Feet march slowly and heads directed to the ground. Not much sound is heard except the soft noise of footsteps and subtle music playing by the band far ahead. The traffic of people moves slowly and respectfully along the path between the masses of bushes. Everyone seems to be here today, families of all generations. As the water is pummeling from the sky no one seems to be affected, possibly because the same substance is pouring from their eyes.
I’m here, raised above a cluster of bodies, shielding some from the down pour. The women’s heads are wrapped in cloths and their bodies are covered with respectful dresses. The men present themselves in clean cut suits and lead their wives and children along this procession.
These followers all belong to an African American neighbor hood and are following their recently deceased mayor to his grave. Just a few short days sooner he had been shot by an enemy and killed.
All civilians have taken this situation in a different way. The children, confused as they are, stare at and kick up small portions of dirt with their feet. Their thoughts are of games they will play later and they try to figure out why their parents have become so upset. The women are comforted by their husbands and walk with collections of flowers. The faint scent of the fresh cut flowers flows throughout the air as each bundle of flowers travels toward the casket. The men attempt to be strong but secretly are hurting inside.
Particularly I am covering a husband and wife whom are using me for protection. The man is griping tightly to my handle and each time his wife squeezes his hand he squeezes my handle to find his own strength. The couple seems to be devastated, more than others. We follow the crowd for many hours and the couple expresses their sorrow and pays their respects later on. The questions of what is going to happen after today are pondered by everyone after the services are over.
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