Diarrhea Is Always Foreshadowing

“Will you come? Just in case I get murdered.”

Ten years ago, I flew to San Antonio for my grandpa’s funeral. After we left the grave site, lunched, and took my grandma home for a nap, I asked my sister to run an errand with me.

We drove across the sprawling city, made an emergency stop in a 7-11 bathroom (courtesy of Panera’s mac and cheese), and finally pulled up to a small, rundown home. It might have been the few pounds I’d just left behind, but I felt buoyant.

I knocked, then rang, and waited. The door opened to a sunken 60-something-year-old man. He looked scared.

“Hi. Do you know who I am?” I smiled.

He raised one eyebrow. Glory. I knew that expression.

“My name is Sara. I’m your daughter-in-law.” My parents had recently moved across the country to care for their aging parents. When I found out they lived 20 minutes away from my husband’s father, I knew fate was calling.

He offered to meet me at the McDonalds around the corner so we could talk.

“This is it,” I thought. “The beginning. Redemption. The years the locusts have eaten returned to us. All because of me.” I’d been married to his son for over a decade. I told him about his granddaughters in case he didn’t know.

He bought me a Sprite. My sister sat nearby.

“If this is about the unpaid child support, then I’m not up for talking.”

“Uh, no,” I said.

“I don’t have relationships because I don’t need them.”

“Uh, okay.” I slurped down the rest of my small drink and flew back home.

For future reference: Explosive diarrhea is always foreshadowing.