I can't remember a time when Jeff* wasn't part of my life. We met in elementary school, and grew up on the same street. We would spend our weekends and summers together at house parties and on road trips with our friends. If I was spending time with him, my family always knew I was safe. They trusted him, and so did I. Which is why, when we started dating when I was 25 and I found out he had been cheating on me not long after, it hurt more than betrayal ever had with other guys. It's also why I believed him when he said he would stop. But he didn't. After months of breaking up and making up, I was desperate to fix my relationship and change his behavior. 

My sisters, Emma* and Vivian*, were more than 15 years older than me and had always taken me under their wing, so I usually relied on their advice. They'd told me from the beginning that Jeff wouldn't change, and now they thought it was time I hear it from someone else — someone with a little insight into my future. They told me to visit a witch.

In my family, a visit to a psychic or witch was as common as it was taboo. My Catholic mother was totally against messing with brujeria (witchcraft) — the devil's work, as she called it. That didn't seem to stop my older sisters though, who had visited many psychics and tarot card-readers over the years, and even had one based out of Colombia whom they loyally called; a bruja (witch) psychic practitioner named Carmela*. My sisters would talk to Carmela about everything: health, family, money, love. When Emma was diagnosed with cancer, Carmela reassured her, saying that she would soon go into remission. When the chemotherapy seemed to be working, Carmela's word became golden. 

She gave me hope by saying yes, he really did love me, but he wouldn't remain a one-woman-man.

My sisters and I all worked for the same dentist — they were both assistants and I handled billing. I was skeptical about the whole witch thing, but one night we waited for the dentist to leave and, with an international phone card, called Carmela from the front desk of the office on speakerphone. 

 "Just tell me your name and date of birth," she said in Spanish, her voice deep and husky. 

"Julie. January 22, 1983," I said. I purposefully didn't use my full name, to test her abilities. My palms got clammy. She started to breathe very heavily and cough. Emma explained that Carmela would smoke a hand-rolled cigarette and read my future through "visions" she saw in the smoke.  

"What do you want to focus on today?" Carmela asked. 

"Does Jeff really love me?" I asked. "Will he ever be monogamous? Who is he cheating on me with now?" Carmela described him perfectly, then she gave me hope by saying yes, he really did love me, but he wouldn't remain a one-woman-man — unless I had her help to push him in that direction. "I can mail you a perfume for $80. You spray it on yourself twice a day, especially right before you are going to see him," she said. 

I still didn't buy it, but I did call her back two weeks later, this time by myself. I knew I could be more candid without my sisters hovering. This time she was even more specific.

"He is cheating on you with an older woman," she told me. "She has brightly colored hair." I knew exactly whom she was describing. A woman he claimed to only be friends with, despite occasionally spending the night at her place. This was the confirmation I needed. 

The perfume was pee-colored, with a variety of tiny plastic penises floating in it.

Suddenly I was following through on all Carmela's recommendations, like bathing in flower petals or placing random objects like a pot of milk under my bed. If he was still cheating, then I needed to step it up. I went to Western Union and sent Carmela $80. I got the perfume in the mail two weeks later. It arrived in a plastic spritz bottle. The perfume didn't have a smell to it, and it was pee-colored, with a variety of tiny plastic penises floating in it. I looked at myself in the mirror as I sprayed it over my head and stepped into the falling mist, and I thought: Is this really how desperate I've become? 

I kept calling Carmela on a biweekly basis, and each time she would describe Jeff's suspicious behavior and female friends perfectly. If our relationship was going well for more than a few weeks, it must have meant that the perfume was working, right? And if he strayed, then Carmela would tell me and provide a new fix. It became like an addiction; I couldn't rest easy unless Carmela told me exactly how things were going to play out. And each time, they happened just as she'd described. 

After a few of months of penis perfume spraying, sitting in magic baths, and sending Carmela a total of about $500, I ran into Emma at a Western Union one day. I told her how oddly descriptive Carmela had been, how sure I was, and how much money I was sending her. But saying it out loud, I realized that Carmela's predictions echoed my sisters' complaints about my relationship with Jeff exactly. I asked Emma and she confessed: Each week, while reading Emma's own future, Carmela would casually ask, "So how is your little sister doing with that guy?" and my sister would give her the latest update. Carmela used that information to string my broken heart along.

I cried in my parked car outside of the Western Union. 

But in that moment, I realized I wasn't upset about being scammed by Carmela. I was upset that her magic wasn't real. My self-esteem was shot from constantly being traded in for a newer model, and the only way I'd found redemption was by mixing my little potions and "making" Jeff come back to me. Now there were no more potions to mix. But I didn't need Jeff, or some witch, to give me a sense of worth. I started the car, and drove in the opposite direction of Jeff's place. I was done. 

*Names have been changed.