6

“Mawhly! Mawh-ly! She’s here, Lukey, she’s here!” Liza hollered from the old swing set at the back of the yard. She jumped from the swing at it’s highest arc and ran to Molly, long, brown pig tails whipping as she galloped to the patio. Liza was tiny for a three-year-old but made up for it in speed. The girl did everything fast—run, walk, talk, eat, sleep, and love. Luke, a late walker and a constant smiler, ambled after Liza like he was saddle sore with a slobbery grin. The kid had yet to outgrow his intrigue with spittle. He started blowing bubbles at three months old and never really stopped. He nearly always had some spit somewhere on his face. A long stringy bit swung back and forth like a pendulum ticking out the time as Molly took in the scene around her. Farthest from Molly sat Aunt Alice in her wheelchair next to a few empty lawn chairs. In between them was the old redwood picnic table her grandpa had made in the middle. Most of Annie’s kids where sitting there in varying degrees of impatience waiting for food. Molly heard the sound of dishes and cooking and happy conversation coming from the partly open sliding doors.

“She’s your Aunt, Liza. You should call her Aunt Molly,” said Annie’s five year old Sarah. Liza ignored her and kept shouting “Mawhly!” and running full speed. The smell of Grandma Brown’s meatloaf mixed with the smell of the mosquito candle and for a brief second, Molly heard the echo of her mother’s laugh. And then she saw green as Liza barreled into Molly’s legs, toppling her into the hedge she’d just come around. All at once, Liza and Mike started laughing, Sarah scolding, Luke crying, and Aunt Alice probably rolled her eyes.

5

Of all the positives she listed out when deciding to come home, “Being an Aunt” was written very large, circled and underlined. It was the biggest reason. It was strange to her how differently she and Aunt Alice saw their Aunthood. Listed opposite to “Being an Aunt” was “Being with Aunt Alice.” And even though it was unjustified and probably unhealthy, Molly couldn’t help but feel guilty for her pointed dislike of her Mother’s only sibling. Maybe part of it was a feeling of obligation that Molly, try as she might, was incapable of honoring—she couldn’t love her mother’s adored sister. Alice and Evelyn were as close as Mike and Molly growing up. After Alices’ messy divorce, she’d moved in with the Browns and Molly had often seen the two on their stomachs in the living room, by the garden, or on Mom’s bed, feet lazily kicking air, giggling like teenagers. She even giggled with Mike, who was a senior that year and quickly became Aunt Alice’s darling. But what had been a neutral lack of like before Alice moved in quickly became a tense and thinly veiled mutual dislike. Equally mutual was the silent agreement to make happy for Evelyn. In the ten years since her death, Alice and Molly had continued that agreement though it became more strained each year.

Molly had never quite understood what was wrong with their relationship, or what Aunt Alice felt was so wrong with Molly. Oh, she had the usual nit picky list of grievances memorized—Molly was spoiled, she didn’t help out Mother enough (she should not just do her assigned chores but look for others to do without asking), expected too much from financially (apparently a beat up Oldsmobile sans fender and 100K+ miles was too swanky of a teenage car in Aunt Alice’s estimation), was emotionally needy (she couldn’t say hello or goodbye without hugging her parents). Molly was also selfish (i.e. messy room), she didn’t think of how her actions affected others (staying out 4 minutes past curfew, ONCE!), and she was weak because she ran away from her problems (when she dropped physics because the math was too hard and took anatomy instead). Molly did feel guilty for everyone of Alice’s charges against her, but in more mature moments she felt wronged. What sixteen year old youngest child daddy’s girl isn’t a bit spoiled, selfish, and emotionally fragile? There was never slack to be had when it came to the way Alice cut her opinions of Molly. With her parents gone, Molly had tried to cling to everything of value to her parents. In her own muddled way that included Aunt Alice and her opinions.

