The Funeral

"So what was his name, anyway?" I asked on the way to the funeral. It was being held in the college town about an hour up the road, so we had plenty of time to chat.

"George," said my dad. "He was a great brother, but we had a bad falling out and never managed to patch it up. It was my fault really... and eventually he stopped calling." Dad starting looking teary again, so I tried to change the conversation.

"What did he do? Like for a job?"

"Handyman, I think," said Dad. "I'm not really sure actually."

The conversation ended there and we drove the rest of the way in silence. After a while we got to Collegetown and navigated our way to State University. The University is fairly large -- 25,000 students -- and certainly one you've heard of. Dad drove his way through and parked near a small chapel just at the edge of campus.

"Was George religious?" I asked.

"Not that I know of."

A pastor of some sort met us at the chapel. After listening to him talk to my dad for a few minutes, I realized he had never even met George. I wandered up to the front. George had apparently been cremated already, as there was an urn on the altar. After a few more minutes I guess dad also realized he wasn't going to get much from the pastor, so he led the rest of the family up to the front and we sat in the first row. I tried to read the bible sitting on the pew but couldn't find any of the fun parts.

I heard the church door open and turned around to look. Who did George know? What was he like? What I saw was an enormous woman -- both tall and wide -- wearing a frilly, bright yellow dress and and equally garish sun hat. She marched to the front of the church, looked me directly in the eye, and then sat across the aisle from us. I thought she looked like a giant banana and had to keep from snickering.

A few more minutes passed in silence. Then the door opened and women started streaming in. Most of them, I thought, were college students. Many of them wore sorority sweatshirts or hats, or even in a couple of cases, bright pink sweatpants with greek letters down the side. I saw a couple of older women among them as they flooded the small chapel, filling the pews. In the end every seat was taken, and young women stood along the walls as well.

The huge woman looked amused. My dad and step-mom, on the other hand, were visibly confused.

"What's going on?" whispered my brother.

"I have no fucking clue," I whispered back as the service started.

The pastor gave a brief but impersonal homily, talking about George's great qualities without being very specific -- which made sense, he hadn't known George and was just faking his way through it. When he was done, he said, "If anyone else would like to say a few words" -- and before he'd finished the sentence, I heard the click-clack of heels on the chapel's wooden floor.

I turned and watched. A woman in her mid 40s was walking calmly up the aisle. Her hair was perfectly coiffed and she wore an obviously expensive business suit with equally expensive earrings. She was dressed to kill -- a shark. She stood behind the podium with the easy air of someone who had given many public speeches.

"Hello, ladies of Sigma Chi," she said somberly. "And George's family, of course," she said with a nod toward us. "I've worked on this talk all week and I can't find the words to express how devastating this loss is, both to me and the Sigma Chi community. George was our caretaker, in every sense of the word. I'm sure you all know what I mean when I say that meeting George was a seminal part of the Sigma Chi experience -- not just during school, but even after. Why I myself went to visit George not a month ago... all our lives will be the worse for his loss." Here she genuinely looked like she was about to cry, and another sharp-dressed woman came up from the pews to console her. Several of the sorority girls behind us began to weep as the woman left the podium.

A few more sorority girls tried to eulogize old George, but most of them didn't even get as far as that first woman.

After a time the pastor intervened, said some closing words, and then dismissed us. I got up to leave, but dad said, "We're staying for the will."

Most of the congregants left, leaving just us, the shark woman from the podium, and the enormous woman in yellow. The shark pulled a chair up in front of the pews and said, "I'm Marissa Bowman, the executor. I'm here to read the will."

Many long and boring moments followed, sound mind and body, yadda yadda. And then in the end, she read, "I leave all my belongings to the lovely ladies of Sigma Chi, and the contents of my bank account to my nephew, Jason Kraus." Marissa looked over at me and said, "As of today the balance is $30,105. And 27 cents."

I couldn't believe my ears. That was more money than I could even imagine.

"No!" I heard a shout. It was my shrew of a step-mom. "No!" she said again, pointing at Marissa. "That money is Bob's!" (I realize belatedly I never mentioned his name -- Bob is my dad.) "It belongs to the family, not to .. to ... him!" Now pointing at me.

Marissa was unfazed. "It's right here in black and white," she said calmly. "But of course you may contest..."

"And what about the house?" shouted shrew. She apparently knew a bit more about George than I did.

Marissa looked levelly at her. "The house is the property of the sorority, and is on sorority grounds," she said. "George never owned it. Now, if that is all, I must go to the reception. Here is my card, have your lawyer be in touch within the next two weeks."

Needless to say the ride home was quiet and uncomfortable.