Change in Direction

Change in Direction

Noel Laflin

6-2-18

The funeral procession, led by a white hearse, which was followed by a black limousine, and then many cars – with headlights blazing - slowly traveled south down Hewes Street. Two motorcycle escorts zoomed by a moment later on their way to the upcoming intersection in order to block opposing traffic. That next intersection would be Fairhaven, the street bearing the same name as the local cemetery – their final destination I assumed.

I was sitting on a hillside in the park across the street from our home, under the shade of a small sycamore and on the phone with a friend when the procession passed me by. Blackbirds and crows sitting on the fence, in tall trees, and on telephone wires, took a sudden break from chasing one another across the pond as they too eyed the caravan. I could not help but notice that at least they were dressed appropriately enough for the occasion.

Still deep into conversation five minutes later, the very same funeral procession passed by once more, this time in the opposite direction. There they were, two harried motorcycle escorts followed by the same white hearse, black limo, multiple cars with headlights blazing – coming back up Hewes Street, this time heading north – now most likely on course for Holy Cross Cemetery, way out in the rolling foothills, out by Old Irvine Park.

I could not help but wonder about the change in direction.

Did the escorts have the wrong cemetery in mind?

Perhaps it was an error on the part of the mortuary driver.

Or maybe the deceased just had a sudden change of heart, and thought the open foothills to be a better resting spot.

Either way, the blackbirds and crows kept mum on the subject and went back to chasing one another across the pond once the last car had passed.