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By W. Christopher Epler (about the author) Page 4 of 5 page(s)
Yes, but how? Easier said than done, since this Godless world she had been condemned to in live (why?) would hold HER responsible for executing (she always liked that word), the Will of the Lord. "Yea, she 'smote' (she REALLY liked that word) the unrighteous!" She seemed to be receiving these words from a celestial newscaster reporting on the doings of Mrs. Thomlinson (e.g., the snuffing of Billy) to legions of the saved milling about in white bathrobes on golf courses. "Oh, how sweet it is," she confided to her cats, borrowing this turn of phrase (unconsciously) from Jackie Gleason.
"What's the story about Wacko Woman?" Billy's father asked Billy while they were doing a run.
Billy: "I don't know. I think she's up to something. I just mind my own business and she doesn't say much, but she sure gives me weird looks."
Dad: "Be careful, Billy. You know your mother and I trust you to take care of yourself, but if she's as bananas as she sounds, you let us know the MOMENT she tries to pull anything!"
Billy: "I love you Dad."
Dad: "Hey, Pal, you're the BEST, haven't we always told you that. Just be careful."
So Billy sent out a probe, "Mrs. T, what ever happened to that poster of the cemetery you had up there. It sure looked peaceful!" Mrs. T blanched a little and started talking about arithmetic.
Mary Ann sensed Billy had jiggled something and so chimed in, "Yeah, I sure liked all those little benches." The children close to Mrs. T noticed she was holding the arithmetic book upside down, and looked at each other excitedly.
"What are you LOOKING AT?" Mrs. T almost shouted.
The coach was walking by and stuck his head in the room, saying, "Everything OK in here?"
"Yes, yes, yes, just a little naughtiness," Mrs. T answered, lowering her voice. All the children looked pleased with themselves ("for a change!" he thought), so he smiled at them and went about his business.
"I think that little brat asked that terrible question today on purpose," Mrs. T muttered to herself on the way to her American car. "Well, TWO can play that game," she reminded her cats while digging into her half cooked TV dinner.
"What game?" something asked her.
"Why" (and then she caught herself, wondering where that question had come from). "Who said that, who said that?" she asked nervously, not swallowing her green beans. "Sister, Sister, be not afraid, do you not know that you have been chosen?" was the answer, seeming to come from her 17 inch Motorola television set. "Chosen," she mused," I've been chosen-but chosen to do WHAT?" "Sister, sister, surely you know you're the Lord's avenger," was the answer.
Then she thought, "So FINALLY it's happened. FINALLY I'm hearing that I'VE BEEN RIGHT ALL ALONG!" And then she began to cry, but it was a happy cry, a crying of relief and vindication. She went to sleep that night dreaming she was being gang banged by angels.
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