Cody

Last week, a sixteen year old boy was struck by a van and died. He was riding to school on his motorcycle, and the van decided to make a left turn onto the street he was riding on. He was thrown from the bike and apparently broke his neck on impact, dying instantly. The van had eight Hispanic workers in it who fled the scene at first, but then returned.

There are two entrances into my neighborhood, and that morning I took the other one, missing this scene. Unfortunately, many of my neighbors didn't. It happened around 7:30am, right about the time everyone is heading out. Many of my neighbors had their small children in their cars. Here at Christmastime, it truly put a damper on the spirit. Later that day, stuffed animals and cards started to appear. By the end of the day, an ornate gold cross was added to the scene. The next morning, that cross was gone.

(What kind of bastard would steal a cross from an accident site?)

His name was Cody. His ghost lingers there; none of us can pass the site without wondering how it could happen, and in a sick way, thanking God that it wasn't one of our own children.