Curtain in the Window

Driving downtown last evening I encountered a well-kept and shiny very black hearse, long and serious, a vehicle that had its own dire presence, its own solemn aura. It was a vehicle that wasn’t fooling around.

As I turned into the intersection behind the hearse I noticed the dark grey curtain partially obscuring the square of its rear window, and I found myself wondering if there might be a coffin behind it, whether empty or not. Then I went all knee jerky and suddenly the pleasant spring evening was filled with the dark intensity of death and loss. All had become grim and heavy with gloom as I remembered how unfamiliar and sorrowful the world becomes when a loved one dies.

I pulled up directly behind the hearse as it stopped for a red light. There on its license plate devoid of any numbers were the stern black letters FYNYLRYD. Yes! The humor receptors in my brain kicked in---and life was good again, life was just right. First you wax up the very carrier of death, make it shiny and clean, then you snub your nose and stick out your tongue (gesture!) for all the neighborhood to see. Truth as visual joke, memento mori as slapstick. How clever, how public. Many thanks to the solid citizen who created such a traveling show, for sure.