From time to time, life serves up moments,

Random, inexplicable.

Vignettes that crystallize in mind and memory.

Accrued, carried along. A mental photo album.

September Saturday, startlingly sunny.

Warm, golden autumn day.

The parking lot of a funeral home.

We’re early.

Nearby, a young family.

Little girl, perhaps four our five, dressed in her finest frills.

A granddaughter, perhaps?

Prancing and excited, not truly aware of what she has lost.

Bearded father, wearing a black suit and a team scarf.

On this canicular day.

That must be one of the sons.

The blessed cool of the air conditioning.

Sober. Still. Lowered voices.

Put your funeral face on.

The awkward ritual of murmured platitudes.

Signing the register.

The pen's cold hardness in my hand.

What to write? More platitudes.

Photographs, carefully scissor-cut and collaged.

Suggest the narrative and dimensions of a life. And yet.

Their papery flatness screams It’s all we have left.

Later, escape into the dazzling sunshine.

Relief. Respects paid.

We’ve all been there before, been under that dark shadow.

Today the shadow fell on somebody else.

And we were merely bit players.

Is it wrong to feel grateful?

Walk away, unfettered by grief – this time.

Move on to the rest of the day.

Leaving the parking lot,

Grief reaches out a claw.

Not so fast.

Look through the side window.

The man with the beard and the scarf.

Sitting on a patch of scrubby grass,

Beside the parking lot.

Knees clasped to chest.

Head in hands.

Sobbing, broken.

Sorrow cries out.

See me. Feel me.

I am everyone’s story.

 

 

So I am out and about in the Jeep today, and I start to hear a high-pitched hissing sound that appears to be coming from around the dashboard. It's actually hot outside, and for one of the few times this summer, I have the a/c on. I turn that off, and the noise subsides, then comes back. It persists even for a minute or so after I turn off the engine at my first shopping stop. Then it fizzles away. And then starts again just after I resume driving. I get to the grocery store and the same thing happens...even after turning off the vehicle, a squeaky, whirring noise. I spend 20 minutes shopping, all the while pondering the unhappy option of showing up at the dealership sans appointment (and being looked at like something they scraped off their shoe) and wasting the rest of the afternoon getting diagnosis and fix. The jeep itself is running ok; it's probably just a fan. So I come out of the grocery store and sit down in the driver's seat and the goddamn noise is happening before I even put the key in the ignition, after 20 minutes of the vehicle sitting idle. This is just too weird. I try to hone in on it, and the source seems to be near the gear shift, between the front seats. And as I lean my ear down towards the sound, I see the bubbles rising to the top of a half-empty bottle of diet coke in the cup holder, and realize where my mechanical issue resides...