Just Two Men Talking
Posted 07-29-2010 at 08:52 PM by LookinForMayberry
Yesterday on the drive along I-90W from Chewelah to Cle Elum, we stopped at a rest stop to give the dogs (and ourselves) a chance to stretch our legs. As we stepped from the RV, I noticed a sheriff's deputy and a DOT driver standing next to a tarped mound next to a parked car.
"That looks like a covered body," I said to DH.
"Nah, too big for a body," he replied.
We walked on to circle the pet walk, and headed to the refreshment stand. There, a volunteer was giving out coffee and cookies to encourage donations to a local animal shelter. An old guy with his glasses stuck on his forehead, grizzled three-day beard on his chin, he jutted his chin toward the two men and their mound.
"Guy just stepped outta his car an' dropped dead, right there," he said.
We looked at him, not sure we'd heard correctly.
"You mean, that IS a body?" I asked.
"That's right," said the old guy, as if this happened routinely in his life.
"I hope he doesn't have dependents," I said.
"Must've," he replied. "He was only 54."
I turned 54 in May. My dad dropped dead in his bathroom at 47. I hate hearing things like that; they hit too close to home, so to speak.
The old guy told us the man was from New York. They were waiting from the coroner to come from the next town over, so they could move the body to the morgue. The coroner had twenty miles to travel, once he got the news.
We walked back to the RV, glancing at the men, still talking over the mound.
We looked at each other as we settled into our seats.
"I hope when I die I don't have to lay under a tarp in the sun for an hour while men chat over me," I said.
"Yeah," he said.
"That looks like a covered body," I said to DH.
"Nah, too big for a body," he replied.
We walked on to circle the pet walk, and headed to the refreshment stand. There, a volunteer was giving out coffee and cookies to encourage donations to a local animal shelter. An old guy with his glasses stuck on his forehead, grizzled three-day beard on his chin, he jutted his chin toward the two men and their mound.
"Guy just stepped outta his car an' dropped dead, right there," he said.
We looked at him, not sure we'd heard correctly.
"You mean, that IS a body?" I asked.
"That's right," said the old guy, as if this happened routinely in his life.
"I hope he doesn't have dependents," I said.
"Must've," he replied. "He was only 54."
I turned 54 in May. My dad dropped dead in his bathroom at 47. I hate hearing things like that; they hit too close to home, so to speak.
The old guy told us the man was from New York. They were waiting from the coroner to come from the next town over, so they could move the body to the morgue. The coroner had twenty miles to travel, once he got the news.
We walked back to the RV, glancing at the men, still talking over the mound.
We looked at each other as we settled into our seats.
"I hope when I die I don't have to lay under a tarp in the sun for an hour while men chat over me," I said.
"Yeah," he said.
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