The Aunts by Katie Curnow
Editor-in-chief Jennifer A. Howard on today’s bonus flash: My nieces are 10 and 12, and for me, this story is a field guide, a to-do list, even a prayer.
The Aunts
The aunts are cool and invite you over for sleepovers where they read your palms and remind you how happy you were when you were small. They never touch your hair, never comment on the length, the texture. They smile when you put it up and when you leave it down.
In past lives, they were midwives or godmothers. Some were executives, others academics, most occupied health or service roles. They were all poets.
With them, you can talk about anything: the bad thing in fourth grade, the guy on the bus, the story on the news about the dead girl with your same purple shirt.
They don’t sob like a mother fussing with your locks in her shaking fingers upon hearing you are just human, and not precious, for the first time.
The aunts know you’re more than the summation of acts against you. You aren’t so sure.
They say we can talk about it if you want, or not, it’s up to you. You decline.
They are widowed or single or remarried with boundaries (thank God).
In college, they say we can all go to the clinic or not, it’s your choice. So you all go and do it or don't. It's up to you.
And you are happy and sometimes sad and mostly forward-facing. Sometimes someone on the street yells you’re going to hell but one of your aunts is there and she tells you that you’ll never make them or God happy no matter the choices you make. God, who says he loves you but reminds you how bad you were when you were a child. Much like your father who spent all that time finding his happiness in other homes far away from troubled girls and women.
You wonder who even gets to be happy in this life.
You, you do, your aunt says, gently touching your palm where your lifeline extends farther than you ever imagined.
Katie Curnow is a Michigan-based writer. Her work can be found in McSweeney's and Belt Magazine's Happy Anyway: A Flint Anthology.
