Death arrived at John’s hardware store in an old Chevrolet Suburban just before 5pm.

John, the owner of the store, being a creature of habit, was already going through the motions of closing shop.  He had done it countless times before, now on autopilot, his mind wandering, thinking about his wife’s birthday coming up, the kids soccer season starting.

The bell above the door yanked him from his reverie.  He looked up, disturbed and a little irritated with this closing time customer.  He really should have locked the door.  Hung the closed sign.  He just cannot do it before 5pm, his dad never did, and he will not either.  

He looked up to see a tall thin man enter the store.  Dressed like a cowboy, big Stetson, stained from years of use, checkered long sleeve shirt, tucked into ancient looking blue jeans, huge belt buckle, boots ringing as he sauntered over to the counter.

He stops, looks up from under his hat’s wide brim, striking pale blue eyes resting on John.

‘You John Waters?’ he asks with a booming voice that defies his thin frame.

Before John could answer the man reached for a back pocket and produce one of the latest Chinese made cellphones proudly sold by a well known American company.

  ‘Formerly married to Sandra, formerly father of James and John junior ?’ he drawls as he consults some information on the phone.

‘What do you mean formerly!’ John shouts.  ‘Still married, still their father!  What are you talking about?  What’s the meaning of this?’

‘Answer your phone.’ the man answers.

Something in his voice made John stop talking.  Before he could ask ‘what’ again his cellphone rang.  He answered, furiously looking at this disturbing man.  His face suddenly goes pale, his mouth forms a silent o, his breath gone.  His elderly father on the line delivering terrible news.

John slowly stumbles backwards, dropping his phone, his hands furtively grabbing at his chest.

The thin cowboy, now impossibly tall, leans over John, and with a voice filled with sadness says  ‘They were on their way home from school after signing up for soccer practice.  They were hit by a runaway dump truck.  They did not feel a thing.’

John only stared, eyes bulging, not able to speak.  His heart literally broken.  

‘Don’t fight it John, let go. Your family is outside waiting in my car.  Waiting for you.’

John dies.  John stands.  He looks surprised.  He looks down at his body.  Shirt untucked, beer belly showing.  He looks at the man who he thought was his last customer for the day, now seeing him for who he is.

Death!  The ferryman! But looking like a cowboy, driving American.

‘Let’s go’ Death drawls, ‘we have a ways to travel, and I have a few more stops on the way.  You are not my last customer for the day. Let’s not keep anyone waiting.’

Death and John leaves the store, the bell above the door makes its sad little sound before going quiet.  Outside the Suburban roars to live, carefully backs out of the parking spot, and heads east.

Destination unknown.  Appointments with death are always on time.