Dave

So yes, it’s true: I went to a back-alley occultist. He said he could erase all the regret and longing and all that crap, remove all my memories of my ex, and he said the cost was just one finger. Well, that and $52.50. ### I should mention that I found the guy through Craigslist, and to be honest, he seemed like the sort of shoddy occultist that you find through Craigslist. He’d set himself up in this barred-window storefront off of East Carlson Ave., and what a store it was: Red light bulbs screwed into all the lamps, some second-rate Santeria bric-a-brac, he’d even set out a stuffed raven on the desk. I mean, he was really trying hard to make it seem creepy – going for a real Vieux Carre voodoo vibe – but the overall effect suggested nothing more than the sadly impotent faux-evil of some freshman Goth’s basement apartment. ### But then he took me through a beaded curtain into a room that was legitimately scary. Because it wasn’t trying to be. Because it was utilitarian, contained only what it needed: An iron and an ironing board. Covered in a tarp. A tarp on the floor. Bolt cutters, Karkov vodka and some generic Percocet… and this creepy little doll (and again, it was creepy because it wasn't obviously creepy; it had rainbow suspenders, even, and nice little stitched smile; but there was something secretly terrible about it). He said I just had to hold the doll while he said some words and cut off my… ### I left immediately. Of course. I mean yes, I was desperate, but not that desperate. I’d gone there as a lark more than anything, maybe a funny story to tell, right? But what really had me sweating on my car drive home was that I knew, just for a second, standing in that room, I was actually considering it. Going through with it. And the fact that I could take my own romantic troubles that seriously, be so myopic, let someone actually affect me that much? Ridiculous. ### But the thing is, that was my first real heartache. You know the one. You’re 18 and you imagine that you’ll never be the same, some part of that hurt will always be there, blah blah blah. And maybe those things are true – but it’s really not that big of a deal. You won't be the same and that's okay, right? It's life! But I didn’t know that then. ### And I was at a friend’s apartment this one night getting really drunk (I admit, I was getting drunk A LOT at the time), and the apartment happened to be close to the occultist’s place, and of course that was the night she happened to finally call me back. Saying she really wanted us to be able to be friends but we couldn’t ever be together etcetera etcetera. You know the drill – we’ve all had it said to us, hell, we've all said it to others. ### But again, I just didn’t know very much. I can’t even estimate how much I imbibed after I hung up on her. Found myself wandering around outside... ### It’s probably good that I was that drunk, actually, because at least I don’t remember the procedure. ### But when I woke up in the morning, I was almost as horrified by the doll as by the state of my hand. Horrified because there was, as I said, something so quietly creepy about the doll, and I had no idea my dollars and finger would actually have me own the damn thing. I didn't know I'd be taking it home. And also, I was horrified because written on the back of the doll's little tag were instructions telling me how I could replicate the spell myself: An endless written reminder of just how gullible and desperate I had been. ### It’s safe to say that night was the biggest mistake of my life. But not for the reasons you think. It wasn’t because the occultist was a quack, wasn’t because the procedure didn’t work – no. It was mistake because the procedure was a success. I never really thought much of my ex ever again after that evening, and when I did, it never hurt. The occultist was true to his word ### Here's the thing: Over time, getting older, I think most people learn to be a little more guarded, a little less overly-ardent; most importantly, I think people learn to take themselves (even in matters of love) just a little less seriously. Even when wronged, people survive by learning to be a little less maudlin, a little less solipsistic. A person is just a little more careful the next time, and the next time, and even if it all doesn’t work out, you can say, "Ah, to hell with it. Whatever." It’s part of actually being an adult, I think. ### But see, being able to numb yourself, being able to just make the pain go away with a simple sacrifice, it can be addicting. And the sad part is, in that way, you don’t really learn. You can get hurt wantonly, and hurt others wantonly, too, and what does it matter? It can all just go away. ### What I mean is this (and this is also why I have to get rid of this very, truly magic doll [spell included with purchase)… ### I had to type this manuscript with my toes.