I don't like the scent filling the air around us, nor do I like the small silver pot the fortune teller is swinging around Sammy's head. She is muttering some gibberish as she circles around my boy. Sammy's head is swinging from side to side in tune with the incantations.
I put my mouth close to George's ear and whisper, "You sure this is going to work?"
He places a finger on his lips, shushing me. Then he shrugs and signals that he will share his thoughts later on.
While the woman continues with her voodoo, my eyes, bored from the repeated drama, begin roaming around her workspace. It is then I realize that she must be an African woman. There is a handwritten quote on one side saying 'Black don't crack.' Another is written in an African language I can't read.
Sammy's scream jolts me back to the present moment.
"Say it. Say it. Say what's on your mind," she urges Sammy.
