Watch the Road, Man!

WATCH THE ROAD MAN!

By, Illya Sean Antley

         Gerald Dimler was late as hell again.  He could always tell the boss that his alarm clock didn’t go off, or his wife slept in and didn’t wake him, but just the same he was absolutely not on time this very Friday morning.  This was not an unusual event for Gerald, and despite the warnings from his boss Mr. Steverson, punctuality was not in the make-up of this young man; it had even been said that he would be late for his own funeral.

         Dimler was so used to this routine of flight at the last second, that he knew just where to look for things that were where they ended up and not where they were supposed to be.  Usually, he would find his socks in his t-shirt drawer that just so happened to match the tie that was hung with the wrong colored shirt.  The slacks that had a cigarette burn in them and needed to be mended would be sheltering just the pair that complemented what he had thrown together.  Another clothing issue he had was that his weight fluctuated from week to week.  He was slightly under six feet tall and had managed to put on roughly thirty pounds or so over his doctor’s suggested weight for his build.  Some days he may have to try on a few pair of slacks to see which one was going to button for him. Of course he blamed this on his slowing metabolism since he was nearing forty, and he claimed to carry some water weight for whatever reason.  He was convinced it had nothing to do with his diet though.  His breakfast usually consisted of a Coke, instead of hot coffee and juice, and a cup cake instead of eggs-over-easy with toast.  As he ran through the house trying to dress, he would have his first smoke of the day dangling from his mouth. With his short, brown, lightly graying hair still wet and his tie undone, he would grab his keys, cigarettes and cell phone in one sure swoop and hit the road: definitely, not in health, but in haste.

         Pulling out of the driveway with a nice front wheel drive squeal, Dimler headed south as always.  He had his usual tick of waiting a few seconds to look at the gas needle; giving it time to adjust to the first of several hard rights he had to take to direct him toward the highway.  He had a bit of a daily commute, which he had gotten used to wanting to live in a smaller community for the kid and sanities sake.  Seventy miles, no problem for him if it meant making roughly ten grand more a year, and maybe retire one of these days.

         During this mundane commute of Dimler’s, he had another peculiar little habit of his that he somewhat enjoyed.  On the last right turn to get out of town and on to the freeway, there was an old cemetery with a beautiful new funeral home built in the front of the main gate.  Now this was always a favorite joke in the community of how they had to build the funeral home right in front of the cemetery because “People were just dyin’ to get in there.”  Truth was the old cemetery was long since full of inhabitants and couldn’t take another plug in the ground.  The whole deal was that the builders got a great bargain on the land in front of the bone yard since it was definitely full. No one could actually see putting a gas station or drug store in this spot so the town sold the large lot rather cheap to a new funeral home to continue the business of packing those free bodies into expensive boxes.  Normally it was Dimler’s habit was to see if the hearse was in the front or the rear of the place; in the front, no business; in the back, it was stuffing time again.  From time to time, it would be in the rear and Dimler would remark, “There goes another lucky bastard”, or “Stick’em one time for old Gerald.”  If Dimler were in a rather commercial mood, he would say “Still planting them since 1782.” He would usually laugh at these same comments for some time during his drive.  Today was different though.  In front of the funeral home was a wreck of a car on a flat bed tow truck.  The vehicle was burnt almost completely rust brown and black with only spots of a dark blue showing.  He could see that the windshield was blackened but still mostly intact except for a punched out shatter in the front driver’s side, and oddly enough the tires seemed to still be inflated.  This car had belonged to an old high school friend of Gerald’s that had died in the terrible wreck.  His old running buddies’ funeral was today, but because of Gerald’s constant tardiness his boss would not allow him the time off to attend the funeral of an old friend.  So, off to work he’d have to go.     

