Conversations with a two-year-old about witches
"One upon a time," the two-year-old told me, "a vesh came the house and stole the balloon!!!" Three exclamation marks are necessary to convey the outrage he felt.
"A fish?" I asked.
"No. A vetch."
"Oh! A witch."
He looked at me very sympathetically, as I am clearly useless.
"Go on," I said. But that was the end of the story. It lacks a resolution, I told him. Catharsis. I do not think he cared.
He loves Halloween. At any time of the year he wants to play Halloween. He also says he can see ghosts in trees. So, you know.
This occurred last year. Not long after, when the Wicked film was almost out and the supermarket was plastered in merch, we came across a large cardboard cutout.
"A vesh!"
"Two witches," I said, tapping Glinda, as obviously the picture was of both of them.
"No," he laughed at me. "She a queen."
Little did he know he had stumbled on the closest thing I have to a specialist subject. "No, she's a witch too. Well, a sorcerer. Which is like a witch."
He contemplated this from his seat in the trolley. "Is a job?"
"Sure. Why not. Maybe when you grow up you will be a witch. Things to aim for."
We talked about witches at my writing group, which I think was my fault, because I wrote about witches. They mentioned this trendy 'women stepping into their power' version of witchcraft. I'm like, "No, my witches are filthy and mean. They steal children's balloons."
"We know," my friends said.