Ayida #4
I bowed my head. My palms came together at my chest. And I started the chant the way Madame Laurent taught me.
"Rosalee" I whispered first, tasting the name.
"Aunty Rosalee,” My throat tightened. I kept going.
"Rosalee... mwen vini pou ou." I come for you.
My voice sounded small under the veil, but the more I spoke, the more it steadied.
"Rosalee, Ive been told you can make the dreams clear.
" I swallowed. "My spirit is tired." My lips trembled, and I pressed them together, forcing myself to continue.
"Rosalee I'm asking' you for sight." The candle flames jumped.
Just a little. Like they heard me. I stayed still, but my skin prickled.
The air thickened. Not heavy like suffocating, but like presence.
Like walking into a room where everybody stopped talking and looked at you.
I slid my hands forward and touched the floor in front of the altar, feeling the cool wood.
I lowered my forehead toward my hands. "Give me the ability to discern," I whispered.
"Give me the ability to manage what I see.
" My voice cracked on manage, Because I didn't know if I could.
I didn't know if the truth would free me or bury me.
I lifted my head slowly. The veil shifted, brushing my cheeks.
My breath sounded loud again, and I realized I was breathing faster. I forced myself to slow down.
My eyes found the offering plate even though the veil blurred everything soft.
The corn. The fatback grease. The Crown Royal.
I spoke again, firmer. "I made it how Madame taught me.
I did it right. I did it respectful." A pause.
Then, quietly, like a confession, "I need help. " The words hung in the air.
And the moment I admitted that, something in my chest loosened and something else tightened.
Because now I wasn't just speaking. Now I was listening.
The candles started acting funny. One flame stood tall, straight, too steady to be normal.
Another flame danced sideways like it was leaning toward me.
Smoke from the candles curled thicker, wrapping around my veil and drifting across my face. It smelled sweet at first, then bitter, then sweet again, like the air couldn't decide what it was.
I felt my stomach turn. My hands gripped my thighs. And then my ears popped. Like pressure changed. Like something crossed into the room.
My mouth went dry. I tried to speak again but the first sound that came out was just a breath.
"Rosalee?" I whispered. The candle closest to the offering glass flickered twice.
My heart hammered. I forced myself not to jump up.
Madame Laurent always said: Don't run when spirit arrive.
You asked for it. Sit still. So I sat still.
The room got hotter and colder at the same time.
My skin felt damp, like sweat wanted to come but couldn't. Then my mind started sliding.
Sinking, Like stepping off a ledge you didn't know was there. The altar blurred. The candlelight stretched. And suddenly, I wasn't in my room anymore. I was somewhere dark. Deep water dark. The kind of dark where you can still feel eyes on you. I heard a baby cry.
My breath caught. That cry cut through everything.
It was the same cry from my other dreams. And the sound alone made my stomach twist because my body recognized it before my mind did.
I tried to move, but my limbs felt heavy.
Like my spirit was traveling and my body stayed kneeling on my floor.
I whispered, "No." because I didn't want to see it again. But the dark shifted.
And there she was. That same pretty slick haired baby. With her little lips pouting fists curling and uncurling like she was fighting sleep.
She lay in a crib. And the crib looked old, wooden, like something passed down.
I stepped closer except. The baby cried again, and my chest tightened so hard it hurt. Then the shadow man came. Just like in the dream. Tall figure. Broad shoulders. No face. Only shape. He stood over her And the rage that rose in me was instant.
I tried to scream at him, but my voice didn't exist there.
Then I heard the phone call. My whole body went cold.
The shadow's voice wasn't frantic. It wasn't emotional.
It was steady. Like he had done this before.
as he spoke into the phone, I could hear little pieces.
Not full sentences. But enough. A location. A time. Names.
Then the darkness surged. The baby's cry cut off.
And I felt myself yank backward like somebody grabbed the back of my spirit and pulled.
I gasped in real life. My eyes snapped open behind the veil.
My lungs burned like I'd been holding my breath.
The candles were still lit. The offerings still there.
But the air felt different now. My hands trembled.
My mouth opened and closed like I didn't know what to say.
Because I had seen it again. But it wasn't clearer.
It was worse. And now I could feel something else behind it.
Something watching me, like the dream wasn't just showing me.
Like it was testing me. I whispered, "Rosalee I asked for sight.
“My voice shook. "I didn't ask for torture. "
The candle flames leaned. The smoke thickened again.
And then, without warning, I heard a woman's laugh.
My spine went rigid. The laugh didn't come from my ears.
It came from inside my bones. My lips parted.
The laugh stopped. And the room felt closer.
