It was barely the crack of dawn when my husband’s phone rang. It was too early to be a good sign. I could see the blurred blue lights of the alarm clock through squinted eyes yelling 4:45! I rolled over and made sure my unhappy groan was heard.
My husband picked up the telephone and his boss’ voice rang loudly through the bedroom. My husband, Rick’s voice rang louder as I closed my eyes and tried to fall back asleep.
As I rested my head on my pillow, I heard Rick’s grandmother voice whisper in my ear; “Roll over and scratch Butch’s back, tell him that I love him, it’s Busha.” 
This took me by surprise. As I laid there digesting what I just heard, I wondered if I was crazy.
As Rick leaned over the bed to hang up the telephone, I asked him this question, “By any chance were you dreaming when the telephone rang?”
He said; “Yes, I was dreaming, I was in Wisconsin with my grandmother. I was a young boy, maybe eight years old. She owned this old farm house in the middle of cornfields. The only thing in sight was a bar that she owned right across the street. Locals would come everyday from miles around to play pool and drink. In my dream, she was taking me to visit all these people that I remember seeing at her tavern as a kid. Most of them passed away many years ago.”
I wasn’t frightened, it was oddly quite comforting. The hair on my arms was sticking straight up, though and I had goose bumps from my head to my toes. I asked Rick who Butch is. He looked at me with a peculiar grin and said his Busha always called him Butch.
I said, “She just spoke to me as you were on the phone with an odd request. She wants me to scratch your back and tell you that she loves you.”
Rick, a little paler now, had a look of utter shock that came over his face. “When I was a little boy, my Busha always scratched my back before bedtime, she would tuck me in and tell me she loves me.”
“Wow,” I said, “I must have tapped into your dream. That’s the only way I can explain what just happened. Just know she loves you.”
He smiled and said, “I think you were a witch in your last life.”
I can’t help but wonder if I’m a witch in this life.
This took me by surprise. As I laid there digesting what I just heard, I wondered if I was crazy.
As Rick leaned over the bed to hang up the telephone, I asked him this question, “By any chance were you dreaming when the telephone rang?”
He said; “Yes, I was dreaming, I was in Wisconsin with my grandmother. I was a young boy, maybe eight years old. She owned this old farm house in the middle of cornfields. The only thing in sight was a bar that she owned right across the street. Locals would come everyday from miles around to play pool and drink. In my dream, she was taking me to visit all these people that I remember seeing at her tavern as a kid. Most of them passed away many years ago.”
I wasn’t frightened, it was oddly quite comforting. The hair on my arms was sticking straight up, though and I had goose bumps from my head to my toes. I asked Rick who Butch is. He looked at me with a peculiar grin and said his Busha always called him Butch.
I said, “She just spoke to me as you were on the phone with an odd request. She wants me to scratch your back and tell you that she loves you.”
Rick, a little paler now, had a look of utter shock that came over his face. “When I was a little boy, my Busha always scratched my back before bedtime, she would tuck me in and tell me she loves me.”
“Wow,” I said, “I must have tapped into your dream. That’s the only way I can explain what just happened. Just know she loves you.”
He smiled and said, “I think you were a witch in your last life.”
I can’t help but wonder if I’m a witch in this life.