The Procession

I went for a drive.I didn’t go to the store. I didn’t go for a joyride.I led a funeral procession.You’ve all seen it. The motorcycle escorts stopping the traffic. The black hearse slowly rolling through the traffic lights. The line of cars dredging through each intersection like a line of ants following a food trail.You’ve all seen it, and I saw you.I saw you speed up, and jerk in front of me as I drove by.I saw you purposely look away as you tried to inch in front of me but didn’t get there in time.I saw you roll your eyes as you stood at the street light, annoyed that you couldn't cross the street right away.You weren’t the only thing I saw that day.I saw a box of letters being placed into the casket. I saw the older woman cradle her adult daughter like a child as she said goodbye to her father.I saw the smiles from the children as they played in the parking lot before being herded into the backs of cars by their parents.I saw the pallbearers shield their eyes from glare of the sun as they lifted the heavy oak casket and placed it into the hearse.So I drove. I drove slowly, giving the limousine and the other cars time to keep up. I drove and listened to the radio for instructions from the motorcycle escorts.And then I saw you, sir.An older gentleman, maybe in his late 70s, at the bus stop. You stood, removed your hat, and nodded.It was small, but it was beautiful.I just wanted you to know, that I saw you. And I just wanted to say “thanks”.To the rest of you, I ask, please.Just wait.