u/Vegetable_Scene_5847

It’s not like me to talk about myself like this, but my family does not want me to be closed off anymore. I remember the last time I saw my auntie. Regardless of the medicine, I will always remember those times.

1995, Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Surrounded by the tropics, colorful houses to get lost in, motorbikes, and people passing by with no care in the world. The amount of greenery and fresh everything was not something you could find in the States. During the summers, my mom would always take me to visit family. No electricity during the day, so I would be watching Grandma, Mom, and a couple of aunties gossiping away while preparing the Diri Djondjon and Legume for dinner. Always gossiping, but nothing would pass through my ears. This strange language, I could only catch a few words at a time. With every chuckle, cough, or kissed teeth I could always distinctly see that golden cross swinging around their necks. I knew I was Catholic, but I could never understand why; that’s just what I was used to.

My aunt was always the black sheep, especially for her “ways with magic.” I wasn’t sure what Voodoo meant at the time. That night, she told me of her hands. She was a psychic! I could believe it. My aunt could see people’s lives through the palms of their hands; it was like magnetic waves. My parents hated it when she would show me, nevertheless talked to me about these things. “We are special.” “It’s in our blood, " Auntie would always say. Sunday service was always a must in our household, but I would always ask her, “How would I know if I have it?” She would just say, "You’re gonna know.”

If I keep saying “that night”, I’m sorry, I get a little confused. If you were to ask me where I was, I wouldn’t know what to tell you. It started with the drowsiness, even after a full night’s sleep. Then I see things in my bed, not able to turn away. Those were the worst. I got diagnosed with narcolepsy soon after. But I don’t think there is anything wrong with me; I just needed to fix my sleep. I was struggling to tell what was real sometimes, but that’s nothing; I have to stay up late to pass these classes. And aunty wouldn’t judge. Sometimes I would spend the night over at her place. My mom made sure I always had my cross on me, just in case.

Aunty had this way of looking at me that made me feel like she was seeing something behind me, or through me. Not in a scary way. More like she was waiting for me to catch up to something she already knew, “You’re tired,” she said. I told her I wasn’t. I don’t know why I lied. She hummed — low, like she was agreeing with someone I couldn’t hear. Then she said something I still don’t understand: “Your dreams are waking up before you do.” That’s when I saw…it? The thing passed her shoulder. My heartbeat was loud enough to draw everything out. The shadow leaned in, and for a moment, it felt like it knew me before I knew myself.

And that was the worst part - the certainty that something had happened through me, not by me. I didn’t remember doing anything. I didn’t remember moving. But that warm trickle down my wrists reminded me of who I was. I wasn’t sure what to do about that, but I remembered what my aunt said: “It’s in our blood.” I wasn’t tired until she said it.

Since then, my family paid for a therapist after that night, believing I might be under religious psychosis? They still ask if I really believe she was a psychic. Yeah, I still believe it.

Woodstock NY concert

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