4- This One is For Breezy

The shrieking guffaw that was uniquely Annie’s floated above the hedge Aunt Alice had disappeared behind and instantly dried Molly’s eyes before the traitorous moisture could combine against her into tears. Pulling herself into a formidable mountain pose, Molly’s mind reverted to it’s usual defenses—accessing and then immersing itself in her most recent research project. She’d retreated into many subjects over the years, most recently Asian political geography, Degas, a study of assembly lines, European 16th Century history, Early Judaism, deciduous ornamental shrubs of zone 4, and currently Pranayama, one of the five principles of yoga relating to breath control. Her first thought was to try a Bhramari breath, even though she wasn’t sitting, and began to “snore” in through her nose and exhale making a buzzing sound.

“Annie still hates all things winged but you won’t intimidate Aunt Alice off pretending to be a bee.” Molly whipped her head around searching for those laughing green eyes of her dear brother.

“Mike!” She said, leaving her suitcase and her mountain pose and stepping toward him before she could fully seem him. “Is everyone here hiding in the bushes? Since when did this house get so shadowy and overgrown? And I wasn’t buzzing, well, I was, but I was also extending and disciplining my life force. If I’m going to live here I need an open heart center.”

“As usual, I only have a vague idea of what you are talking about but I’m happy if your happy. Or my life force is open if your life force is open. Buzz on!” He said as he pulled her into a thick hug.

“It’s an open heart and an extended life force but whatever. It’s so good to see you! Even here. Seeing you here is a bit--”

“Weird.” He pulled back to look at her face.

“I was thinking something more-“

“Depressing?” for a second he looked too concerned for comfort until his nostrils started twitching with the effort of holding back a smile.

“I was going to say specific. But let’s just go with weird. It’s sufficiently vague and an acceptably current idiomatically.” She never had to sensor her language around Mike. She could always be 100% Molly and never alter her vocabulary at the last second to avoid sounding, well, let’s go with weird.

“Hate to break it to you sister, but “weird” is dated. Which makes you old.”

“It was your word! You’re the old one.”

“I’m not old, I have kids. That makes me a young family man!”

“Are you calling me a spinster? I can’t be a spinster at 28. And where is your family, man?”

“Behind all those shadows and overgrowth. Wait until you see Luke, talk about overgrowth. The kid is huge! He’s nearly bigger than Liza.”

“Well, but she’s so petite.” Molly said as they walked arm in arm to the backyard. At last Molly could retreat into the role of admiring Aunt, even if the bulk of that admiration had been from afar. It was a comfortable and comforting role. Molly would be (almost) fine if she never had kids of her own as long as she had plenty of nieces and nephews. She took her job of outrageously spoiling them very seriously. It was her responsibility to compensate them for being short a couple of grandparents, that and to hype them up on sugar then pass them back to the parents for the crash. All the fun, none of the discipline or messy stuff.

Rule Changes

You may or may not have noticed the silence over here...there is a very good reason for that, most of which boils down to sleep deprivation. We've had a lot of bad nights since Emiline's 4 month appt. She didn't handle her shots well and then Jane got really sick, a double ear infection and pink eye and then Emiline got it and then I got a bit of it, too. So the new rule is, if I don't sleep through the night, I'm not required to write. I can, if I can make time for it. But so far I haven't been able to. But no fear, I haven't abandoned this project!

3

The house was quiet. If she’d been coming home to her parents, she would have expected the front door to fling wide open almost as soon as she pulled up and her mother flying down the walk, long hair flapping in the breeze, before she could get out of the car. Maybe it was just because she was the baby, but her parents had always been enthusiastic to see Molly come home after any kind of absence, even just a sleep over or a weekend school trip. As it was, not even a curtain fluttered. Certainly Aunt Alice wasn’t going to roll out to greet her, even if she did like or even approve of Molly, she was still new at the whole wheelchair thing. That much she knew from Mike. Seventeen months older than her, Mike was shorter and more muscular, sweeter and more lovable, as well as smarter (although less ambitious and thus less accomplished) with a more palatable wit, than Molly. This melt-in-your-mouth wit was Molly’s primary source of information on the prickles and prudery of Aunt Alice. It also made Mike everyone’s firm favorite, especially Aunt Alice. He had the great luck to live 45 minutes up the freeway, close enough to visit but enough distance to not be one of those gnats Aunt Alice was always straining at.