Like walls leaned in. Like the veil on my face was suddenly too tight.
I started breathing faster again. A whisper slid across my mind.
Creole-rooted, old, thick. Ou mande pou wè.
Ou bezwen fò. You asked to see. You need strength.
My hands moved without me thinking. I reached for the beads and wrapped them around my fingers tight, like a lifeline. I started chanting again, voice low but steady. Each time I said her name, it felt like my tongue got heavier, like I was speaking through water.
Then my mind slid again. This time the darkness didn't feel like a dream.
It felt like memory, But not mine. I saw my mama.
Young. Pretty in that dangerous way pretty girls are when they don't know they pretty enough to get hurt.
She stood in a mirror fixing her hair, rolling her lips together, eyes shining with hunger and hope and foolishness all wrapped up in one.
I felt sadness so sharp it made my chest ache.
she went and reached for a man that wasn't hers to reach for. I saw Fidel. Clean suit. Gold watch. Smile that looked generous until you realized it was calculated.
He touched my mama like he owned her. Like she was a secret he could pull out when he wanted. she let him. I watched her laugh with him, eyes bright, feeling chosen. Then I watched her cry in a bathroom, mascara running, holding her stomach. Holding me And the ache in her face wasn't just fear.
It was anger. Because she realized she wasn't chosen.
She was borrowed. I saw her going to his house.
Standing across the street watching him with his wife and kids.
Watching him smile like she didn't exist. And that's when something in my mama's spirit shifted.
I felt it. The moment her love turned sour.
The moment longing turned into a hunger for revenge.
She started showing up where she shouldn't.
Sending messages. Threatening with her eyes.
I saw his wife watching her back. Watching like a predator watches prey.
Then I saw a table. An altar. Not like mine. Bigger. Darker. I saw a woman's hands moving with precision. I felt cold crawl up my spine like insects.
This wasn't "hoodoo for protection. “This was something else.
Something mean. Something that meant no good.
I watched my mama stumble one day. Her face drooping.
Her eyes going distant. People called it a stroke.
But in that vision, I saw it different. I saw her spirit getting yanked.
Like a candle snuffed. I felt myself cry under the veil.
Tears hot, silent, dripping down my cheeks.
I whispered, "Mama”. it felt like the vision paused.
Then another image slammed in. My mama again sitting at a clinic table, eyes hollow.
The doctor talking. My mama shaking her head.
My mama in a bathroom crying, holding pills.
Aborting babies. Over and over. Not because she didn't want them.
Because he didn't. And then I saw her doing something worse.
Antagonizing. Showing up. Mocking. Her pride out of control. Her anger bigger than her sense.
I understood, finally, what Madame Laurent meant when she said we pay for what your mama did.
Not because spirit punishes innocent people for fun.
But because when you throw rocks into somebody else's water, ripples don't stop just because you regret it later.
My body shook. My sob caught in my throat.
I covered my mouth with my hand under the veil so I wouldn't make noise and call the whole neighborhood into my business.
Then the darkness shifted again. I saw a parking lot.
Early morning. I saw the moment. The setup. Men posted up. A phone in somebody hand. That same calm voice. Then gunshots. I watched bodies move running, ducking, firing back. my stomach turned, because it clicked. Maybe those bullets weren't meant for Noles.
Not originally. He got caught in it, but it wasn't meant for him.
That truth felt like a slap. My breath came short.
Then the vision sharpened. And for the first time, I saw a face.
Not fully. But enough to recognize energy before features and know the shadow in my dream wasn't a stranger.
My eyes flew open behind the veil. I sucked in air like I'd been underwater.
My hands clutched the rosary so tight the beads dug into my palm.
The candles were burning low now, wax pooling like tears.
The Crown Royal sat untouched but the surface trembled like something had brushed past it.
My throat worked. The air shifted. The whisper came again, closer now. Ou ka wè. Men ou dwe kenbe sa ou wè. You can see. But you must hold what you see. My breath hitched and my vision flashed. I saw the face again, this time clear as day. It was Nash.
The room quieted. And then softly something brushed my cheek. Like fingertips. My sob broke free, quiet but unstoppable. I leaned forward, forehead nearly touching the floor, shaking under the veil. I sat back up slowly.
My veil felt damp from tears. My hands were trembling but my posture stayed straight because that's what I was taught.
Even when you break, you break with respect.
I wiped my face under the veil, breathing slow again.
When the last candle started burning low, I finally rose.
I didn't blow them out with my mouth Madame Laurent always said don't do that, not for this kind of work.
I snuffed them with my fingers and a small tool, one by one, letting the darkness return gradually.
When the last flame died, the room looked different.