The light is red. Her Ford Fiesta comes to a stop. Her window is open. To her right is a pull off to a comic bookstore. To her left is a black car with his window down and music up. She sits in silence in the present moment and feels her vibrations push outward. 

You know the saddest thing? 

The car to her left silences his radio. She looks over and he leans forward- 

You know the saddest thing? 

Her eyes blink slow as she gives a nod. 

That’s my cousin. 

Her mind quickly questions: There’s no one in his car, does he mean the guy that was on his radio? —the haze of her mind lifts as she comes back to reality and says, 

Your cousin? 

Yeah… He died right there on that corner… 

Her head slowly lowers. He continues, 

I see him every day before work. 

Her head rises as she says, 

That’s really hard. 

He pushes a shrug and says, 

Yeah, it’s Manchester so… 

The light is green. As he pulls off, his car reveals a telephone pole crowned with a flight of metallic red heart balloons. At its feet kneel a congregation of candles. It is unclear how his cousin had passed but clear that he is missed.

She drives and hopes that him speaking truth to his reality helped to ease the pain of that reality. And that someday a collective mind-shift will take place. One where we continue to cope with grief through communication, with family or strangers through open car windows.

And that this flow of personal truth changes the narrative from the place you live, being an excuse that bad things happen, to the reason it doesn’t. We all travel this road of life together, it’s better when we can lean on one another for support.