” the angel prompted.

“Mom’s got Diet Pepsi in the fruit room. But that’s her private stock. And we have to ask for the chips before we eat ’em because we ate ’em all up a couple of times and made Dad mad.”
“Well, you could have your own private stock of both. Look into the stone again.”

Dustin threw the covers off and crawled to look over the end of the bed. Sure enough, there, in the stone, were a bag of chips and a six-pack of Pepsi.

He climbed off the bed, reached into the stone (which became large when his hand got near it) and drew out the snacks. Then, sitting on the end of the bed, he opened the chips and one of the cans of Pepsi.

After a moment of chugging and crunching, he asked, “What happens if I wish for something big, like a boat, or even a house? Does the stone blow up that large?”

The angel smiled.

“Try it and see.”

“Okay. Stone, give me new ski boat. On a trailer.”

The stone suddenly filled the room. In fact, somehow, it seemed a bit bigger than the room. And inside it was a new ski boat on a trailer.

“Sweet!” Dustin laughed.
“Take it for a spin,” the angel suggested.

“What? On its trailer? Sure.”

“Well, ask for a lake. Or the ocean, if you like.”

Dustbin looked at him doubtfully for a moment.

“Okay. Lemme see a lake.”
Instantly, the stone expanded to where its edges couldn’t be seen any more but there, within its pink-purple-light blue glow, was a lake with a small dock and the new ski boat tied up to it.

Dustbin looked at the angel.

“I’m not goin’ in there!”

“Why not?” the angel asked.

“Might be a trap.”

The angel laughed, “Angels don’t trap people.”

“I’m not so sure you’re an angel,” Dustbin replied honestly.

“Why do you say that?” the angel asked.

“Because you said this was a magic stone. Angels don’t deal in magic.”

The angel smiled sweetly.
“Who does, then?”

“Devils, mostly!” Dustbin shouted and he made a dive for his covers because he didn’t want to see if he was right.

But the covers didn’t shield him from what he didn’t want to see for, with a roar of wind, they were blown off the bed!

The room turned a horrible bright red while the angel became a solid black shadow!

The ski boat, the lake, the chips, the shoes, the Pepsi: all were swept away by the wind!

And, at last, the solid black shadow blew away, too!

All was dark and Dustbin sat stunned in the darkness. Then the room gradually began to lighten until it was almost too bright to look at anything. Squinting, he looked around to see where the light was coming from. After a moment, he could see that one corner of the room was very bright. Too bright, in fact, to look at for more than a second.

“Go away!” Dustbin shouted. “I don’t want your stupid magic stone!”

“You don’t need it,” a voice answered from the center of the light. “You already have the best gift of all. It was given to you at birth. It’s called discernment.”

“What’s discernment mean?” Dustbin asked in quiet tones.

“It means being able to see. Some call it wisdom. Or understanding. It’s more powerful than any magic stone. But you have to learn to use it.”

“So, how do I do that?” Dustbin asked.

“You simply try. You made a good start tonight. Keep trying.”

Suddenly, the light vanished.

And suddenly, Dustbin was very tired. Strangely enough, his covers were back on his bed and he crawled under them and fell immediately to sleep.

When he awoke in the morning, Dustbin sat up and thought aloud, “What a weird dream!”

Slipping out of bed, he went to the bathroom, then to the living room where he turned on the TV to watch Saturday morning cartoons.

His dad saw him as he made his own way toward the bathroom and said, “You got your bed made, son?”

“Nope,” Dustbin replied without taking his eyes from the tube.

“You know the rule, sailor. Get with it.”

Dustbin got up and went back to his bedroom. He flicked off his blankets to find the sheet which was usually bunched down by his feet and something fell to the floor at the foot of the bed.

Dustbin bent to look at it, wondering what it could be.
It was a potato chip!

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Copyright © July 1991 Kenneth E Ely