Backdoor Key

CHAPTER ONE

I, Molly G. Chapman, Being of Dubious Mind and Passable Body…

or

Life Planning with a Psychic Tarot Ball 

I roll my Psychic Tarot Ball in my hands.  I ask, “Should I do it?”

I look in the tiny window and wait for my response.

Don’t be a dumbass!

It’s definitely my Psychic Tarot Ball.  I probably shouldn’t have opened it up and made my own responses on the little indicator die inside.  So, now I ask myself, do I obey my Tarot Ball or my gut.  Neither has ever let me down, but now they are at odds—my Tarot Ball says no, my gut says yes.  Trusting my fate to a novelty toy has always paid off in the past:

Should I date Jim?  Hell no!

Should I get a job?  Only if you’re an idiot!

Should I go to college?  Skip it and take a nap!

But now things are serious.  Besides, it’s only now I realize that all my responses have exclamation points.  I’ve made my Tarot Ball always angry at me.

I glance at the document I have just signed.  I planned on leaving it on my pillow in case I don’t come back.  I, Molly G. Chapman, being of dubious mind and passable body—at least one that most guys would appreciate—do hereby bequeath all my personal belongings to Colleen, Amicus, Arturo, and Sanjay…

I briefly wonder if I should specify who gets what, but if there is any truth to the afterlife and ghosts, I would pay lots to come back and watch my friends fight over my crappy belongings.  But I don’t have time for that.  I either need to stay or go…and decide now.  I think of all that has transpired over the last weeks and wonder how the hell I wound up here and how I am going to solve it.  I don’t know.  But I do know that doing nothing is not the answer.  Go big or get fucked.

“I love you Psychic Tarot Ball, but I must disagree with you this time.  If I’m wrong, you can laugh at me later.”  I put her up on my shelf between the creepy doll with my face on it that I won at the amusement park—the poor kid couldn’t guess my age—and the toy microbus my aforementioned beneficiaries bought me for Christmas in 8th grade—it still has their teeny graffitied names all over it.

I grab my tools and my keys and tiptoe out the back door.  I parked Messy, my car, around the block yesterday so as not to wake anyone now, so, yeah, I guess I already knew what I was going to do before I asked my Tarot Ball.  I was just wasting her time.  Sorry honey.

I get in the car and start it up.  What will I find?  What if I find nothing?!  What if Werner finds out?  What will my parents say?  I started this stupid job for some extra cash.  I didn’t know it was going to destroy my life.

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