Anthony

Every morning that I drive down Rt 134, alongside the train tracks, I wave to the white cross. I say “Good Morning Anthony.” 

I see his picture in my head. That handle bar mustache that always makes me smile. I see his mama, my friend.  The look on her face when she remembers him. Talks about him. 

Anthony was hit by a train years ago. I saw that cross for years and always wondered… then I met my friend. Then I knew. 

Sometimes I play him music. Sometimes I sing to him. I no longer wonder. That man was loved. Still is loved. By a whole community. I’m a part of that community. Proudly. I will forever say “Good morning Anthony” even when I no longer live here.