         The stretches of highway that Dimler faced everyday were the shits.  He would drive as fast as the fastest car in the caravan of commuters with the same dead leer on his face.  He would often think about the dreams he once had of being a musician.  Fact in point, he was once a hell of a bass player.  He played in a rock band that covered most of the top forty rock tunes.  He even wrote a few tunes that the band would throw together and let loose on a small crowd from time to time.  It didn’t pay much, but it did help with the bills when he was in college.  After a few tries at recording his music, he finally decided the big time wasn’t going to happen and gave it up to pursue other interest.  Yes, he then joined the rest of the working class that so led to his morning commute.  “Fuck it all anyway!” he growled.  But, he did have a reminder of his past attempts at stardom lying around.  He had recorded his original music at a friend’s home studio back in the day, and he made several copies on cassette to sell at gigs.  He even went as far as to have little covers made up.  It was a semi professional job, but it did the trick.  He actually sold a few here and there; it made him feel like a real artist when a good word would come back from a happy listener. Even after all this time, he kept a copy or two in his ride to listen to when he was feeling nostalgic.  Thinking of this, Gerald began to hum one of his tunes, and simultaneously searching around in his console for one of the copies.  There was so much shit to dig through in his console, it’s a wonder the top didn’t blow off the damned thing when he opened it.  There were probably thirty or so napkins from various fast food restaurants stashed there.  If his wife had seen this collection of souvenirs as they seemed to be, he would have gotten to hear another of her speeches about how glad she is that he has so much life insurance, because he was sure to have a coronary by the time he was forty eating all that fake and greasy food.  Thinking of this cracked Gerald up for a second as if he thought he was actually getting away with something by eating garbage while on his commute.  After a good five minutes of digging and bending his wrist in a painful manner, Gerald was successful.  As he pulled the tape out and looked at it, he realized that he had to rewind it from his last little dip into the past.  He also realized that he had moved up on a car that was going a few miles per hour slower than he appreciated.  He could see in the side mirror of the car ahead a young lady gabbing away on her cell phone.  This was one of his sarcastically favorite drivers in the world.  Of course, there was nothing left to do but pass, and give her his look of, “What the hell are you doing lady!”  As he gunned the engine and passed her, not leaving out the sneering look, the cassette player came to a slamming stop and began playing track one of his music. 

          He was almost back in his lane when he noticed two things.  One was his voice soulfully singing the troubles of love over an acoustic guitar, and two a set of headlights flying up behind him at an extreme speed.  “Oh hell !” he said as he grit his teeth. Bracing for impact, he yanked the wheel over and put the passengers side of his car off of the curb into the white rock on the side of the road. This caused a bit of a slide that threw rock, tire fragments, and god knows what all flying over the top of his car.  He quickly jerked the wheel the other direction as another car passed in the left lane. This maneuvering landed him right back behind the cell phone queen again.  “You son-of-a-bitch!” he yelled.  Dimler’s heart bounced off every rib in his chest, and a light sheet of sweat formed on his forehead. With his hard breathing out of check, he pulled his car over to the curb. He looked in the rear view mirror and smiled a freakishly demented smile. As he reached in the console for a few of his souvenir napkins to wipe his face, he murmured, “Your ass is mine friend.” And there Gerald Dimler sat for a bit shakingly trying to light a cigarette. 

            It was no wonder that David Staton had almost killed half the drivers on the freeway Tuesday morning.  He was in an awful hurry. Like many a morning when he was late for work, and things just didn’t fall into place, he had to get a move on.  The one and only advantage David had over many drivers of today was his 81’ Camaro.  A car he had kept since high school, and restored in his spare time sparing no expense.  He had taken the pride and time to have the engine bored and blue printed to the highest quality of specs. The interior was no different in quality.  He replaced the worn cloth and nylon seats with black leather throughout.  The exterior was repainted in its original color of midnight blue with a dash of sparkle flakes in the mix.  The rims were not original, but a laser cut one of a kind design he had drawn up on his computer.  He had even taken the time to have the glass in the t-tops replaced with a smoked glass of the highest durability. This car was more of a cruising chariot for an eighty’s rock star than a working class guy like David Staton.  In it’s pristine condition there probably wasn’t to many rides on the road that could out fly this machine.  It was Dave’s advantage in the event he was running a little on the late side. But, other than some of its speed, it really is a shame that this fine automobile no longer matches that description as it chokingly flies down the freeway.

