Because You're Mine

"No, Lyndsey, we are NOT good for one another. You claim you're a witch and perform all that mumbo-jumbo with blood and guts and other disgusting things. I do NOT believe in that."

Leaving she turned back and said, "I'll never let you go. Call me when you change your mind." The door closed soundlessly behind her.

A week later on a morning bicycle ride in the hills I watched the first streaks of sunlight turn the clouds into gold for the next leprechaun's rainbow and thought . . . call Lindsey and share this . . .

"What? No! Why would I think that?" I think out loud too.

After three weeks of constant, "I gotta call Lindsey and share that" for everything I found tests to tell if I was bewitched; I passed every one. The one where you stack cards and stop when you get an ace I got three aces in a row. Another two weeks of it drove me over the edge and I folded.

"Hi."

"I want you to stop whatever you're doing."

"I'm not doing anything."

"I can't stop thinking about you. I want to call you twenty ... fifty times a day."

"Good, do it."

"You did something, admit it."

"No, I didn't. Magic only works if You believe."

"But..."

"Gotta run, call me later if you think of it ... again. Bye."

"But..." and she hung up.

That was a year ago. Am I under her spell? Probably. Is love a spell? I don't really care. Ask me again after the baby arrives. She said, "She'll have my power but I'll control her." Right! It'll be interesting to see what a baby does with that power.

Now I sing Credence Clearwater a lot.

"
I Put a spell on you,
Because your mine..."