Aunt Milly
By Louise Norlie
Cynthia still did not feel comfortable wearing a dress. She nervously picked at her bouquet and small white petals dropped beside her shiny black shoes. It was Aunt Milly who had encouraged her to wear dresses in the first place. Now everything had changed.
Cynthia thought that her aunt was the prettiest lady she had ever seen. Although she was a grown up, her hands were tiny and cool to the touch. Her hair was downy and soft. She told Cynthia that her favorite novel was Wuthering Heights. Although Cynthia felt the book
was too long to read, she imagined that it must be wonderfully romantic, just like her aunt.
Aunt Milly had a faded photograph of Cynthia’s great-grandmother that she kept in an old family album. Carefully posed over 120 years ago in a New York studio, the young lady delicately held a thin bough from which hung small dry roses. Draped in a gown of satin and lace, she was elegant but strangely melancholy. Cynthia loved to look at her.
Milly also had a beautiful doll collection which she had only recently allowed Cynthia to touch. The porcelain faces looked forlorn and the rigid eyebrows batted robotically when Cynthia shook them. From certain angles they looked almost frightening. They did not seem gentle like her aunt.
Music started and Cynthia began to walk stiffly up the aisle toward Richard. He was a retired truck driver. His face was leathery and heavily lined from years of smoking. It was his third marriage but her aunt’s first. Cynthia just didn’t like Richard and didn’t understand why Milly would ever do such a thing. As flower bearer, Cynthia clasped her bouquet and basket tightly, trying to hide her anger.
She could not comprehend how this came about. It seemed that one day Richard was suddenly appeared at her aunt’s house, sitting in a floral patterned chair, drinking coffee. Milly introduced him to her and he nodded his head.
Cynthia thought he was an ugly man. His ears looked pointed. He looked out of place in the beautiful house. Even when he smiled, it was a grim and tired smile, like he didn’t really mean it. Cynthia was relieved that he didn’t seem interested in making conversation
with her. Milly seemed to like him, which made the situation even more odd.
“When is he going to leave?” she whispered to her aunt in the kitchen. Milly smiled.
“Not for a while.”
“I don’t like him. He’s weird.”
“Cynthia! You’ll have to get used to him.” It seemed that Cynthia had said something wrong.
When she went back home, she asked her father about the strange man.
“He’s going to marry your aunt.”
“Why does she need to get married? He’s so old and weird looking. Isn’t she good enough as she is?” He laughed.
“Yes, she’s good enough as she is, but there’s more to it than that. You’ll see, someday.”
“But he’s so ugly!”
“That doesn’t matter when people are in love.”
When her father told her that her aunt was moving away to Canada after she got married, Cynthia was infuriated. She felt betrayed. At the wedding reception, she was sullen and did not want to speak to anyone. When Milly moved away, Cynthia received letters from her but refused to write back.
**
In school, Cynthia sat in front of the laughingstock of the class. Peter was his name, although he was generally called “Petey” in a sing-song tone of mockery. What was so bad about Petey? He was chubby. His dimpled cheeks looked like those of a chipmunk gorging on acorns. His shoelaces were always untied and he tripped over them. His mother did not buy him fashionable clothes and school supplies. Everyone said he wore his brother’s hand-me-downs. He had a lisp and could not say “sp” correctly. As a result, he didn’t have many friends.
“Say ‘I’m special!’ Say ‘I’m special!’” the other boys taunted him. Goaded into speaking, he massacred the pronunciation even more than usual and reddened with shame. At times, he even burst into tears, which made everyone laugh.
But Cynthia didn’t join in. She left Peter alone, and silently, without even asking if he needed them, shared her crayons with him. At recess, they often played together, far away from the other children.
One day in art class, Cynthia accidentally tipped a large box of colored pencils, spilling most of the contents all over the floor. They clinked to the floor and rolled in random directions. As Cynthia tried to keep the cumbersome box under control, Peter got on his hands and knees, crawling on the floor and under the desks to retrieve the strays.
The crashing noise drew immediate attention. The whole class, startled and amused by the explosion of pencils, rushed over. Seeing that Peter seemed to have the situation under control, no one else helped clean up. Suddenly one of the boys stepped forward.
“Petey likes Cynthia! Ha ha!” At this Peter blushed but continued working.
“Cynthia likes Petey back!” one of the girls taunted. Cynthia looked up and felt her face burning.
“Look! Now she’s blushing too!” someone cried. Now everyone was staring at her.
“No. I don’t!” Cynthia stammered, “He’s weird!” To hide her nervousness she spun on her heel and holding her head high, stamped her feet as she walked out the door. She never knew what they said to Peter after she left the room. In any case, she and Peter were not friends any more.
**
Almost two decades later, Cynthia heard from her parents that Richard had passed away. Milly still lived in Canada to be near her stepchildren. They exchanged cards over the holidays, but nothing more. After her childish rage had diminished, Cynthia had just been
too busy to correspond.
Cynthia couldn’t believe that so much time had passed since that wedding day. It seemed like it was just yesterday. She was divorced and after having been downsized from her firm, she was in the process of finding a new job. To make ends meet for a few months, she worked part-time at a gift shop at the mall. It was near Valentine’s Day. The store was stocked with rows of flowery red and pink greeting cards, glass statues of unicorns, music boxes adorned with fairy tale characters, wrapping paper, and inspirational books.
Not many customers came during the morning. She often stood staring into the mall concourse from her place at the counter. The uniformed security guards strolled peacefully through the emptiness. One security guard looked familiar. She looked at him every time he made his round but could not place him until the day when he entered the store.
As he looked at a swiveling display near the counter, she saw his name tag. It was Peter. His face was familiar only in profile. Otherwise he was very tall and completely different.
“Peter!” she called to him, “Don’t you remember me?”
“Sure, I do. Cynthia. I’ve known it was you for a few weeks,” he looked at her with a sour smile.
“How have you been?” He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged.
“Not bad. I do this by dayand I have my own show on talk radio at night.” He spoke loudly, with a rather ironic aggressiveness.
“What station?” He told her.
“I’m so glad to know that you’re doing well. Radio! That’s great. I’ll have to tune in tonight.”
“If you’d like to.”
“I guess we’ll see each other around here in the upcoming months.”
“Maybe, but I’m planning on quitting this soon and concentrating on my radio work.”
“Well, good luck then.”
“Thanks.” He turned to leave.
“Peter! Wait! I want you to know that I’m sorry,” she called. He turned and gazed at her intently.
“About what?” he replied in a softer tone, even though he was at a distance.
“You know,” she added. He raised his eyebrows but then continued on his route. Cynthia could not tell if he really did remember, and she did not know whether she wanted him to remember or not, but for some reason she felt like crying.
~~~~~~~
