A few days ago I posted something about every day seeming like Groundhog Day. When I did I used a picture one of my friends had posted that I felt went well with the topic. Several folks were intrigued by that picture of an unknown man peddling down the street towing a casket and they wanted a story to go with the picture. Seeing as how I don’t know the real story, I’ll have to improvise. Here is my lie.

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Frank arose earlier than normal. He surveyed his surroundings as his eyes adjusted to the dim light in an unfamiliar room.

His mouth was dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. After it came free it felt like sandpaper against his teeth.

Being a diabetic he wondered if he had a hangover or if his blood sugar had bottomed out. Perhaps both.

A large sweaty arm draped across his bare chest. It wasn’t his and by the looks of the poorly painted nails it wasn’t anyone his brain could resurrect at the moment.

Carefully and quietly, he slid from beneath the tacky arm. With bare feet on the floor

He could feel grit squishing between his toes.

It was going to be a bad day. He felt it in his bones. How was he going to explain this to his wife when he couldn’t explain it to himself.

Out on the porch he found an old bicycle. The ties were a little low, but they’d have to do. Riding down the back alley he noticed an unloading dock with a silver casket uncrated beside a door. A two wheeler dolly was propped against the wall.

Why not, he thought? I’ve already dug my own grave.

With the casket loaded on the dolly he steered on down the alley and onto the street. Who would notice? Besides, his life was over. If it was going to be a bad day he may as well go for broke.

As he peddled towards the cemetery a policeman on patrol happened to see him and fell in behind. Lights were activated and a brief squelch of the siren caught Frank’s attention. He pulled to the side of the road.

The cop asked, “You gotta story to go with this scene, buddy?”

Old Frank told him everything, beginning from the moment he woke up until the moment he was pulled over.

The cop shook his head and was quiet for a minute. Then he turned and walked back to his car.

“What? You ain’t gonna arrest me?”

“Too much paperwork. Besides, no one’s going to believe this.”

So the man, the casket and the bike continued down the road.

He turned into the cemetery and pulled beneath a large tree. It was hot. He was tired. He fell asleep leaning against the tree.

A gravedigger happened along and discovered the casket that had been stolen from the funeral home sitting by the side of the lane, resting on the dolly. He saw the guy across the lane sleeping beneath the tree with a bicycle lying beside him. He loaded the casket onto his flatbed and went on down the lane.

A fly on Frank’s nose roused him from his slumber. He looked around and saw the grave digger working further down the lane. His casket was resting on the bed of the truck.

“Well, they’re fixing to bury me,” he mused. “It’s gonna be a bad day. I might as well go home now.”

Eventually he made it home. His wife was waiting on the steps, pistol in hand.

“You gonna shoot me?”

“Thinking bout it,” she scowled.

“No need to waste a bullet. They already buried me earlier today down at Oak Grove Cemetery.”

“That a fact?”

“It is. Saw it myself not an hour and a half ago. It’s been a bad day.”

“Hmmmm.”

“So, what we gonna do now?”

“Eat. Supper’s gettn’ cold. Where’d you get that bike?”

“It came with the casket.”

“Mmm-hmmm. Sounds like you gotta deal.”

“I musta. It’s been a good day.”

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Well, this is my story, and I’m sticking to it.

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Rick Algood
April 30, 2020