          You see David was a very carefree guy that loved to party every chance he got.  Though he was barely breaking forty years old, he tried to live like he was still eighteen or so.  Unlike most of the guys his age, he still had his blonde hair that was as full and thick as when he was younger.  He stood at six feet two, and wore a thirty waste in his jeans.  He even managed to keep a bit of a six-pack in his mid section that he would work on from time to time much like the tan he kept year round.  Other than a few bad habits he was still in pretty good shape.  Almost every night he celebrated making it through another day at the job, or just another day.  He was a regular at the convenience store around six in the evening.  He would get his beer and smokes for the night, and proceed to ride around for a bit before he made his way home.  It was sometimes a challenge, but always a completed task that he drink his twelve pack and smoke himself into a corner before he would fallout into bed.  About three days ago David had a bit of a bad day.  He was late for work again and the boss man had had enough.  He was let go from his unimportant position at a plumbing supply warehouse.  The job had paid the bills for he and his wife for roughly six years, and as far as he knew that morning, they were expecting their first born in four months.  He really needed the insurance, but that was now gone.  But, it wasn’t the only thing that was gone.  When he finally was drunk enough to go home and face the music, his wife was sitting in the yard swing crying.  His ex-employer had called Dave’s home already and left a message for him about some paper work they needed him to fill out before they would release his final check.  But that wasn’t all the good news she had for him.  She had a doctor’s appointment that morning and was told that she had miscarried sometime in the last few days.  Dave’s world was over from that point forward.  The heartbreak was more than he could take.  After hours of crying by his wife’s side and trying desperately to comfort her, he grabbed his car keys and headed out the door.  As David opened the door to get in the Camaro, his wife could be heard screaming to him not to leave. 

          Dave headed straight for his favorite liquor store all the while cursing God under his breath.  He was still sobbing as he stood at the register to pay for a fifth of rum and a case of beer.  He slammed the booze in the passengers side seat and headed for the dirt back roads outside of town.  He found one quickly that didn’t have teenagers making out or smoking weed, and he began to chug down what he thought would make him feel better; at least for a while.  Pink Floyd was blasting from the stereo while Dave leaned against the side of the car gulping down alcohol. He thought about how his life would have changed once the baby had been born, and of all the dreams he had for his family, but it was all gone now.  David was out of his mind with hate for the maker and he cursed everything at the top of his withering voice.  Time passed slowly on his barrage of drinking, and a desperate feeling to be at home with his wife had come over him.  He stood from leaning, and staggered to the driver’s side using his shirt to wipe the dirt filled tears from his face.  He started the engine and said his young wife’s name.  That was the last thought he had as he lost control of the automobile.  Flipping endlessly down the road, the car had ignited resembling a comet busting across the galaxy.  David was found an hour later hanging out of his one time perfectly restored machine.  The vanity license plate that read 81HLRZR could still be read.  The body of the car was smoldering as well as his own with an empty beer can rolling around next to his head.  If the mortician could piece him back together in time, the funeral would be on Friday: David Staton’s favorite day of the week. 

          After a few seconds of heavy breathing, Gerald flicked the cigarette but out the window and put his anger into his foot flooring the gas pedal.  The little four cylinder jerked the sedan back onto the freeway with a slight screech.  “Yep, your ass is mine!” Gerald heaved out.  He turned the stereo back on and fast forward the cassette to a more of a grunge feel song he had written.  He wanted to get pumped up on his old jam so that when he caught this guy the beating he was imagining might actually happen.  As the song began to roll, Gerald leered down the freeway searching for the asshole that had put him in the gravel.  It took really no time at all.  There, only a few car lengths in front of him was a car swerving, barely staying in its lane, and profusely pouring smoke out of its exhaust. From what he could make out by looking through the smoke and it still being only a little after dawn, was it was an older car that looked like it had been smashed by a wrecking ball a few times and then set on fire.  He was dying to get a look at the driver as he moved up on the rear.  The exhaust smoke was choking him and burning his eyes. The glass was tinted in the rear window, or blackened out some way.  He couldn’t look in the side mirror of the old car either because it didn’t have any on either side.  Dimler moved to the open lane and pushed the gas as hard as he could.  He decided he would side up to the car and motion the driver to pull over so that they may have a little chat for all of the inconvenience that had been caused this day.  This was all fine and good as long as the swerving junk didn’t fly over and bump him off into the gravel again.  “Is this cat friggin’ drunk this early or drugged up on something?” he thought.  He also pondered the notion that if he himself were on a drunk and driving like this, there would have been twenty or so cops on his butt in about two seconds.  The sun was almost completely up Gerald noticed.  Just as his attention was diverted for a mere second buy the dim orange glow rising, the racing pile of crap steered toward an exit cutting right across his path.  He had to decide quickly if his employment was as important as making this fool pay for all this disruption.  He noticed too that he was doing a lot of thinking about this, which was uncommon for his nature.  Hell maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to pursue this any longer.  Maybe it would just be better to let this one go and head off to work.  He would have a great little morning commute story for the guys at work, and he could still come out to sound like a badass if he twisted and added a little to what actually happened.  At the last possible second, this was the route he decided to take.  Instead of following this guy and possibly getting a good beating himself, he stayed on the freeway glancing down the ramp at the hunk of rolling crap. 

