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I was there. I saw it. I still don't believe it. My best friend's mother had passed away. My friend was a practical joker and a big movie buff, so after a bit I knew I had to be an unaware extra in a remake of a Monty Python movie. That is the only way all of this, any of this, could have happened. Well, Murphy could have been abusing his power and over-enforcing his law.

First of all, it was a Catholic service. As the priest walked down the aisle, blessing everyone with holy water, the little water container on the end of the chain flew off, hitting a woman in the back of the head. I sat somberly next to my friend. Not being Catholic, I just assumed this type of thing happened every once in a while.

The priest made it to the front and started to deliver the eulogy. "John Mark Anthony Anderson was born..."

It was the wrong eulogy. This was a funeral for a woman. Much to my surprise, no one said a thing. Out of respect for the elderly priest, we all sat there and listened intently.

Also out of respect for the priest, my friend's father (the grieving widower) jumped and knocked the the priest to the ground and rolled him around a bit when the alter boy caught him on fire.

I snickered when I heard the priest yell another word for feces. I didn't loose my composure and sat politely, wringing my hands nervously, as the fire was put out.

The service was over and we drove to the cemetery for the actual burial. I went in the family car. My best friend was an only child and we had been friends for years. I had even called her mother "mom," too. I didn't say anything about the service. I talked about how pretty the flowers were and how the soloist did a wonderful job.

At the cemetery, I noticed a backhoe was digging up the sidewalk next to where the service was to be. I thought it was rude of them not to stop digging as the service started. It was hard to hear what was going on. Not that it really mattered, I didn't know John Mark Anthony Anderson anyway. Even the priest had been told it wasn't that man's funeral somewhere between the church and the cemetery, he continued with that gentleman's service.

It was hot. I saw the fans come out as the priest rattled on. I was sweeting so much in my long-sleeved black dress, I thought I would float away. That was literally my thought. Why did I have to have that thought? Oh, perish that thought...

The backhoe hit a water line and water shot up from the ground. It was spewing everywhere. People ran to get away from it. I was told later that people screamed. I didn't heat that. The only thing I heard was my friend shout at the top her lungs to backhoe crew...

"Where the hell were you when the father was on fire?"

Back in the family car, my friend put her wet head on my shoulder. "We really put the fun in funeral, don't we?"

Learn more about this author, Emma Riley Sutton.
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