If there’s one thing I’m afraid of, it’s the things we can’t see. Like germs. And ghosts. And the real agendas of Tea Party Republicans. I know it’s unreasonable, but I just can’t help myself. It’s probably my Catholic upbringing or–very possibly–the fact that I watched the Exorcist as a very young child. I know there’s evil out there. And it scares the living shit out of me.
Thankfully, I’ve found a man who is just as, ahem, aware of the other side as I am. Right now, we’re in the very first stages of buying our first home together. That alone is terrifying. But even more terrifying is the fact that all the houses in our price range are old. Some of the coolest ones are right across from an antebellum cemetery, which means these houses have a history. Well, that and occupants who probably weren’t willing to move out since the Grant presidency.
We’ve talked ad nauseum about moving. Next to our son’s bodily functions, it’s the most common subject brought up while we’re watching TV at night. All those conversations sound like this:
Chelsie: Before we even move our shit in, I’m calling my mother to see if we can borrow her priest.
Red: You can’t borrow a priest like you borrow a pair of pants. He’s a person.
Chelsie: Whatever. I’m going to have him come over wearing his vestments and he’s going to bless the house with my special holy water.
Red: Special holy water? You have special holy water?
Chelsie: Um, yeah. I got it in Rome and the Pope blessed it. The good one. Not the one we’ve got now who looks like Darth Sidious.
Chelsie: Hey. This is who you’re marrying. Gedoverit.
Call me superstitious. Call me crazy. I don’t care. Red gets it. Right after we sign on the dotted line at closing, we’re going straight over to
break the house in burn sage. I’m still not quite sure how one accomplishes that, but I’ve got some neo-hippie friends who live about two hours north of us who I’m sure will be more than happy to help us chase away the dark-and-creepies.
But for now, we’re living in the same house we’ve been in for the last two years. We didn’t do a cleansing before moving in–mostly because we were new parents and too sleep deprived to even care–and now I’m kinda regretting it.
Last night, Red and were laying in bed watching the finale of the Mildred Pierce miniseries on HBO. (It’s not worth your time, beeteedub.) At some point during the show, something crashed to the ground in the general vicinity of the kitchen. After Red peeled me off the ceiling, he flipped on the lights and went to investigate. (I, of course, hid under the covers the whole time. Because if I can’t see whatever is out there, it can’t see me. Simple logic, people.)
“Chels,” he said. “Come here. You’ve got to see this.”
Fighting the urge to swaddle my head in a protective veil of blankets, I tiptoed into the kitchen. “Did you buy a new magnet to hang on the refrigerator?” Red held up a tiny picture frame that held a portrait of Boo. “This was in the middle of the floor.” He pointed to a spot in the middle of the living room, far from any surface it could have fallen off of.
My heart jumped into my throat. I stared at the tiny golden frame, and then at the spot on the floor. “I’ve never seen that thing before in my life.”
Red just looked at me. “That’s odd.”
“No, really. I didn’t buy that. Your mom may have given put it in Boo’s diaper bag at some point, but I’ve never seen it before, much less put it up on the fridge.”
Red shrugged. “Meh. That’s weird.”
“Fuck that noise,” I said. “I’m buying some sage TOMORROW.”
One problem. Where can I buy sage?