Drown

The Union

My dearest Auntie was truly the only woman I ever loved, simply because she showered me with the love and attention that my own mother seemed incapable of showing. It was as if we both shared a common bond, being the youngest in our respective families, constantly living in the shadows of our older siblings who received all the praise and favour from our parents. Deep down in my heart, I couldn't help but acknowledge that this was the reason my mother harboured disdain towards me. It became increasingly evident to me that I showed her sister more love and affection than I could ever muster for her.

However, my mother's animosity toward me went beyond mere jealousy. Whenever my perfect older brother would partake in school events or play sports, I was always forced to stay home and protect the house. While everyone else revelled in my brother's achievements, I couldn't help but feel the weight of my own isolation. During these moments, I would seize the opportunity to sneak out of the house and pay a visit to my beloved Auntie. Our conversations would last for hours, filled with laughter and stories about my mother's younger days.

My Auntie, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, would recount tales of my mother's arrogance and self-importance. "I remember her thinking she was all that, a real spoiled brat," my Auntie would chuckle, "The day I was born, she saw me as a threat to her position. So, in retaliation, whenever I felt threatened by her during the day, I would secretly stuff her pillow with dead frogs at night." Listening to these stories, I began to realize that my mother hid her true nature behind a facade of superiority.

As my visits to my Auntie's became more frequent, time seemed to slip away unnoticed. Often, I would lose track of time and find myself needing to sneak back into my own house because I had spent too long with her. It wasn't long before my mother discovered my secret escapades. She seemed to possess eyes and ears all around town, and I became the subject of her scrutiny. One day, she confronted me with utter frustration, warning me to stay away from my Auntie. "She's plotting against me, and I won't have my own child associating with someone like that," she shouted with a mix of anger and fear.

Despite my mother's vehement warnings, I continued to sneak out to see my Auntie. I became more determined, even as my mother found ways to lock me inside the house, desperate to keep me away from my beloved aunt. However, on my last visit before being confined to the house, my Auntie revealed a secret that left me completely intrigued. "Do you know why your mother acts this way?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "As children, she believed that being the firstborn made her perfect. She did everything in her power to maintain that perception. Joining every club and excelling at every sport, she always strived to be on top."

My Auntie went on, revealing the one thing that ignited my mother's hatred towards her - art. Despite all my mother's achievements, there was one area where Auntie always surpassed her, and that was in the realm of artistic talent. Pulling out several paintings from a hidden cupboard, she unveiled a collection of stunning, awe-inspiring artwork. I couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at her immense talent. "Our parents admired me for this, showering me with praise," my Auntie continued, "but my sister's eyes burned with jealousy. She despised me for the one thing she couldn't outshine. Your mother has a twisted side, my dear nephew, and it would seem she fears history repeating itself within her own family."

That was the last time my Auntie and I exchanged words, or so I thought. A couple of weeks later, as I walked home early from school, I noticed my father's car parked outside our house. To my surprise, Auntie's car was parked right next to it. Confusion filled my mind as I recalled my mother's words forbidding Auntie from entering our home. Proceeding cautiously, I opened the front door to the sounds emanating from my parents' room. My curiosity got the better of me, and I crept up the stairs, careful not to make any noise. Peeking through the slightly ajar door, my eyes widened at the shock of what I witnessed. There, in a vile twist of betrayal, Auntie and my father were entangled, their clothes strewn across the floor. The sound of my school bag accidentally hitting the ground caught their attention just as they were reaching their climax. Both of them saw me peeking through the door, and the shock on their faces was palpable.

"What are you doing here?" they both yelled simultaneously, their voices filled with panic. Startled, I turned and sprinted back to my room, shutting the door behind me. From within, I could hear the rustling of clothes and frantic whispers as they hastily dressed. Peering out of my window, I saw Auntie jump into her car and speed away. A few minutes later, my father entered my room and sat on my bed, his face filled with guilt and remorse.

"Son, I know what you witnessed doesn't make sense, but I implore you, in all that is dear to you, don't tell your mother about what happened today. Let it remain our little secret," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation.

In stunned silence, I nodded my agreement, unable to find words to articulate the deep pain and confusion that overwhelmed me. My father left my room, hopped back into his car, and drove off to work, leaving me alone with the heavy burden of what I had just witnessed.