He was signing...

I hear stories, of the crack zombies, walking in the herky jerky in the early morning.

I don't get up that early.

While I've seen a few in my day, none meet the stories from those I know.

And I've seen pretty close.

Their stories- those walking like an extra from any given zombie movie, or show.

My stories, the decline that happened so fast.

But he wasn't quite one of them, I don't think, as he walked the evening sidewalk.

He was a touch different.

It was close, for a moment there, the out of reality stagger, the hands moving.

Then I saw him sign.

I've so little knowledge, beyond a rememberance from years ago, of the ABC's.

Yet there it was.

His right hand, ABCDEF, stop, wave, ABCDEFG, maybe? I swear I saw a W.

He was signing, as he walked.

No one paid attention, I was in my car, watching- he was going through the alphabet.

Or, maybe, that was just a start.

Perhaps he was reminding himself of the letters, a motion important to him,

Before he started the words.

He was too quick for my memory, I sat, making it through G with my own hands.

He didn't see me.

He was walking, kicking detritus under the fencing, along the sidewalk, ignored.

I saw him signing.

Was he deaf, or did he know someone who was, and is no longer here.

I saw him signing.

He wasn't like the crack zombies, he wasn't there at that moment, but he was out of step.

They walked by.

Like good citizens do, right? We don't look, we just walk by, hoping they don't look.

He was signing.

I saw him try to communicate, to something inside, his silence perhaps a scream, in sign.

He was signing, and I saw him, as he walked.