When I was sixteen I was sitting at a table with my mom talking about life, musing on the afterlife and reincarnation.. The usual. I began to laugh and say "you know, I’m pretty sure I remember my past life." This was about the time her face went pale. I asked her why.
That’s when she began to list all of the details of my silly past life which I always felt was just a recurring dream I must have. She told me how I was the youngest child in a family of poor travelers. How my crib was the top drawer of any dresser where we would sleep and my mother was a tall, bony, angry looking woman with her hair pulled high, always wearing a long dress. All the details I was about to tell her, for what I thought was the first time.
"How did you know all of that? I’ve never told you before!" I said.
"Because that isn’t the first time you’ve told me", she said, "you told me that story many times when you were a baby, after you first learned to talk."
"I don’t believe it!"
"And the worst thing…" she said with a dark brow, "was when I would come to play with you… and you would tell me your other mother was behind me."