“Witches, All” by Laura Benedict
I’ve always had a grudging admiration for the bold women who present themselves at dressing room doors, ready for what ever lies behind them. [39min]
Excerpt:
There’s a knock on the dressing room door, and something inside, this voice in my head that speaks up now and again when I’m stone-fucking sober tells me to stay where I am and not to answer it. It’s the same voice I heard the night my old man hanged himself in our garage, the same voice that warned me away from the dancer in Tallahassee who screwed me blind and nine months later gave me the kid, now ten years old and as ugly as his old man. The time it told me not to get on an airplane, I did listen, and the plane was delayed on LaGuardia’s tarmac for six hours. As men go, I’m not completely stupid. But I’m not going to listen to it now because I never know when that voice might be just screwing with my head.
