Dustbin and the Magic Stone
A True Story
By Ken Ely

Once upon a time not too many days ago, in a land just down
the street from here, 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 one. And a very smart, good, and kind boy: after all , why have the hero of a story be a derelict!

Now, some heros are paupers, some are princes; but Dustbin was neither prince nor pauper. His family was middle class, which meant that a reasonable amount of money passed through their fingers every year but they had never quite enough due to the ever-inflating cost of tennis shoes and food, not to mention school pictures, of which there were about fourteen sets required each year - and for just four childeren! At any rate, Dustbin never went hungry or naked; he just didn't have much money to play around with; and this 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 boneless chicken breasts to use for crab bait, and just enough Nintendo games to lose a few without his worry-wart parents being concerned.

One particular night, as he lay thus dreaming, a soft light began to show in the room. At first, the light was pink; then it revolved to purple; then light blue, like the good witch Bellinda in the Pinnochio story. 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 fetched up out of the creek; but it wasn't gray or black, like any other rock: this rock looked like it was some sort of crystal or glass. Dustbin lay down, resting his chin upon his folded arms, and watched the colors turn.

How did it get here, he wondered. As if in response to his unspoken question, a shining figure of revolving colors like the stone appeared in the room and said, "I brought it." The figure wasn't focused very well 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, although imperfectly. And it had wings, like and angel. A big, clear, revolving-light angel. "I'm an angel," the figure said, indicating the stone, "and I've brought you a gift."

Dustbin regarded him speculatively for a moment. "What is it?" he asked. "A night light?"

The angel chuckled. "No. It's a magic stone."

"Of course," Dustbin replied skeptically.

"No," the angel objected, "it really is. Really." Dustbin just looked at him, so he 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 tennis shoes."

"Yes, well, with this magic stone, you can have all the tennis shoes you want. What's your pleasure? Reeboks?"

"Air Pumps," Dusbin 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.

"Just reach right in and pull 'em out," the angel assured him.

Dustbin leaned down and reached toward the shoes. Bing! The stone suddenly expanded to the size of his mom's kitchen stove. He reached in and picked up the shoes. 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.

"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."

Dustbin threw off the covers 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 again became large when his hand got near it, and drew out the snacks. 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 a new ski boat. On a trailer."

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

"Take it for a spin," the angel said.

"What, on its trailer? Sure."

"Well, ask for a lake. Or the ocean, if you want."

Dustbin looked at him doubtfully for a moment. Then he said, "Okay, lemme see a lake."

Instantly, the stone expanded to where the edges of it 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 again. "Angels don't trap people."

"I'm not so sure that 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?"

Dustin shouted,"DEVILS, I GUESS!" and 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 clean off the bed! The room turned a horrible bright red, while the angle 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 lay stunned in the darkness. Then the room gradually began to lighten until it was almost too bright to look at anything. Squinting, Dustbin 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 call DISCERNMENT."

"What does discernment mean?" Dustbin asked, in somewhat quieter 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 the bed. He crawled under them and fell immediately to sleep.

When he awoke in the morning, Dustbin sat up and thought out loud, "What a wierd dream!" Slipping out of bed, he went to the bathroom, then turned the TV on 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, me hearty. Get with it."

Dustbin got up and went back to his bedroom. He flicked the blankets off his bed to find the sheet which was usually bunched down by his feet. Something fell to the floor at the foot of the bed, apparently from the blankets. He looked at it, wondering what it could be. It was a potato chip!

Copyright March 30, 2004, Kenneth E. Ely

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