Voodoo Lady

The other day I was riding the Redline when an enormous black woman in a velvet African head wrap* and a fur coat lumbered on with 3 bulging handbags. Her face was saggy but her eyes were sharp and wise. She sat directly across from me, taking up two or three seats. I think she was 300 years old.

Within minutes, the train got quiet and still, and the scary lady started speaking loudly and directly to me in some sort of French. It was either garbled because she was crazy/old/fat or because she used Creole words I only half understood. I was a bit scared, but I bravely said Je ne comprends pas to the lady.

She got real quiet, then repeared what I said twice in a harsh whisper. Je ne comprends pas. Then she spewed more Creole jibberish, waved her hands around and got off at the next stop.

"Wait lady, what's your message for me?!" I think she wasn't raving mad, as many people would foolishly assume. No, that old saggy baggles was speaking to me for a reason...

"Hey Jesse, this story is a parable, right?" Such astute readers! I'll get to the point.

The message from the old witch was that I need to start writing again. Hello.

*if there is a better word for this garment, will someone please tell me? I'm blithely ignorant of many ethnic things.