velada
Driving up from the Cape on Wednesday, coming off the bridge and cresting a little hill, traffic suddenly stopped. There wasn't even any time to change lanes. I saw truck loaded up with animal cages, a little car, other vehicles pulled over on the edge of the road, and people in the median running. As traffic inched forward I passed a woman and two teenagers standing next to their car in the grass, the woman distraught, the teenagers blank-faced. A beige van with serious front-end damage was stopped diagonally across the median. Then, in my lane, a man lay on his back spread-eagled on the pavement. His shirt was pulled up exposing a long open seam across his torso. No blood, but something white-- muscle? bone? White eyes open to the sky. Another man crouched over him with two fingers on his neck searching for a pulse. Distant blue lights approaching through the traffic in the rear-view mirror. As I drove by I imagined this man's soul, somewhere above us, winging about in the blue sky. I said a quick prayer and accelerated out of there trying to open up space for eventual paramedics.
Dicen que cuando una persona muere en la calle en DF, siempre hay alguien que pone una vela con el cuerpo. Nunca nadie ve quien lo hace, pero cuando llega el fotografo, alli esta la vela prendida, vigilando.
My father heard the news story on the radio: a rollover accident, no details about the man but that he was from Georgia and he was the only fatality.
I didn't know this man but I witnessed his death. I lit a candle for him tonight.
Dicen que cuando una persona muere en la calle en DF, siempre hay alguien que pone una vela con el cuerpo. Nunca nadie ve quien lo hace, pero cuando llega el fotografo, alli esta la vela prendida, vigilando.
My father heard the news story on the radio: a rollover accident, no details about the man but that he was from Georgia and he was the only fatality.
I didn't know this man but I witnessed his death. I lit a candle for him tonight.