Maybe. But whatever pastor was involved with for all those years out in ‘The World’ had left its mark. You could see that mark working on him the day he delivered words at the service for Virgil. I don’t wanna say he preached, because something about how he was saying what he was saying made it different. The words had the wrong feel to them, the wrong intent. It’s hard to explain, but I knew they weren’t meant for comfort, or at least not the right kind of comfort.

Because wherever Virgil is right now, Lord, we know that perhaps he is better off. As are we. That is, for having done our best to keep him and his family close to your path and your light. We know that he was a child of yours as he was a child of Shepherd’s Rest, even if he seemed not always so sure. In his transition, we pray that he will find and accept the answers that eluded him in this life.

Amen.

That’s when the room got cold. Then came those noises…

Then came that day when Virgil got himself killed. Saw it myself. Virgil always caught the bus to and from wherever he went because he didn’t own a car. Bus let him off right over there on the corner. It was a nice day in the springtime so I was sitting on my porch enjoying it. Had a day off. Virgil starts to cross the street and is about halfway across when this dented-up dark red Camaro comes screeching outta nowhere around that corner as the bus pulled away. I still can’t figure why I hadn’t seen or heard that Camaro before it just showed up, but I saw where it was racing down toward Virgil, almost like it was aiming at him, and I jumped up outta my folding chair hollering at Virgil as loud as I could, trying to get him to run, jump, fly, whatever to get out the way. But it was too late.

But sometimes death can play tricks on you…