When I was 18 my family sent me to live with my Aunt for the summer. I guess we were upper-middle class, with my father climbing the ladder of success. My dad had been busy building a new company in France and he thought it was a good opportunity for he and my mother to spend some time alone there while he was working. They also decided it would be a good time for me to get out of the burbs and into the country. I’d be away alone for the first time in my life. Not that it mattered much; my father spent almost all of his time working, and my mother was always experimenting with the “miracle diet of the month” and various medications to control her chronic depression. I practically raised myself without either of them, escaping into books and music.
I was basically a good kid…a bit introverted, thoughtful, honest, polite, and sensitive. Physically, I was small bonded, and on the short side for my age. Never having had a role model to emulate, I had no experience with sports. Somy body, while well proportioned, had a subtly frail appearance. Even though it would be late June when I arrived at Aunt Carol’s, my pale skin would illustrate the fact that I spent most of my time in doors.
After being sure I had everything packed, I loaded my stuff into the Oldsmobile sedan and climbed into the back seat for the long ride to Amberton, NH. The ride from our home in Arlington, MA would take about three and a half hours. I knew there would be no conversation of any substance; just long periods of silence punctuated by the occasional burst of country music when my father found a clear station on the Olds’ lousy radio. I braced myself for the drive.
I watched the scenery moving by the window, changing from big concrete office buildings to residential communities, and as the Boston skyline disappeared in the rear view mirror, the view became a college of green.
I began thinking of Aunt Carol as we drove. Well, to be clear, she was not really my aunt. She and my mother had gone to Vassar together years ago, and my mom had always stayed in touch. After college, my mother and father got married, and Carol joined the Peace Corps., working to develop irrigation systems in Nigeria. It was apparently a pretty wild time, and she often became the center of negotiations with several factions within the country. All the major politicians there knew her by name. While in Africa, she met a British man named Ian Spence. They married shortly after and returning to live in the US when their stay in the Corps. was up. They settled in Northern NH, and bought a pretty little farm. After only a few years Ian developed living cancer. Being from tough stock and never having been sick in his life, he was not in the habit of regular medical check-ups. The Cancer was pretty well established by the time he began feeling ill. Six months after the diagnosis, he was dead. At 52 Aunt Carol was widowed, alone in NH on her farm. The only fortunate thing was that sheand Ian had purchased a fairly large life insurance policy which left her debt free, and with the equivalent of 5 or 6 years worth of income in her savings account. A good situation…but a horrible price to pay for it.
Aunt Carol never married again. I guess she throw her self into her work to deal with the grief of her loss. She became a part-time lesson in the Political Science Dept. at Green Valley College and developed a sculpture and pottery business. Her barn was converted into a studio, and she spent hours refining her skill as a sculptress. Her work centered on techniques she observed in Africa. The little African style figures and simple pottery she made became some chic in the better shops in the region, and she soon had a cult following. Between teaching and sculpting, she earned a more than enough to live, and with Some shrewd investing of the insurance money, she would be sure of financial security for the rest of her life.
Over the years Aunt Carol would come over for anniversaries, birthdays, and various holidays. We spent one Christmas at her house, but after driving through the snow for hours on the trip home, my father swore never to go there in the winter again. I enjoyed seeing Aunt Carol. She was the one adult that actually spoke to me as a human being. She always made a point of asking me real questions and worked to include me in conversations with the other adults. Although she had not played a very large part in my life, I always felt a special affect for her, and it seemed mutual.
Something had happened in the later years though. I don’t think it was any one thing, but we didn’t see Aunt Carol so much any more. I think she and my mom just grew apart. She had not seen me since I was 12 or 13. So when my parents suddenly told me I would be spending two and a half months with Aunt Carol, I was both surprised and elated.
As we pulled onto the road that led to the farm, I was struck by how green and lush thelandscape was. Her house was almost as I had remembered; a simple white New England style farmhouse, with big bay windows, stained glass in the second floor, a barn, and the perfunctory half imploded equipment shed (it seemed, at least to my 18 y.o. mind, that every farm had at least one dilapidated shed that looked like it was about to fall down). The landscape trailed down across a green meadow to a stream which was too Large to be called a brook, but too small to be called a river. The edges of the property lay somewhere in the areas of forest that flanked the house to the East, and just beyond the stream to the South.
