As I pulled out the readings, Fleetwood Mac again began to sing. I stared at the pile of creased, stained photocopies. I picked up a stapled stack of sheets. My eyes floated lightly over the quarter-memorized words on them.I spent the morning thus reading. The words in the articles entered into a dialogue with ideas half-formed in the back corner of my mind. A trance fell deep over me through lunch and into the early afternoon as, occasionally, I quietly sang a line or two of something mellow on the radio to myself. Looking at the clock, I broke and grabbed a tattered notebook and a folder into which I crammed a few of the photocopies that I felt were of some importance.One of my office partners looked up from the map he was trying to explain to a recovering high-school genius and asked, “taking off?”His student shifted in her seat to give herself a better view of the map. She also pulled her hair away from her face and draped the long, brown locks over her stooped shoulder. Her hair. Some chickens. I saw her come to my father's farm one day and I got my wooden pitchfork ready to stab her if she tried to harm my parents. But all she wanted was a rooster, which my father willingly gave her to make her go away. I remember standing beside the barn foolishly holding my pitchfork ready to defend myself if she tried anything against me and she laughed at me. It was an evil cackle that I'll never forget. Anyhow, she left with our rooster. The next morning, my mother awakened with a mysterious fever. All day long, we watched her get sicker and sicker. By sunup, I knew that she didn't have much longer to live. I ran to the village and found old Man Mazz who knew something about doctoring. When we returned to my home, my mother was well. Seems that the evil Witch had come at Sunset and demanded a horse in exchange for my mother's life. My father gave it to her. The witch cut an inch of hair from my mother's head and declared that the fever would be gone by morning. By the.
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