Chapter 9

Lucy said, "What... ?"

"When... ?" asked Grace.

"Do you know New San Antonio Rose?" asked Grannie.

"You mean the one by Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys, Grannie?" I asked.

Grannie sang,

She stopped. Grannie is one of the Crane Girls ... they have perfect pitch.

I was playing right along with her. I stopped when she stopped. The look she looked was one of speculation.

"I don't know if I do or not," I lied. "I just picked this up today."

"You must have played the guitar in another life," she said.

And everybody got real quiet. The silence went on for thirty years ... uh huh.

"Holy Shit!" exclaimed the new secretary.

There was a second long drawn out silence. In reality, a long pause is four or five seconds ... honest. Five seconds seems to take forever.

This pause creeped. It lasted a good minute while everybody considered the implications of what Grandmother Austin said. There are a lot ... the consequences of that being even a remote possibility. Yeah ... what the new secretary said.

The speculation began.

Oh, man ... it's not just the Derby...

Grace thought, 'He knows the answers to the tests.' She started scheming.

Lucy thought, 'He knows ... Oh God ... he knows.' She looked as guilty as she was.

'Millions, ' thought the secretary.

'Thought so, ' thought Grannie.

Almost as one, they looked at me, a bead of sweat dripped off my nose. There was a full two seconds as they ... reconsidered... 'That's just weird David'. (A misplaced comma in that statement changes everything ... and don't be putting one in ... not even in your mind ... it doesn't read 'That's just weird, David.' No ... no ... no. No comma.)

Everybody started laughing spontaneously.

Except me. I had fucked up again. This 'returning' is dangerous. Suddenly, my stomach tied itself in knots ... I felt ... loose ... my asshole clenched. I slipped the guitar in its plush case and stood ... one might say I waddled down the hall and to the bathroom ... Waddled is too slow but my guts wouldn't have withstood a run ... or even a 'trot.'

To myself ... but aloud ... I mumbled, "Don't fart ... don't fart."

The light was out ... the door was open. I said a silent thanks to what ever gods there be, dropped my shorts and sat ... with milliseconds to spare.

"David! ... Good Lord ... shut the door!" cried Grannie.

"I ... uhh ... can't."

The veriest green fog rolled down the hall and crept into the living room.

"At ... least ... flush."

"I did ... UHH! ... Oh ... uhh." Another tidal wave hit my intestines...

After the second cacophony of sounds echoed through the porcelain bowl, I heard the four women flee from the living room. The backdoor slammed. The bathroom has a window on the backyard. The flies in the house were making mad rushes against the screen ... but there was no escape ... they were dropping like ... flies.

I gave a tentative push ... nothing. I believe I'm done in here. The paperwork smiles up at me from the water in the bowl. What remains has fine brown hairs. One more pull of the lever.

The things schoolboys find amusing.

Looking back on the first two lives, I wonder how I will survive without a small magic box sitting on my desk. At least with the internet I could online shop.

"God, David. That was positively gross," Grace said from outside the window.