Shotgun Congress

work in progress...

    Matt Schmill died at a crosswalk. I didn’t know Matt Schmill, but there is a cross bearing his name at a crosswalk about a block from my house. This is an assumption I’ve made. You know what they say about assumptions. Maybe I’ll die at a crosswalk. If I die at a crosswalk I hope my tombstone reads, “Here lies Mark, he walked but didn’t cross.”
    Sammie died in the street. Sammie was the dog I saved up to buy when I was fourteen. Her coat was a beautiful mixture of orange, brown and white. Her neck was broken after a car ran over the leash she was dragging. I made Sammie’s tombstone. I cannot remember what is said, but I remember crying as I made it.  
    Carl Randolph died in a garage. I know this for a fact. Carl was my Uncle.  He closed the garage door, started his motorcycle, and went to sleep. I was a young boy and didn’t know him all that well. He once gave me a stuffed kangaroo he won at a traveling carnival. I still have the kangaroo; it carries a stuffed baby kangaroo in its pouch. I still have the baby kangaroo too.  He shares a tombstone with his brother, Rick, who also died in a garage. I cannot remember what is says on their tombstone.
    Marcella Shepard died in a hospital yesterday afternoon. I was there. Up until yesterday I only knew her as “Aunt Marcie.” She was my great aunt. She was a great aunt. I do not know what it will say on her tombstone, but I hope it says something about her being a great aunt.