Wednesday, September 1, 2010

From Reel Cinema-If You Like That-Aunt Jane

As we pulled away I looked back and saw Aunt Jane waving from the front window. I saw her in August staring down the block past the garbage cans, kinked and bashed at the curb, her fingers resting on the sill of the half open window. A light breeze tickled the ends of the white curtains. She was thinking about Uncle Mark back when he called on Sunday afternoons in his blue pinstriped suit, his already thin black hair and his polished black shoes. He drove up through Albia and out to the country, and back along Crooked Lake where they stopped to dream, back when his eyes were icy blue in the lake's reflection, when she was secretly afraid, but so in love. She listened to the long-and-ever June bug harping through the heated afternoon. From time to time, a fish rose on the lake and she watched the concentric circles ripple to nothingness. They might build a cabin up there some day, in a couple of years, say 1925. Aunt Jane raised her arm to wave, perhaps to call to him, but he was gone and her hand that was a fist just a second before, settled in a brush of fingers along the folds of her dress and the silent room took over.


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