On Returning

When the first instinct is to lie, maybe just tell the brutal truth.

There’s a joke in our family that I am a witch.

Not a mean or bad witch (although I’m sure I have those qualities a solid amount of time), but rather an “open,” someone who feels things, predicts even weirder things. The witch who picks up the phone to call my mother, and she’s calling me at the same time (arguably, she’s a witch too).