Molly found herself smiling to herself and humming “There was an old lady who swallowed a fly…” as she bent over to pull her suitcase out of the trunk.

“You’re late.” The song startled in Molly’s throat, modulating into a squeak. Her suitcase banged off the bumper to the ground and on her foot. The words were not unkind but still held the distinct sharpness of Aunt Alice.

“But you’re here” she muttered as she rolled back behind the shadowed hedge that led to the backyard.

“I was lost.” Molly whispered to her suitcase in her tiniest of voices, the kind she usually reserved for when her inner dialogue was too brilliant to not be spoken out loud but not meant for anyone’s ears (but also for when she was in unexpected pain and needed to curse and not be heard). Either her tiny voice was not so tiny or Aunt Alice’s ears where making up for other deficits because Molly thought she heard a snort and a snarling rhetorical “was?” come from the shadows nearest Aunt Alice. Unsure of the cause, Molly felt her eyes water. Could she do this?

2

In the ten years that Greenfield grew suburbs, Molly had become as convoluted and unfamiliar as the circuitous labyrinth that is the sub-division carved out from the farmland that used to surround the Brown home. The squinting in the half-light of dusk at the scribbled directions on the Wendy’s bag to her old house kept Molly’s focus from slipping to her fluttering panic at coming home. She could do this. She had to do this. There was no way that Annie was going to think even for a minute that she was right after all these years. Molly would keep it together and prove that Annie had never understood her, even if she liked to think she was understanding about school and oh so generous. But it was Molly’s money. Only the purse string’s belonged to Annie. Nettled and peeved, Molly’s spine stood a little straighter at just the thought of Annie’s presumption. Annie was her sister and the trustee, not her Mother. She’d had a mother, she didn’t want a replacement.

Molly turned the last left onto Jewel Lane and felt all her emotions suspended at the sight of her old house. Same house, same color, same sidewalk but with a few more cracks leading up to the same cherry red door. Different house numbers, totally different address, same basketball hoop above the garage. The landscaping was basically the same but so much more voluminous, changing the shadows and the tenor of the place into something darker and less innocent. Strangely Molly felt at home. Not because this was the place of happy memories and childhood or because her loved ones lived here but because Molly felt like her old home—the same but so different. In the drafty place in her heart she felt something spark and sizzle for a moment as she put the car in park. She could do this.

1

Molly could remember when Greenfield wasn't much more than a green field and a few stop lights along Main Street. She was excited when at age 11 McDonald's came to town, astonished when at age 12 Burger King showed up across the street (aren't they the same thing except one has happy meals?), and relieved when Wendy's made their way in by the time she started driving at 15. Now Greenfield's fast food industry was showing a little class! But it was really Wal-Mart that put their little town of almost 4,000 on the map. Strange that in college Molly’s freshman roommate joined the Responsible Growth Project and was even part of a human chain in protest of Wal-Mart building in her home neighborhood while for Molly, Wal-Mart meant late night shopping (open til midnight!) access to goods she'd have to drive 45 minutes up the freeway for otherwise, and, should she some day get married, a place to register besides the hardware store.

What used to be a short drive down Main Street, right at the second light and out of town 5 miles, over what is sometimes a creek but usually a wash, left and then the first (OK, only) house on the left with the circular driveway was now no longer recognizable as the way home. The Brown’s wholesome, down-home white ranch was now at the end of a cul-de-sac. In the ten years since Molly went away to college Greenfield grew suburbs. Her triumphal if not confused return in her silver Saturn to the home she grew up in required snaking her way through the slightly fashionable although prosaically named suburb of Blue Creek. The Brown’s were lucky in that their suburb was named before the city planners got pretentious. Some of their good friends and longtime residents of Morrison County got stuck with Azure Spring, Indigo Heights, and Cimarron Pond.