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My father was one of the Order’s most valuable researchers of a phenomenon known as “poltergeist”, and he was highly respected for it. And he, in turn, wanted his wife to spend more time with him, trying to find the causes of the poltergeist from a biological or any other point of view. Instead of wasting time on incomprehensible plants, which she managed to successfully grow wherever she found a spot of land.

Father kept boring into me until a smile lit up his face, one that was promising nothing good.

“Excellent! It seems I’ve just found the solution to all our problems,” he said thoughtfully and, grabbing me by the collar, dragged me out of the stuffy office.

“No! I absolutely oppose this!” my mother screamed in horror, clutching her head when my father informed her that he was going to convert her greenhouse into my new home.

After two weeks of emotional torment, turmoil, and excruciating anguish, she agreed.

Out of respect for my mother’s feelings and her weeds, I asked my father to keep the greenhouse in its place and instead build a small extension out of the back wall.

So now, to get to my living room, you have to navigate through my personal mini jungle. And over time, I learned to understand biology myself and now grow my own “weeds”. As for my mother, she found solace in teaching chemistry and biology at the University of New Orleans, where she was invited to work immediately after my father’s “construction company” had signed a contract with the university to build and fully equip a new laboratory in building ‘A’, naturally at the company’s expense.

As for me, after finishing high school, I enrolled in the Department of Psychology at the University of New Orleans. But due to my parents’ constant complaints that I at any cost, should remain near our witch, I was transferred to the Department of Language and Literature a year later. Nobody had consulted me on this, of course. When I, in a fit of rage, burst into my father’s downtown office to express my thoughts on this matter, he, flashing a self-satisfied smile, handed me car keys. My car keys! A latest model, brand-new black Chevrolet Camaro. A gift from the Order as a token of appreciation for my “sacrifice”. I, like anyone else in my shoes, took the keys and instantly became the most ardent fan of literature. It wasn’t difficult, I had always enjoyed reading.