Cool breezes blew through the house in the month of May. He sat in darkness, drinking coffee and eating cookies. The cat slept behind the toilet.

Fifty-two years of marriage, he thought. Time spent on watching kids. A daughter’s first dance. His son’s first fight; a black eye given to him by a fat boy down the street. I never liked him, the granddad said out loud. He was boastful. Just like his father. I think he was arrested for selling junk bonds. The old man added Irish cream to his coffee.

What will become of me? he whispered. Who will I be in my next life? he asked God. Could I be an Indian boy in New Delhi? A tribesman in Africa? The prime minister of England? Thoughts and questions raced through his mind. How much time do I have?

Years, a voice said, hands on his shoulders. You have years. He turned around, and no one was there.

That’s funny. I could’ve swore I heard her talking.

A cool breeze blew through the house in the month of May.