"I found his grave after a three-hour search in the municipal cemetery. It was a plain headstone, white with block letters and no scroll or artwork, the kind put up by the state when the next of kin can't afford anything better. It read simply Bobby Lynn Murray 10-18-69 to 7-3-76. Judith Anne Murray 4-2-1948 to 7-3-1976 was carved into the monument next to Bobby's.

"That was it. All the proof I'd ever need was planted in the ground at my feet. There I was alone in the cemetery with myself and my mother. The warm sun and fragrant air of magnolias invited me to stay. I touched her headstone as a son should and laid on the rich grass above Bobby as if to get close enough to reunite the memories with their body. After several hours, I'd communed enough. I hopped on the bike and rode off."

The scribe’s fountain pen moving across paper was the only sound for some minutes after I'd finished.

"Where did you go?" asked the Egyptian.

"Nowhere in particular at first. I wandered from town to town working odd jobs for gas and food money. I eventually landed in Los Angeles."

"So am I to understand that you didn't realize you were a palingenesist until three years ago?" the old man asked leaning forward.

"That is correct."

"So you remembered both your first and second incarnations in this life, your third life?"

"Yes," I said. The panel leaned back as one and began talking softly among themselves. "What's happening?" I asked Poppy. Her eyes were locked on the panel.

"Nothing. Your situation is unusual that's all. You're doing fine."

They conferred for several minutes. The Egyptian leaned forward and spoke. "We want to go over some details of what you've told us. It's sort of like coloring in an outline. Do you know what I mean?"

"I think so."

"I want to start from the ending. When you made your trip from Minnesota to Georgia," he said, looking down at his notes, "how long did it take?"

"About a week."

"Did you incur any traffic violations along the way?"

"No," I answered somewhat confused.

"Did you incur any on your route from Georgia to California?"

"Yes, one for speeding in Texas."

"Where exactly?"

"Slayton, Texas."

"Can you name any of the places in which you worked along the route from Georgia to California?"

"I often didn't get the full names of individuals I worked with for only a day. But I remember the businesses that I worked for. The Farmers Co-op in Huntsville, Alabama, Masher Lawn Service in Lake Charles, Louisiana, The Bailey Cotton Gin in Amherst, Texas, Globeville Mining Co. in Globeville, Arizona, California Dreamin' Motorcycle shop in Barstow, California."

"What was the year and manufacture of the motorcycle on which you traveled?"

"It was a 1976 Honda."

"Was? You no longer own it?"

"No, it was stolen."

"Was it registered in your name?"