Sequel: Yesterday ›
Eleanor Rigby
Funeral
After young Eleanor Rigby’s death, I knew that nothing would be the same. I knew that my life would change in ways that I never expected it too. She was all-alone in the world, at least that’s what she believed, but she had me in spirit. But for some reason she had a place in the world.
There was no need for her to be accepted by others, she had loved herself and she loved her lonely life. But that day in the church told me that she had longed for a different life, a life that was once forgotten. She had secrets that dug deeper then what her eyes were able to tell me.
She made me re-evaluate my life and question where it is that I belonged. As a lonely person she knew where she belonged, but I didn’t. I didn’t know where I belonged at my age. I was thirty-five and I wasn’t getting any younger and marriage was not in the prospects for me anytime soon. I was single and I think in part it was because of her. I would spend my lunchtime watching her and my night times thinking about her.
There was no one there to claim her body. No one came for her and I had been upset by it. I wanted to, but then again I was nobody to her. A person that had watched her from afar, admired her from a distance. But Father McKenzie stepped up to the plate. He took her body and he set up the funeral, she was to be buried on St. Patrick’s property; the first person in over a hundred years.
The funeral was set up on a Wednesday but I knew I wasn’t going to go. Just like the past two years, I would watch it from afar; grieve from a distance.
Wednesday came far too soon for my liking and I sat on my bench once again. Brown bag lunch in hand, the same boring suit that I always wore. Father McKenzie stood by the grave for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for someone, anyone to come and grieve for Eleanor Rigby. But no one came and he began reading his prayers.
I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I knew the words were vague. Though Eleanor was always there, Father McKenzie never really knew her. No one did and that was why nobody came. It had taken no more then five minutes for his words to end and soon her body was lowered and consumed by the ground. He threw a small amount of it on the grave once it reached the bottom.
Father McKenzie never smiled, but tonight he looked even more depressed then ever. His frown lines aged him more then before and he looked just as dead as Eleanor Rigby did that fateful Monday morning.
Walking away, Father McKenzie wiped the dirt from his hands and shook his head as he headed back towards the side church entrance. I knew the thoughts that run through his head, I could feel them even from the distance. He glanced in my direction and I felt as if his eyes penetrated my body.
With Eleanor Rigby’s death, no one was saved.
There was no need for her to be accepted by others, she had loved herself and she loved her lonely life. But that day in the church told me that she had longed for a different life, a life that was once forgotten. She had secrets that dug deeper then what her eyes were able to tell me.
She made me re-evaluate my life and question where it is that I belonged. As a lonely person she knew where she belonged, but I didn’t. I didn’t know where I belonged at my age. I was thirty-five and I wasn’t getting any younger and marriage was not in the prospects for me anytime soon. I was single and I think in part it was because of her. I would spend my lunchtime watching her and my night times thinking about her.
There was no one there to claim her body. No one came for her and I had been upset by it. I wanted to, but then again I was nobody to her. A person that had watched her from afar, admired her from a distance. But Father McKenzie stepped up to the plate. He took her body and he set up the funeral, she was to be buried on St. Patrick’s property; the first person in over a hundred years.
The funeral was set up on a Wednesday but I knew I wasn’t going to go. Just like the past two years, I would watch it from afar; grieve from a distance.
Wednesday came far too soon for my liking and I sat on my bench once again. Brown bag lunch in hand, the same boring suit that I always wore. Father McKenzie stood by the grave for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for someone, anyone to come and grieve for Eleanor Rigby. But no one came and he began reading his prayers.
I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I knew the words were vague. Though Eleanor was always there, Father McKenzie never really knew her. No one did and that was why nobody came. It had taken no more then five minutes for his words to end and soon her body was lowered and consumed by the ground. He threw a small amount of it on the grave once it reached the bottom.
Father McKenzie never smiled, but tonight he looked even more depressed then ever. His frown lines aged him more then before and he looked just as dead as Eleanor Rigby did that fateful Monday morning.
Walking away, Father McKenzie wiped the dirt from his hands and shook his head as he headed back towards the side church entrance. I knew the thoughts that run through his head, I could feel them even from the distance. He glanced in my direction and I felt as if his eyes penetrated my body.
With Eleanor Rigby’s death, no one was saved.
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Chapter 4 out of 5