          Gerald felt a sense of calm and control come over him as if he had made a real adult decision for once in his life.  He hadn’t went off and lost his head or his job for that matter, nor was he in the condition to try and fight a person that could very possibly be high on heroin or god knows what.  But, he didn’t get to relish in his glory for long.  While he was busy patting himself on the back, the smoking rust bucket had come flying up behind him except this time it seemed it was on a course for collision.  As he white knuckled the wheel, his anger rose to a point of near coronary levels.  Why had this machine come back onto the freeway and pursued him at this rate of speed?  It was obvious to Gerald that this person had it in for him, but why?  These questions ran through his mind as he braced for impact that was sure to send him either to death or into months of physical therapy.  Just as the clunker was within feet of devouring the little sedan’s rear bumper, it slowed quickly.  It slid almost losing control as it lurched down on him, but the intention seemed to be to only scare Gerald into giving his undivided attention to its presence.  “What the hell is going on now with this guy?” “Did I win the psychos choice lotto this morning?” “Have I been chosen to die by this fools hands today?” “Well that’s it then, I tried to be cool and this what happens!” Gerald said with a quiver in his voice.  All along while he tried to think of a way to deal with this nut the follower sped past Gerald and pulled in front of him again.  This time he forced Gerald to slow down considerably.  Gerald knew what was going on this time though.  They were coming up on another exit and he was to follow the old rod down the ramp and to where ever he was going to lead. 

          The sun was fully up now and Gerald could see clearly as the smoking wreck pulled down the exit ramp.  As he followed, the sun allowed Dimler to notice something else for once in this game.  The license plate of the troublemaker was clearly visible now even with the exhaust smoke curling around it like a cemetery mist.  “I’ve got you now my friend!” Gerald said as he quickly took a pen from his shirt pocket.  “I’m going to write this down and call it in to the man and be done with this at least for today!” He lifted the console cover up and pulled out one of the souvenir napkins out and began to shakingly write down the plate number.    81HLRZR was what he jotted down.  “This is not possible!” he thought to himself.  In a town the size of Gerald’s, a vanity plate such as this was as easy to remember as the fine machine that once wore it.  “Had some sorry bastard just a short time ago stole a dead man’s wreck of a car from the mortuary and decided to use it to torture some unknowing victim today!”  Gerald thought.  The most upsetting thing to Gerald about this was that the more he looked at the plate, the more he noticed the slight showings of the sparkles in the midnight blue paint that still remained on some places of the vehicle.  As the anger and fear returned to Dimler’s chest, he followed realizing that this was normally the half way point in his commute.  They went under the freeway and ramped back up onto the northbound side, which at this time of day had almost no traffic on it.  He also realized that his drive to work was more than likely over for the day and he would have to call Mr. Steverson.  Though Gerald had given some pretty wild reasons for being late or even not going to work at all; if his boss did not understand the predicament that he was placed under on this Friday, then screw him and his job. 

          Gerald waited until they were back at full speed again before he would try to notify the highway patrol of what was going on.  He grabbed his cell phone and dialed 911.  It rang only once and the operator answered with “911 emergency how may I help you?”  “Hey, this is Gerald Dimler and I would like to report a theft and a harassment.  I’m in pursuit of a vehicle that belonged to a friend of mine and…” Before he could finish the sentence the operator said, “Hello, this is 911 emergency are you there?”  “Your call location is not showing up on my screen, you may want to try back if this is a life or death emergency.” The phone hung up and Gerald almost threw his phone right out the window.  He dialed the number again only to get the exact same thing when he began to speak. “Goddamit all!” he yelled. “That friggin figures those useless bastards!”  He looked ahead and read the plate over a few times to make sure he hadn’t misread a digit or two.  Nope, that’s what it said; 81’ hell raiser.  Gerald noticed that since he had decided to follow at will, the other car was cruising almost perfectly without swerving, or any other attention getting movements.  The only thing that happened in the entire thirty or so miles they had traveled back was that they had sped up to around eighty miles per hour in a slow progression.  It was a sign of urgency to Gerald but not anything he was going to take too much note of at this time.  “Where the hell is this guy leading me?” “We seem to be headed back to town, but why would you risk getting caught in a stolen car even if it is a big hunk of shit now?”  Gerald thought.  The cassette player auto flipping the demo tape for the third time only distracted him once during the pursuit.  After hearing it in the background all morning long, he ejected the cassette and put it away.  He couldn’t help but to feel a little sadness as he stowed the tape.  It was as if he would never hear it again unless he was humming the songs to himself sometime in the future. 

