When it comes to push and shove, I'm there (even when my friends (DON'T) need me

"Hey Joe!" I yell as he passed by my classroom doorway, "When are calling hours?" He paused, thinking. Our mutual friend, Cathy, had just lost her mom earlier this week. "Friday from three to six," he finally said. "Thanks, Joe," I told him before he disappeared, "Maybe I'll see you there."

On Friday, I smiled ruefully as I pulled into the crowded parking lot shortly after 3. Happy for the turn-out, I still couldn't help but feel a slight pang of jealousy. At 93, Hilda had more admirers in the first few minutes of her calling hours than I have had over the entire span of my 48 years.

Maneuvering my big truck around the packed cars, I have to determine whether to park elsewhere (and walk...I shuddered) or somehow navigate my Titan between a small sports car and a shallow ravine. I have 4-wheel drive, I decided, leaving a generous three centimeters between myself and the Maserati.

Pulling open the door to the funeral home, I was immediately greeted by the director who solemnly led me to an inner room where a service was being held. "No, no no," I whispered. "I'm here for calling hours for my friend Cathy's mom." I dug in my heels as he pushed me along. "That's right," he murmured in my ear, still propelling me forward, "The service has just begun." I wasn't sure if our intimate interaction was supposed to be turning me on or frightening me. I've read both genres of this type of fiction. I began to fight as he continued shoving me forward. My foot crossed the threshold in the middle of the 23rd Psalm. Now I was committed. The pastor paused for the briefest of moments as heads turned my way. Cathy, seated in the front, frowned and tapped her wristwatch at me.

"I did NOT," Cathy interrupted, "Why do you insist on making yourself the center of attention where-ever you go? No one even noticed you!"

I quickly found a seat in the back and tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible.

Cathy snorted. "Yeah. Inconspicuous. Did it occur to you to wonder why I didn't tell you about the Memorial Service? We were trying for dignified."

The pastor then began going on about the fabulous attributes of Cathy's mom. Her love of family. Her skill of cooking. Her ability to send the perfect card at the perfect time. On time. He glared at me. Someone raised a hand, heavenward and yelled, "Tell it to her, Brother!" I think it was Cathy's husband, Lee.

"Isn't it a crime to make things up about people?" Cathy asked.  "We were having a perfectly lovely Memorial Service until you showed up."

It was a brief service ("Because you missed the first half," snarled Cathy.). The director released us, starting with the back row. I tucked out quickly, unable to make eye contact with him after our encounter. Waiting on a bench outside, I sat there, fuming and embarrassed, as Joe's truck pulled into the parking lot. The surge of accompanying adrenaline that I experienced would have enabled me to lift his vehicle and toss it easily into the shallow ravine. Unfortunately, my Titan was blocking the access. "I thought we were friends," I yelled as he and his family made their way, warily, towards me, "I made it a POINT not to blog about how you accidentally hung the school's flag upside down that one time but all bets are off now, buddy!" 

When I was through yelling, we went in to pay our respects to Cathy's family. Cathy brushed by me to greet Joe. "Thanks for coming," she said, embracing him. He peered at me, smiling, over her shoulder. "Sorry we were a little late," he told her. "I'm just glad you could make it at all," she reassured him. SERIOUSLY!?!