I have no doubt someday I will be famous, though I might not be rich because my fame might be posthumous. I sometimes imagine how I will be discovered. Will one of my descendants be looking through piles of old treasures in the attic, blow the dust off “Connie’s Story” and begin to read it? Will she be mesmerized and unable to put it down? A couple of days later people may notice they haven’t seen her around. Her best friend might come to my descendant’s house and yell, “Yoo Hoo!! Are you home?”
My descendant will shake the cobwebs off her head. “Boy those spiders work fast,” she might think. Book in hand, she will stumble to the ladder and make her way down from the attic. She’ll walk into the kitchen and scream because she didn’t hear her friend yell, “Yoo Hoo!” It may take a minute for both to identify the problem and settle down.
My descendant will speak first.
“I was going through some boxes in the attic and I found this book. It was written by one of my ancestors way back in 2017. It’s actually pretty interesting.”
“Let me see it,” says the friend. “I used to be a book agent back in the day. That was before they started putting those little chips in our heads at birth.”
“Amazing isn’t it that our ancestors actually had to know how to read? The only reason I could read this book is because I got one of those chip adapters that allows you to look at a book and the story is automatically transferred to your brain. You have to be careful though. Once in a while it tries to convert several books at a time and it all comes out as one science fiction mess!”
“Well,” says the friend, “I’ve gotta go! When you get a chance, chip-shot this story to me. I’ll see what I can dig up on this ancestor of yours.”
Two days later…
The friend is outside my descendant’s house banging on the door. “Yoo Hoo, ding dong, Yoo hoo!!”
My descendant runs to the door. “This better be important, my friend. I was just about to go to the gym and lose ten pounds.”
“What?” The friend exclaims! “Are they running that ‘take one off lose one free in less than an hour’ special again?”
“Yes…and in my case, they’ll give my tinfoil crown a brilliant sheen and resize it if I lose fat from my head.”
“Your head will forget all about that when I tell you the news! Your ancestor was the original creator of the Beasterhop!”
“Really…my very own ancestor? They have been trying for years to solve that mystery. Everybody has been trying to figure out what brainiac made up that story about a rabbit who rides on a bicycle?
“Where did your ancestor grow up?”
“She was raised in Murdo, South Dakota. Her childhood home is buried beneath a tree at a motel right off old Highway 16.”
To which the friend says, “Is this one of those science fiction messes you were talking about?”
The poor dear…It’s only a pipe dream, whatever that is. The family promised never to speak of her again. It’s just like I always say, “A rolling book gathers no dust.”