The Thief of Lost Time

Chapter 32: "What Do You Want to Be When You Grow Up?"

My family always celebrated Christmas dinner at the Concord Inn, except the year Uncle Neal, my mother's brother, invited us to his house. I wasn't happy when Mom told me. Uncle Neal, a heavy, boisterous man, always lunged at me whenever I walked by. He laughed, thinking it fun, but he'd done this since I was young, and it still made me nervous. I kept my distance.

On Christmas morning, after opening family presents at home, we picked up Aunt Ellen and Grandma Bess, before driving to Weston. Neither of them had ever learned to drive.

My grandmother, whose large bosom fascinated my fourteen-year-old libido, always dressed in black with a multi-strand of pearls around her neck. 'They're fake,' she once said when I asked if they were valuable. In the car, she snapped open her purse and took out a cigarette. She tapped it on the back of her hand, then lit it. After her first puff, she popped open the ashtray in the door handle. Leslie rolled down her window a crack.

"The Baptists came caroling last night," she said.

Aunt Ellen looked up from poking around in her pocketbook. "Who came?"

"THE BAPTISTS!"

"What did they want?" Aunt Ellen asked.

"THEY WERE CAROLING."

Mom turned from the front seat to show she was listening.

Grandma continued her story: "When I heard singing, I thought I'd left the radio on. I went into the living room to shut it off when I noticed people on the front porch looking in my windows. I opened the door and there was Frank Darby, the pastor from the Baptist Church. And there I was with a cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in the other."

We all laughed, although I didn't know why it was funny.

"Why stare through my windows on Christmas Eve? They might see something they shouldn't."

"They came because you live alone," Mom said. "They wanted to share the Christmas spirit."

"I don't go to their church." Grandma was indignant. "It seems a bit high-handed to me. They probably wanted a donation."

"I live alone," my great-aunt said, "and they didn't come by my house. I would have enjoyed hearing them."

"You live on the second floor," her sister said. "They can't look through your windows!"

***

At my uncle's house, I went to the kitchen to wish Aunt Alice a Merry Christmas. Born in Virginia, she sometimes argued with Mom about civil rights. She called it the Black Question.

"My goodness. I think you've grown a foot since I saw you last." She leaned toward me for a kiss, but she didn't want my lips touching her cheeks. "How old are you now?"

"Fourteen last month."

"You'll be off to college before we know it."

"I only started high school this year."

She waved her hand dismissively. "High school will fly by in a flash! I've made ham, cheese potatoes, and peas. All your favorites."

I returned to the living room to look at the presents under the tree. "Are all the presents ready, Santa?" my uncle roared, trying to grab me as I passed him. Startled, I jumped back, almost knocking into my grandmother and stepping on her corns.

"Neal! Stop pestering him!" she said. "Your voice is enough to wake the dead."

"You don't mind, do you, Bub?"

Pretending I didn't hear him, I knelt by the tree. "Time for presents." I read the tag on the first package.

"The first one's for Aunt Ellen."