“Honey, there’s an emergency at the office. I’ve got to deal with a project. Can you take the car to the dealership for the tune-up later?” my husband asked.
Arnold Jefferson had just picked up a call and was immediately heading out the door.
The déjà vu hit me like a tidal wave. I realized that I had been reborn.
In my last life, I had agreed to take the car by myself. However, not long after I got home, I received a call from the dealership.
"Miss Cunnings, you missed your scheduled appointment and didn't come here. Should we cancel it and reschedule?”
I was puzzled. I was so sure I personally handed the keys at the dealership just moments ago.
The service rep on the other end sounded just as confused and asked, "Miss Cunning, you never came by today. How could you have given me your keys?”
Before I could even begin to make sense of what was happening, the police called to tell me I had killed someone.
The dealership's surveillance camera had no record of my arrival or departure, but the city traffic cameras showed a crystal-clear account of my supposed crime. It recorded my reckless speeding, how arrogant I was, the crashing and fleeing after taking lives.