Aunt Lisa

  I smiled and said "Hello Aunt Lisa" in the cutest possible way that a 13 year old could. Just 20 minutes back, I had told mom that I hated going to Aunt Lisa's place. It took me a few years to understand why mom was sending me away to Aunt Lisa's place every weekend. 

  For a single mom living with her teenage daughter, dating men who wanted to spend the Friday night with her was easier when the teenager was away somewhere else. Two years before this, mom had come home with a man and I was home. When the man wanted to spend the night on bed and the place has only one bedroom, the teenager had to sleep on the couch. I hated the fact that a grown up man who I had not met before would be sleeping on my bed. Little did I think that he would be sleeping with mom on her bed. I was too young to realize that although there were two beds in the bedroom, the man staying would probably not want to sleep alone in a separate bed.  

   I guess there is a difference between the age of 11 and 13. At 11, you are allowed to be home when mom comes home with a stranger. At 13, you are not. I don't know if mom brought the men home or stayed over at their place. I know that Aunt Lisa let the men stay over at her place. Aunt Lisa has been single all her life. Unlike mom, she had been careful and avoided having kids. For reasons unknown, I was not allowed to tell mom that aunt was seeing someone. In return, I was bribed with the spare quarters and dollar lying around the house, that aunt cleaned up before I came and had to 'dispose off'. 

   For the past several weeks, Aunt Lisa has been with the same guy. By now he even knew my name, but I did not know his name nor cared to ask. The routine was the same every weekend : 

    8 PM - Mom drops me off at Aunt Lisa's place

    8 to 8:30 PM - Aunt Lisa and I cleans up the place. I get to keep the spare change that I find lying around. 

    8:50 PM - Aunt Lisa says "All that money you find lying around is your's to keep. All I want you to do is respect my privacy and not tell anyone about my private matters. That means - not a word about any of my friends visiting me to your mom or anyone else". 

   8:59 PM - Aunt Lisa is all dressed up and the house smells of the floral perfume that she has spayed on her and in the room to get rid of the smell of weed. 

   9:00 PM - The frantically cleaning Aunt Lisa turns to the relaxed Aunt Lisa with a wine in her hand, smooth jazz playing at a volume low enough to make it sound like white noise rather than jazz. The TV is on, by muted with some silly children's animation playing. We both are sitting on the couch watching the cartoon, but both of us are waiting for the knock on the door - aunt waiting for her man and me waiting to change the TV channel. 

   9:02 PM - Aunt has looked at the wall clock 3 times and her wrist watch about 10 times in the past minute.   

  9:03 PM -  There is the knock on the door. 

 Aunt springs off the couch and runs to the door, perfectly balancing the glass of wine in her hand while adjusting her hair with the other, all at the same time. 

She opens the door, he walks in silently, she closes the door and as if the sound of the door closing is the cue, they both break into singing "Hiiii, how are you ? You look so good today". 

9:20 PM - they both have finished two glasses of wine. He looks at her, she looks at me. I look at the TV as if it is the most interesting animation that I have seen. 

9:30 PM - Aunt Lisa says in a voice louder than her conversation during the past 27 minutes "I am so sleepy. Its been a long day".  Her man replies, matching her loudness "Me too".  

Aunt turns to me and asks "Are you sure you will be OK alone in your bedroom ? If you need anything at all please help yourself to anything that is in the kitchen. If you want me, please knock on the bedroom door". 

9:31 PM  - They both walk towards the bedroom. I hear the sound of the bedroom door gently close behind me. 

One Friday Night

   Mom came home with someone that I had not met before. It was yet another Friday night – the happiest day of the week for me. I was in 8^th grade and had some idea what was going on in my mom’s life, but was at an age and in a state of mind that it didn’t bother me much.

    Mom and I lived in a two room apartment in Brox. One of the rooms was a bedroom that I shared with mom, the other was the living room that has a kitchen and dining area in one corner. It was the same routine every weekday – I would go to school in the morning, play with the two girls in the next apartment, eat whatever was in the kitchen, do my homework and go to sleep in the bedroom that I shared with my mom. Mom would usually be back just after I was done with my homework. The usual conversation would be if I had eaten, did my homework and how school was. There was a rhythm and order to the way mom asked the questions. I developed a rhythm to my answer too. I don’t know what mom did for a living, but our life was monotonous on the weekdays.

    Friday nights were different. I would get clear instructions on Friday mornings “Don’t stay out late, it is Friday night” mom would say, without explaining what was so special about Friday night that I couldn’t not stay outside the house for too long. I was supposed to finish my homework and sleep on the couch in the living room. Mom always spent extra time tidying up the bedroom on Friday mornings and I was not to use it on Friday nights.

    Although I didn’t understand why, I didn’t question mom on her Friday routine. I would go to sleep on the couch, watching the TV. Late at night, I would wake up hearing the sound of the door opening and mom whispering to whoever was with her. I would be too lazy to open my eyes. I would catch bits of mom’s conversation with whoever was with her. Sometimes they would go straight to the bedroom and I would go back to sleep. Sometimes there would be a short conversation between mom and the men before I would hear the bedroom door close. Usually the question from the stranger would include “How old is your daughter?” There was no consistency in mom’s answers – sometime she replied that I was 8, sometimes 9, 10, 11 or12.

    I always woke up late on Saturdays. Mom worked at night on Saturdays. By the time I woke up, the bedroom would be empty and mom would be in the kitchen preparing food. I didn’t bother asking my mom who was with her on Friday night and what she did. From the same question regarding my age being repeated by the man’s voice, I figured that it was a different person who came by each Friday.

   Looking back, I am trying hard to remember if I could remember anything more from the bits and pieces of conversations that I heard on Friday nights. I cannot. I am trying hard to remember if I heard any sounds from the bedroom. I don’t remember. I don’t remember ever seeing the face of the man or men who came in with my mom, except once.

     One Saturday morning, I woke up as usual and went to the kitchen. Mom was not there. The bedroom was still closed. I remember mom coming in late the previous night. I heard the sound of her conversation with a man and both of them going to the kitchen area and then to the bedroom. It must have been close to noon when mom and the man came out of the bedroom. He saw me sitting on the couch, watching TV. I looked at him, he smiled at me. I looked at the TV, then at him, but didn’t know how to respond. He came straight towards me, extended his hand and shook my hand, introducing himself “Hi, I am Mark”. Mom was behind Mark and then saying something to him, interrupting his conversation with me. I went back

   Next Friday morning, mom’s instructions were different. I was to spend the evening and the night at aunty Lisa’s house. Aunt Lisa stayed a block from where we were. She lived alone. I visited her occasionally, but had not stayed over before. I didn’t know what to expect. I wondered why I had to go through a different routine that day. I wondered if I could have stayed at home if I had smiled back at Mark.

   I told mom that I didn’t want to go to Aunty Lisa’s place. I wanted to stay home in the evening. Mom was adamant. She said she had told Aunt Lisa and the arrangements were made for me to stay with Aunt Lisa that night. If I refused, I would be sent away, to stay with my dad in Texas. I choose spending one night at Aunt Lisa’s place over Texas. 

  

   Little did mom know that what she was sending me away from was what she was sending me to.