Gerald had in fact been led back into town and the old Camaro in front of him made effortless turns through the streets heading for the other side of town.  Gerald knew that this was where the guy was headed because it was the most direct route used by the town’s people.  He followed without a bit of hesitation thinking that he could almost thank this person for giving him something to do today instead of going to his job that he hated immensely.  He also wondered why no one seemed to notice the car bellowing smoke all over the place.  They even passed City Hall where the sheriff stood outside carrying on a conversation with one of the local storeowners.  They didn’t even as so much glance in Gerald’s direction.  They finally crossed over the north side railroad tracks and turned onto Reindeer road.  The only thing he knew of out this way was the new cemetery.  When the other one that Dimler so frequently joked about became full, this was the only available location large enough for the next one.  The only thing that was a little hassle about it was that the mortuary was on the south side of town, but with the deal they got on the building hell, who cared.  Gerald hadn’t thought to look as they entered town minutes ago to even see if his old friend’s car was still on the back of the wrecker.  He kind of had a feeling it wasn’t going to be there and he had fallen into a lull as they slid through town.  It was a beautiful Friday though. 

          As they neared the graveyard, Gerald noticed a crowd of around fifty gathered close to the front gate.  There had only been maybe twenty funerals since the opening of the yard.  The funeral home had installed large monolithic style gatepost completely around the place with the standard spear ended gate pieces in between.  This was another thing Gerald usually joked about from time to time of what or who was going to be impaled on these wrought iron spears getting in or out of the cemetery.  “What, did they not like their hole and decide to change cemeteries?” He would usually laugh hard on this thought, but not this time.  He knew it was the funeral for his friend David Staton.  He could see the fresh pile of dirt removed form the hole.  The mourners had already begun to pass slowly by the coffin under the tented area.  The lid was closed signifying that the embalmers were not able to reconstruct David’s features enough for an open ceremony.  The Camaro stopped and the engine died where the other cars were parked.  Final puffs of smoke streamed out from under the one time restored machine.  Gerald stopped a few car lengths behind the Camaro waiting to see who was going to get out.  Only for a moment did this piss Gerald off.  He was thinking of how disrespectful someone would have to be to steal and drive a dead man’s car to his own funeral.  But, another possibility was maybe that his brother or another relative was doing this as a sign of respect for their lost family member.  But, why have Gerald all mixed up in this mess of highway shenanigans?  Hell, not too many people probably even knew that these two guys were ever even friends, especially since they hadn’t really hung out since the adult life style had set in on the both of them.  As he thought of all the different possibilities, the door on the Camaro opened.  Ash and interior material fluttered around in the light breeze that was blowing at the cemetery.  Gerald sat calmly in his car and locked the door.  He felt cold though it had turned out to be a rather warm day.  He fumbled for the heater switch but never took his eyes off of the damaged car in front of him.  As Gerald looked on, the driver gradually emerged from the driver’s seat.  He gazed at the face, squinting his eyes to try and make out any recognizable features, instantly noticing that the person was horribly burnt and broken.  He scanned over the body seeing torn flesh and clothing matted together.  The figures head was slightly tilted, and the blonde hair on one side rustled with the breeze.  Gerald could feel the blast of air from the heater but could not feel the warmth it provided, he only grew colder.  The blackened form turned half way around and motioned for Gerald to follow it.  The quick profile was not enough for Gerald to make out who the person was, but it was sufficient that he could see the damage was as severe to the face as it was to the body.  As hard as Gerald tried to resist the temptation to follow, he unlocked the door and crawled out of his car.  The sun was pouring down on him but he was even colder than before.  Gerald looked past the person noticing that all of the guest had passed the coffin except one.  She was sitting in the front row with her face in her hands.  He felt saddened by the scene, but his stare was broken by a voice.  “Dimler quit gawking around and follow me!”  “I don’t have all friggin’ day to stand here and I’m very tired!”  In a state of amazement, Gerald recognized the voice of his friend David.  Some of his fear quickly melted away and turned to curiosity.  