Aunt Kitty

He chatted about his relationship with this democratic river, that was most often lazy and whispery, and rarely in a testy mood. “Just about where the GW Bridge stands, it’s like an old man awakening from a nap sensing its approach to the turbulent Atlantic, it takes on a youthful vigor.”

“It’s almost poetry I’m hearing, said Aunt Kitty looking toward the silver bridge.

“More like the makings of a Barcarolle,” he laughed. He turned to her, becoming serious and almost in a whisper he said rapidly, “I must talk to you. I want to pick your brain and beg you to tell me anything that you know about my father, and perhaps the easier part, all about my grandparents and your lives in California. Mom doesn't like to talk about it. It frustrates me. She darkens any time I raise the issue. In the beginning she fought back tears. But now she has built a protective wall, impenetrable and silent. I don’t ask anymore we are now constantly in a brighter place. I love her, she loves me. We are close, yet in many ways we are strangers.”

He looked away from her so that she could release those physical emotions he knew she was struggling to conceal. He too was struggling ease into the next question.

“If she has instructed you to remain silent, please violate that agreement for me. I learn things about her by accident. The first summer at the Wilder's I learned that she was an extraordinary tennis player, a skilled horseman. On clear evenings, sitting under the heavens, she points out the planets, stars and constellations. We have the same genes, for I too have that insatiable appetite for information. I too am curious about this universe. But I am more focused on knowing more about what and who inhabits my immediate world. I am on a mission ...

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...urprise for me that she made a career of it.

Aunt kitty paused and appeared to be combing through her mental files.

“Your mother was very outgoing, she was curious about everything, and was not afraid to experience things that were considered off-limits for women. You do know your mother has or had a pilot’s license?”

“She does?” Neil was open-mouthed. “She’s a pilot?”

“She never told you? Why would that never have come up in conversation? Good heavens,” she looked baffled. “Well she does, and she flew cross-country to visit me several times. Well I suppose after your father’s death she was frightened, and of course she didn’t want you becoming an orphan.”

They both grew silent. Finally, she laughed. She looked at Neil who was still sitting and leaning on his knees; she reached over and puts her arms around him.”I hope this wasn't too disturbing for you.”