We got out of the car and approached the house when Aunt Carol appeared through the door. She was wearing a pair of denim bib overalls, sneakers and a T-Shirt. Her hair was a thick mass of brown waves that were striped with gray as they cascaded aver her shoulder blades. Her face was stretched into a big grin that showed two rows of perfectly formed white teethBehind her full lips. It was only after she hugged my mother and turned to me that I remembered how wonderful her eyes were. They were a gray blue that could pierce right through your soul. The skin of her face was smooth and clear with just a hint of her 43 years showing in the fine lines of her forehead and at the corners of her eyes. When she hugged me I realized that I had grown some since I saw her last, but I still needed to grow some more to catch up to her 5’10” status. As we embraced I melted into her soft body, her full breasts, and her firm grasp. Although I did not know it as such at the time, my little body was starved for that type of heartfelt affection that I never got at home.
The greetings were rushed because my father wanted to get back home to get a good night’s sleep before his early morning flight. So almost as soon as we arrived, my stuff was unloaded and I watched the back end of the big Olds winding away from us down the driveway. Aunt Carol helped me get my stuff into the house and showed my upstairs to my room. We then went down to the kitchen and she offered me some iced tea. I felt a bit nervous at first, but Aunt Carol’s warm demeanor soon put me at ease. After the tea was down she said I looked tired, and I was. She suggested I go take a nap before dinner, and we could talk more then.
After dinner we went out onto the porch. The house had one of those porch swings outside and we both settled in, me with some lemonade and she with a beer. We chatted for a while and finally she stood and walked to the edge of the porch facing me while leaning on the railing. “I have to be really honest with you,” she said looking away. “And I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but I have mixed feelings about having you here.” I was silent. All that could be heard were the crickets and an occasional whisper of the light breeze in the trees. “It is not that I don’t like you. I like you very, very much. In fact I think of you as my real nephew. I always used to look forward to talking to you during the holidays we spent together.” I stared a blank star as she continued. “Its just that…well, you know I’ve been living here a really long time alone, and I am used to being here alone. I am accustomed things being a certain way in my home. Do you know what I mean?” She paused still looking away. “When your mother called and asked if you could stay with me, I was hesitant to say yes. Then I remember how much I enjoyed spending time with you, and I relented. Besides, your parents need this time together…probably more than you know.” She shifted on her feet, still looking off at some unknown object in the meadow. “It is important for you to know that I am glad that you are here. I am looking forward to becoming good friends this summer. But it is also important for you to realize that I am not your parent. There are things I expect of you while you are here. I am not going to ask much of you, but those things I request, Iexpect to be done.”
She turned to me for the first time in her monologue and looked at me straight in the eye. The expression I saw on her face was one that I had not seen before. It was the face not of the Aunt Carol I knew, but of the woman who was strong enough to negotiate with the Nigerian Government, to survive the loss of her husband and go on. It was the face of a woman who was focused, clear and determined. “Is it a deal?”
I paused for a moment, transfixed by her intensity glance. “Aunt Carol,” I said, “I’m glad that you allowed me to come out here to stay with you. I’ll do whatever I can to be a good guest, and not be any trouble around here.” “OK then. It’s a deal,” she said as she approached me and took my hand in hers to shake on it. It was then that I noticed how big and firm her hands were. They were working hands. Hands called from years of pottery work and sculpting. I looked up as we shook hands and saw that the familiar Aunt Carol had returned again and was smiling warmly down at me. She spent about an hour explaining the deal to me and when we were both tired, we turned in for the night.
I awoke in my room to the bright sunlight streaming into the window. The Farmhouse was situated with southern exposure, which gave my small room bright light all day long. As my head began to clear, I was recalling details of the “deal” Aunt Carol and I made. It was simple. She taught at the college in the morning. When she left for work, she would leave a list of chores for me to do while she was away. I was to do them in the morning and then I was free to do whatever I wanted for the rest of the day. I was also expected to be at dinner on time at 6 PM sharp. She was very specific about not wanting to come looking for me. She told me that the most important thing for her was honesty, and that she needed to know that she could trust me. Simple enough I thought, and began my Summer with Aunt Carol.
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