“I promise.”
Should I live as a rich bitch or wait around in limbo for her to die? For maybe a year! I wish there was a sign or signal to show me what to do. Instead, I get, “You need to get hooty,” from the golfer.
“I’m hooty,” I snap, and look into Ingrid’s face for guidance, but her eyes are blank. “I need more time.”
“You’re quickly running out of it.”
I feel sick, but it’s not physical. More like my soul is in turmoil. “I haven’t been in your office very long.”
“In God’s time, no, but a day has now passed on earth.”
A whole day! “Okay… I…” Momma and Daddy are probably planning my funeral. Soon they’ll be stockpiling casseroles and funeral cake for afterward. “Okay… I…”
“She needs help from one of those Dummies books.”
“I’ll do anythin’ not to have to hear from this wing nut ever again.”
“You have to say the words.”
“Suck it, Raymundo!”
“Those aren’t the words, Miss Brittany.”
I sigh and say, “I choose rich bitch,” like I really have a choice.
Ingrid smiles and quickly goes through a list of instructions she reads out of a manual. I have to vow to abide by “the policies and procedures of transmigration.” I raise my right hand and swear I’ll follow the switcheroo rules even though I don’t intend to obey some of them, like not telling people who I am and resuming my old life. I’m not supposed to talk about leaving my body and moving around the hospital either. Evidently, what happens in the Limbo Lounge, stays in the Limbo Lounge.
“What’s done can never be undone. Do you understand this covenant you are about to enter?”
“Yes.” Covenant? That sounds more serious than “policies and procedures.”
“Ready?”
I nod unsteadily.
“Perfect,” she says, and the ground beneath my feet fades away. I fall like Alice in Wonderland toward Detroit’s hospital room. I have a horrifying thought that I won’t fit into her skinny body. I hear my mother’s voice saying, “I can’t stand the thought of you leavin’ me, Brittany Lynn. You’re all I got”; then I land smack-dab on Edith Randolph Chatsworth-Jones and I don’t hear anything at all.
8
Someone pinches the back of my hand. “Stop it,” I try to say, but I don’t think my lips move.
“Wake up.” The woman’s voice is perky and annoying and I want her to go away.
My hand is pinched once more. “Stop it,” I think I say again, but that doesn’t sound like me. I’m tired and just want to sink back into the place of sunshine and tulips.
“Squeeze my finger.”
I don’t want to, but I do so this person will go away.
“Good. Open your eyes.”
No. I’m too tired. I just want to sleep, but I’m pinched again. Now I’m aggravated and blink several times. Everything is blurry and too bright. I squint until the fuzzy edges slowly come into focus and Lois Griffin is looking down at me. I love Family Guy and all, but I’m going to kill Lois if she pinches me again.
“You’re awake,” Lois says.
I’m disoriented and don’t know where I am. I don’t know why I’m here, or how Lois got out of the television. She holds up a silver pen, and I blink several more times. No, that’s not right. Lois can’t get out of the television.
“Follow the pen.” She moves it back and forth, and I do as she asks so she’ll get the freakin’ pen out of my face.