Where was he going?

Sometimes I see things that defy explanation.

I remember once seeing a purple coffin offered for sale at an auction. Purple. In fairly good condition, except for one dent.

I wondered, was it used? Had someone returned it because it was damaged in transit? Who would order a purple coffin? (Okay, forget that question, I know a lot of librarians who would do that very thing.) How had it ended up at the Rockport Auction House's afternoon box lot sale?

The coffin sold for the grand price of $1.00. I didn't see who bought it, but it had to have been one of the grizzled old men who are there every week. Maybe they used it to store hog feed, or a place to house baby chicks? Or maybe, being the thrifty type, they put it up in the barn to use at a later date. I hoped they remembered to tell their heirs where it was.

Today, it was a different coffin. This one was a beauty, all bright copper shining in the back of a beat-up old Ford flatbed truck traveling south on interstate 77. The driver looked like a happy kind of guy, bearded and gray-haired and driving with his window down.

The coffin wasn't traveling alone. In the bed of the truck with it were assorted pieces of plumbing pipe, a few tool boxes, some rope. It didn't seem to mind the lowly company.

I passed the truck but kept looking back in my mirror, trying to understand what I had just seen. I never will know where that man and that coffin were going.

Oh, I know where the coffin will go eventually. And come to think of it, the man will likely end up in the same place. I hope he's smiling just as broadly then as he was today.