The car behind me beeps.
My hands cover my face; fingertips cling to my moist forehead. My Thumbs rub amongst prickly sideburns. My Palms shelter my eyes with a comforting darkness from what lies ahead. Twenty years to the same place – the cemetery. No more, not today. What for? To watch another number lowered into the earth and covered by dirt. I’ve done my time and you know what? They can call me.
The car behind me beeps again.
I lower my hands, expecting something different. How stupid of me. Nothing has changed in the last – I don’t know how long. I squint at the sun’s grey reflection, angled at me off the tarred road; breathe like an asthmatic in the exhaust around me. Vehicles, mainly cars, slowly pass me either side. ‘You bloody idiot,’ some hero shouts from a courier van. Who would shout at a hearse? Weep, cry, hold on to the door handle – yes, but not shout, never shout. A semi driver honks while his rig slowly rolls by. As if I’m going to answer. Who they are? I’m making the decision here. The sign did say freeway. We’ll, I’m the one who is free now, free except for the body in the coffin. What do you think of that? I might just walk away from here.