text: Trigger warning: domestic abuse “I threw my hands forward and I pushed all of the negative energy towards him. I felt this big 'whoosh' of forces, and when I was done, I knew I had done something I wasn’t supposed to do. I’m no saint, however. You know how sometimes you just can’t help it? The next morning he woke up with a broken tooth. It was hilarious. He came into the kitchen and his tooth was split in half, right up the center! It happened while he was asleep. Serves him right!” “Wait, a minute? Are you saying you broke his tooth?” “I’m saying karma broke his tooth. I just directed it at him.” I smiled and asked, “The same one as me?” I had woken up six months before to what sounded like a gunshot to my face. I put my hands to my mouth and blood poured out onto them. My phone lay next to me. My husband never admitted to knocking my tooth out in my sleep but I knew he had done it. I tried to believe him for a while. It’s not like I had any evidence that he had been the one to knock my tooth out and break my jaw. But, I knew. Every time I looked in the mirror, the fact stared back at me. “So, tell me about your man,” she said. “He’s barely making it. He messaged me the other night sounding pretty bad off. I tried to comfort him. I’m so glad I’m gone. When I think about going back, I can’t breathe. When are you going to get yours out of here?” “I feel so much better now that he’s living in the garage. You were in my house. You could actually be in there. Before, people would want to get out as quick as they could. But, now, they linger. And the ghost is much happier. It was like a war-zone here between the ghost and the demons that surround him when he was living in the house.” “So, you see ghosts now?” I chuckled. “I don’t see ghosts, I only hear them. I have to tell you about the creepy thing the ghost did. You aren’t going to believe it!" “I can’t wait to hear this!” I said, relishing in the anticipatory excitement of a good story. “I had this guy over to do yard work and when he was done, I pulled out sixty-five dollars in cash and handed it to him and then asked if he wanted a drink. I went and got him some ice water and when I came back, he asked me, ‘What about the money?’ I said, ‘I just handed it to you,’ and he said, ‘No you didn’t.’ I was sure I had given it to him. He told me that I had pulled out the money and showed it to him and then walked away. We started looking all over for it. I even looked in the fridge. Eventually, I sat down and cried and tried to give him the rest that I had. He wouldn’t take it. He asked me if I’d like to go over to his place for awhile. He’s a nice man so I accepted. On the way there, I told him that we have a ghost in our house and he sometimes steals stuff from me.” “What did he say?” “He said that we need to accept our ghosts." "And?" "And, so I did. I told the ghost, ‘I know you are there,’ and the craziest thing happened.” “What?” “I felt the wad of money appear in my hand.” “Are you serious?” “Yes. He didn’t believe me either. He said that I must have pulled it out of a pocket, but I hadn’t. He looked at me suspiciously and I tried to explain to him that my pockets had buttons and I couldn’t have undone them without moving my hand.” “That’s crazy. What did you do at his house?” “I was so shaken I sat on the couch and rocked back and forth. I asked him to take me back home and he did.” “Did you ever hear from him again?” “Yes, I did. He asked me to dinner and I went. We had a good time.” “Did you tell him about Steve?” “How could I tell him that I live with a man who has given me three concussions and broken five of my bones? You think he will come around here after that? No, I told him he was my roommate, which is true, by the way. It’s not like we’ve had sex in two years. And, anyway, he does what I say these days." “What do you mean?” “Recently, I asked him to do the dishes and he started to get upset and I saw his eyes do that change we've talked about. I held up the phone and said, ‘leave me alone or I’ll call 911.’ He went outside and when he came back his eyes were normal again. He was trying really hard to be nice to me. He even offered to fire up the barbecue.” “Funny.” “Yeah, I should have known he’d been drinking. I was so stupid to not pay attention to that. Like, obviously, he was at the bar. What was I thinking asking him about the dishes? But, then again, you just never know how he is going to respond.” “So, tell me more about your karmic superpower.” “You are funny. I don’t know. This is something that I’ve always had. One time a man stole my bicycle and he got hit by a car. Another time, someone hurt me and they died in a surfing accident. I know it’s bad to actively try to hurt people, but sometimes I just can’t help but to stop holding back the cosmic forces from crashing down on them.” I laughed out loud. When you have a powerless life you fantasize about power. And it doesn’t matter who you are before the abuse starts. Afterwards, it changes you. Others will tell you about their bad relationships and think they understand. But, they don’t. Fyodor Dostoevsky was forever changed by the experience of being put before the firing squad and then reprieved. He wrote about it in many of his books. You might say he was obsessed with it, or that this close call with death forever changed his life. I think he would understand.