He glanced at the vanity plate on the Camaro one time more before taking a step toward his dead friend. “Pat and bend, pat and bend, pat your feet and bend your knees, let’s go, let’s go!”  Gerald found little comedy in his friend’s tone but he did hurry his pace a few notches.  When he caught up to David he took a look into his face.  “I know it’s pretty bad huh?” “But, there ain’t shit I can do about it now.” “But look at you Gerald, you look great!” David remarked.  “Let’s go before I freeze out here!” “My bride and my new ride’s awaitin’.”  As they entered the front gate Gerald could hear the broken bones grinding in David’s body.  Gerald’s stomach did a three-sixty as he watched David force his shattered remains to walk through the first row of graves.  It also didn’t help smelling the scent of scorched flesh and polyester emitting from the moving corpse.  “Is that your wife there David?” “Yep, that’s her.” “I was such an idiot!” “Now she is alone after losing two souls in one day!”  “But once again there ain’t shit I can do about it now!”  “Look at her, she is so beautiful in that black dress.” “I feel sorry for her I think, but after walking around like this for the last three days I can’t really feel too much of anything.”  “And that’s another thing, I thought I was going to have to throw a tow chain around your car to get you follow me!”  “I thought for sure you would recognize the Hell Raiser right off and go after it.” “That’s just it David, why did you want me to follow you, and why am I here?” Gerald asked.  “Well, first things first.” “Help me with this will ya’?”  They grabbed the lid and opened the coffin.  Gerald looked around to see if anyone noticed what they were doing, but no one did.  The guest just went on talking and reminiscing about their departed brother and friend never noticing what the two were doing.  Slowly David crawled over the edge snagging his half melted shirt on one of the carrying handles.  “I’ll be damned Dimler, get that for me will ya’?”  When Gerald released his shirt from the handle, David fell in with a crunch.  “Jesus that kinda hurt!” David squeezed out.  Dave edge around from side to side until found a good settling spot.  All along Gerald winced his face at the clicking sounds coming from Dave’s body.  As Gerald stood above the coffin waiting for his friend to come to a rest, he looked at the damage done to his face and head.  Gerald had remembered the jealousy he and the other guys had towards David for his hair, but that was mostly all gone now with a good deal of his scalp. Though he had made normal conversation all the while, he had the saddest look on the one side of his face that was not ripped and oozing fluids from being cooked.  He propped himself up one last time to look at his wife.  His eye that was still intact teared up as he looked at her.  “Good bye babe.” He said mournfully and laid back with head resting on the miniature coffin pillow.  He looked up at Gerald tried to smile.  “Dimler, thanks for coming today.” “I’m sorry I’ll have to miss your big day.” “I just wanted to give you the heads up on what it’s like instead of seeing you waste a day driving to work.”  Dave said.  “Hey, hopefully that will be a while man!” Gerald said excitedly.  “Um, no Dimler.” “Your going in the hole in two days.” “Yep, your ol’ lady was right about all that crap food and no exercise you kept doing to yourself.”  “You mean to tell me you haven’t figured out that you gave it up last night in your sleep!” “You lucky bastard.” “I just didn’t want to see you driving up and down the damned freeway, wasting your last few days like so many other spirits.” “I could tell of course in my condition that I was gone.”  “So, I just walked around watching my family and friends until I noticed that you had croaked.” “I thought maybe by now you would have figured it out ya’ dope!”  “You weren’t really driving this morning, just following your old routine.” “You were remembering things and reliving them all day until I came along to help you out.” “I mean our cars aren’t even over there now, and there weren’t ever!” “So that’s it, that’s why I brought you here.” “Wake up slick!” “Go visit your family, well I mean watch them anyway.” After a few seconds David coughed a little and closed his eye.  “Well bud, you can thank me later.” “Bye Gerald, see ya’ around maybe.”  “ Oh, and close the lid there before you leave will ya’?”  “I’m cold and so bushed, I can’t remember the last time I …” David faded into his rest not moving again.  Gerald closed the lid little by little.  “Yeah, um see ya’.” He turned and lowered his head, walking slowly across the yard toward the gate he would be entering for the last time in two more days.  He turned and looked back once he had reached the spot where he thought he had parked his car.  Dave’s wife was being comforted by family and escorted toward the family limousine.  As Gerald Dimler watched, David Staton’s coffin was being lowered into the ground.  In the distance a caretaker was sitting in the grass smoking a cigarette with a shovel lying across his lap. 



 

THE END