The Magical World of Aunt Agnes’ House

Today is my great aunt Agnes's 95th birthday.  I've been thinking about her all day, and I was digging around in my computer earlier when I came across this piece of writing I did during college.  So many of my childhood memories involve her and my uncle Carroll.  I left this piece in its original form, so while I was definitely a young writer, I really enjoyed rereading it.  I hope you do as well...

Here's to you, Aunt Agnes:

The World of Aunt Agnes’ House

The humid Arkansas air crawled around my body, covering my skin in sticky moistness.  My parents had sent me to stay with my great aunt Agnes for a week.  The memory of my father in his shirt and tie walking quickly through a busy airport while carrying my little Snoopy suitcase was still fresh in my mind. 

I looked down from my position, perched on a strong limb high in a magnolia tree.  The neighborhood was calm, with a few distant shouts of children.  As the wind whistled through the waxy leaves of leather, I climbed down to the bare ground beneath the tree. 

Suddenly, I emerged from the gentle protection of the under tree cave and was greeted by shooting rays of sunlight, causing my eyes to squint while desperately trying to see.  Time to go inside; I’m thirsty and hot.

My great aunt was in the kitchen, among cluttered counters and mixing bowls, making brownies.  “I’m going to go upstairs and play dress-up.  Is that ok?”  I asked.  She nodded her approval while intensely concentrating on her recipe. 

I ascended the creaky carpeted stairs, feeling the wood bow under my young feet.  As I rounded the top of the banister, I walked toward her bedroom, passing the bathroom with the antique ceramic pedestal sink and shag carpeting.  My bare feet slid across the thinning bedroom carpet with ease, and I felt the coolness of the breeze coming through the window. 

As I walked to the closet, I felt that familiar little slope in the floor, descending toward the window.  I opened the door to the closet and was greeted by a metallic creak of the hinges.  Ah, there it was: the pile of fancy clothes my aunt dare not wear.  As a child of the Great Depression, my great aunt could squeeze a penny until it bled.  She never threw anything away, which created a paradise for a child with such extravagant tastes as myself.  The more sparkles, the more colors, the better. 

I quickly buttoned her rainbow-sequined jacket over my T-shirt and fastened the lime green plaid pleated skirt around my waist.  Now it was time for the accessories.  A fuchsia feather boa retrieved from the top shelf of the closet proved to be an excellent choice, while the jewelry case provided even more options.  In my fine evening wear, I strolled over to the case to peruse the selection.  After digging in the boxes full of costume jewelry, I decided on some beaded clip-on earrings.  A colorful mixture of beads clung together in a heap secured by hot-glue.  With a diameter of about two inches, I knew I had no more room on my earlobes and decided to move on to bracelets.  Every single bracelet in the case quickly found its way to my wrists.  I liked to make noise when I walked.  My aunt’s rings soon had a home on my small fingers as well.  One turquoise ring, my favorite, went on the ring finger of my left hand.  Its stone was oblong and covered over half of my entire finger, allowing no bending of my knuckle.  A trip to the dressing table allowed me to finish off the look.  I spritzed a squirt of perfume from one of her many antique atomizers on my neck and wrists, coating my skin with the overpowering aroma of starched collars and Presbyterian Church pews.  Red lipstick, streaked in an uneven line across my lips, finalized my ensemble.

As I stepped into my Barbie high-heeled plastic shoes, I remembered that I needed a hat.  Looking at the bottom of her closet, I found a purple one—her signature color.  It was perfect.  With thin mesh netting stretched over my face, I was in high style.  The boa had fallen to lie gently in the crooks of my elbows, which I liked more, considering the added extravagance of being able to swing it with each step.  “Aunt Agnes, are the crumpets and tea ready?”  I called in an attempt at the British accent like the one I had heard on television.  “I reaahhlly am so tired.” 

My great aunt appeared at the foot of the stairs and called to me, “Oh, Miss Scarlet, I’m ready.”  I suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs, my elegance radiating from my illuminated face.  Slowly, I held up the front of my skirt with just the tips of my forefingers and thumbs, as a real lady would do, to show off my stylish pink shoes.  I balanced my boa between my elbows and bent my wrist to hold up the beaded evening bag that contained the red lipstick, just in case I needed a touch-up.

Upon my arrival at the foot of the stairs, my great aunt clapped her hands and laughingly exclaimed, “Honey, you’re BE-utiful!!”  I followed her though the living room full of dusty antique furniture and walls with too many coats of paint into the sunroom.  We sat on a stiff-cushioned wicker chair and munched our brownies and sipped Diet Coke out of her fancy china teacups.  Conversation was sparse, but we took comfort in each other’s presence while watching the hummingbirds feed outside the window.  Five more days of heaven before I would have to return to the other world—home.