A hundred parking tickets underneath windshield wipers. A boot attached to a wheel.

No gas in the tank. Two front flat tires. A dead battery. William’s pickup is no more. He waits for Mexicans to steal it and turn it into scrap. Or, maybe get towed by The City of Chicago. He prayed for his best friend to one day disappear. Just walk home one day and be gone. It was the only prayer William ever had.

He was not a faithful man, though his family went to church every Sunday. William stood quiet while Maggie and the kids held hymnals and sang out songs. The Old Rugged Cross. On Calvary.  And Amazing Grace were Maggie’s favorites. Little Johnny simply mouthed the words; too shy for his voice to be heard.

And the old man just stood there while voices were raised and souls came for healing. Confessing sins and being baptized in a deep tub behind the pulpit.

Death to sin and alive to Christ, the preacher said as he dunked the body and lifted it out of the clear water. The whole congregation cried out while Bill just silently thought of Sunday fried chicken along with mashed potatoes and gravy. Homemade biscuits and string beans with bits of bacon mixed in. This is what he left behind.