The Calling
Every ring was a summons. Every ring was a test. I was absolutely, irrationally determined not to answer. All I could think was: don’t pick up. don’t pick up.

Every ring was a summons. Every ring was a test. I was absolutely, irrationally determined not to answer. All I could think was: don’t pick up. don’t pick up.

Every journey I take carries a piece of him—places he dreamed of but never reached, sunsets he never saw, streets he never walked. I am living some of his adventures for him, even as I live my own.

I was obsessed with the inherited version of “gypsies”—a romanticized, mystical figure passed down through generations. Jewelry layered on skin, skirts shimmering with coins and sequins, fabric moving like costume, like spellwork. Not mildly interested. Not just curious. Fully, unapologetically obsessed. I dressed as a “gypsy” for Halloween five times. Five. That’s not a phase—that’s commitment.

April holds the birthdays of my grandfather, grandmother, mother, and father—the four people who shaped my earliest world in our home in Trenton. They were the foundation of my first memories, the faces I learned to recognize before all others, the voices that filled the corners of my childhood.