“Finish sweeping up that rice, Eleanor. We have to get ready for the next set of love birds! Quit day dreaming, old woman!” Father Mackenzie snapped at the elderly woman, as he then threw his cross around his neck and wrote up the next meaningless sermon on a crumbled piece of paper he tore out of his own bible. Eleanor slowly turned away from the happily married couple outside in the beautiful sunshine and picked up the worn out broom and swept up the white grains, wishing she’d rather be that beautiful window beholding the couple in the distance or the sunlight than sweeping dirty rice off an old church floor. Father Mackenzie cleared his throat by coughing out mucus into the garbage can, and ridding his cigarette breath with a few tic tacks to get ready for the next couple entering. “I now pronounce you man and wife!” Father Mackenzie said proudly. Then that was it, just like the last wedding and the ones twenty years before, just the same. After the newly wedded couple left, Father slipped outside for a smoke in the mosquito filled summer air. When he came back, he was startled of what was happening inside. “Eleanor, what in the hell are you doing, old woman?!” She had taken a handful of rice in her palms and threw them in the isle way as she walked happily down the isle with a bouquet of flowers she gathered from the ground, like she was getting married. Her smile immediately faded when the peace of her imaginary world was disturbed by the invader. “Pick up this s*** so we can get out of here, now! Quit horse playing around!”He yelled as he took the flowers from her old wrinkled hands and tossed them on the ground. “Get the broom!” She then shrunk up like a face kept in a jar by the door. “Yes, Father,” she whispered, as he finally put her in her correct place. Father walked to the office in the back to gather his things and organize the next weddings for tomorrow, not even bothering to write up the sermons tonight, but before they start. After he was finished, he walked into the front of the church, in a room of dead air and scattered grains and flowers. “Where are you, old woman?” There was no answer and no woman. “Eleanor, Eleanor RIGBY! Don’t ignore me; I know you can hear with those elderly ears!” He threw his things down and walked around the church, searching for the incompetent woman. He walked to the end of the church, and there lying on the last wooden bench was Eleanor, holding a bouquet of flowers with a handful of grains in her palm, and a bible on her torso. Lying there, she looked faintly pretty, like a bride on her wedding day. “Wake up! This is no time to sleep!” He shook her aggressively, but she was motionless to his shaking. She wasn’t breathing and her hands were ice cold, but body warm. She was dead. The priest stood emotionless, and not sure what to think, for her hardly knew her, but they worked together for twenty years. He picked her up and took her to the back and got a shovel from the closet of the church and begun to dig a steep rectangular spot where he carefully placed her into, with her bouquet of flowers and he sprinkled rice grains on her, like a bride. He buried her with s much dirt as possible and patted it with his feet and hands. He scribbled the name “Eleanor Rigby” into the dirt above where her headstone would be, and then wiped the dirt of his hands and knees, and walked away without a second look, for she would forever be the maiden name of Eleanor Rigby.