and while parents don't like to have favorites I was inclined to spoil Marcy as much as I could.

I remember I built her first rocking horse by hand. I got her a radio flyer red wagon when she was three years old. I would take her fishing and hiking outside of Austin. We would take trips up and down the Rio Grande and visit Dallas, Houston and the gulf. We were strangely close, inseparable for the most part. We were just alike, as close as a father and daughter could be.

It was the most magical time of my life and I had barely realized it. I couldn't know that I was dying from heart disease that had festered in a lower aorta valve. There was no way I could know. The medical science wasn't refined at the time. I just grilled BBQ on the weekends, drank beers and sat up late with my girls watching the color TV. How could I have known these were to my last golden years? Even if I had known, how could I have lived any better?

A few months later I died suddenly getting into my truck one Wednesday morning. It happened quick. No warning, no notice. I just fell down all of a sudden with a slight tingling sensation in my arm. I felt tired. I closed my eyes on that driveway and never woke up again.

Well, perhaps that's not so accurate. I woke up, but I wasn't me anymore. I was someone new and I had started a new life. Everything before was just a blur.

I woke up as Jeremy Atson. A African American boy from Houston born in 2006 to Linda Atson. My father was a rolling stone whom I never knew. It was hard growing up again, my mind filled with fuzzy memories, a young fresh mind filled with old cobwebs. It felt like I had done it all before. It wasn't until I was older. Six or seven years old that my memories came back to me in more vivid color.

They were like old movies, lost on 8mm film in the family attic. I would view them once and a while and say things to freak out my mom Linda, but she would be shocked at times and I learned to keep my old memories locked away. They were dreams I told myself. Sometimes I would panic though, sometimes they were so clear and the feelings were so strong I would laugh, cry and scream for no apparent reason.

I was seven years old when the memories grew stronger. I remembered being someone else, living another life. It was a ghostly thing, seemingly unreal but the memories would sometimes haunt me in stark clarity. I could remember faces and dates and numbers. I would get scared and confused, that's when I came up with my mantra.

'The universe works in it's own mysterious way and sometimes we just aren't meant to understand it. '

'The universe works in it's own mysterious way and sometimes we just aren't meant to understand it. '

It prevented me from going insane. It grounded me. Yet I couldn't hide it, my mother knew something was amiss. I sometimes woke up speaking in a different accent. I sometimes remembered things that hadn't happened. I said and did strange things. I went to a doctor in Houston and I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression in 2003. My mom was worried all the time, she blamed my father for not being there, but inside I knew it was ok.

People took pity on me, but I had already been a man. I already had a vague understanding on the reality of life. Growing up without a father was hard in a way, but not so hard for me. I had, after all, grown up before.

I was more calm than the other toddlers, more careful in my mannerisms and speech. My mother always told me I was special.

It was different this time growing up, the kids in my apartment building played play station instead of baseball. We stole cigarettes from our parents and we would use more colorful language. We were alone a lot and girls became more important at a younger age. I always tried to fit in with the kids, to be apart of the pack so I never raised suspicion. I never wanted to be different even though I knew I was. I just wanted to fit in.

The school bus let out of a burst of gas and came to a stop as the doors folded open and all the kids began filing out. I was swept up by the herd and soon found myself jostling around the familiar halls of my elementary school, Highland Park. It was noisy as usual filled with the cacophony of students, voices and clamor. I made my way into class as the bell rang and made my way to my seat plopping down in my wood and metal desk like I did everyday.

I barely noticed our teacher Mrs. Clark was gone and replaced by a middle aged woman with graying auburn hair who stood at the chalkboard. She wore a blue dress and wore dark rimmed glasses over her soft brown eyes. She greeted the class like any other teacher did. I stared dumbfounded for many long seconds as she spoke.

"Good morning class, I am Miss McCully and I will be your substitute teacher today. Mrs Clark is out with a case of the flu and won't be back until next week." she said nonchalantly as she wrote her name on the chalkboard.

I stood up straight from my desk and it made a sound. All the kids looked at me as my lip quivered. "Marcy McCully?" I heard my voice ask, cracking.

The woman turned around and stared at me with eyes that I had seen a thousand times before. She was older, but her face was the same I remembered in my dreams. I trembled with emotion as my eyes welled with tears. I had found someone from another life, someone I had loved with all of my heart. I could barely stammer out the words. I didn't need to ask, I knew in my heart it was her. "Marcy McCully? Born to Lorraine and William?" I managed to say.

She looked alarmed and confused. She nodded her head and stared at me with her mouth agape. The other kids watched silently. I opened my own mouth to speak and everyone waited with abated breath as tears began to roll down my face.

'The universe works in it's own mysterious way and sometimes we just aren't meant to understand it. '