“In my day, there was no such thing as getting pulled over for a rolling stop.” The old lady can lie with a straight face—we honestly should enter her in a few poker championships.
“That makes absolutely no sense. I’m pretty sure you weren’t allowed to just run stop signs whenever you felt like it.”
She chuckles beside me, her petite frame overwhelmed by her garish outfit. Actually, it’s a caftan and it matches her hair to perfection but also makes her look tiny in the passenger seat of my parents’ big Tahoe.
“Are you hungry?” she asks. “I could go for a bite to eat and a martini.”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
My great aunt grunts. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“Please don’t start quoting Jimmy Buffett. You’re giving me a headache.”
She laughs again. “I was just giving you a hard time. I don’t actually do my drinking until at least one o’clock after my nap.”
Aunt Myrtle looks out the window and goes silent, watching the scenery go by—I can see the lenses of her glasses reflecting in the window and in the rearview mirror when I glance over, and I wonder for a brief second what she could possibly be thinking about. I wonder what she thinks of the world she’s living in now, and how different it is from the one she grew up in.
I feel guilty.
Maybe I should get the old lady a martini.
I turned twenty-one last year and am certainly old enough to walk into a bar with her and order her one, although I wouldn’t know a single place that’s open this time of day.
Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.
Guess we’ll just have to go home. Besides, Mom is waiting for us there, and she and Aunt Myrtle have their routine. Plus, I still have to unpack and get my shit ready for school.
My bedroom, right next to my brother’s, is apparently made of paper-thin walls. It didn’t bother me before, but now? Now it bothers me. Why? Well, I’m pretty sure he jerks off when he thinks I’m asleep if the noises coming through the walls are any indication.
I need to move out like yesterday.
“You know what I’ve been thinking?” Aunt Myrtle speaks at last.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been thinking,” I say with a laugh. She’s good-humored and laughs too.
Of all the members of my family, I am the least like her—she’s outgoing and gregarious, and I am neither of those things. Even compared to my parents and my brother, I am introverted and quiet, happy to observe rather than participate.
My great aunt certainly isn’t shy about voicing her thoughts, and I’m curious to hear what she’s about to say, my hands gripping the wheel as I make a right-hand turn onto our road, drive the five hundred feet to the driveway, and slowly ascend up it.
“I think it’s time you left the nest.”
Is she implying that I ought to move out of my parents’ house?
“I did leave the nest, remember?” I just got back from living in the United Kingdom for several months.
“Eh.” She makes a sound in her throat. “You know what I mean, Roman. You need your own space. You can’t keep living with that little brother of yours. You’re a man now.”
“Where do you suggest I go? I haven’t lived on campus in three years—I’m not about to go live in the dorms as a senior in college.”
“I’m not suggesting you go live in the dorms. Living in the dorms is like riding the school bus—no good comes of it.”
“What are you even talking about?” I put the car into park and help her unbuckle her seat belt before exiting the vehicle and going around to the passenger side so I can help her out. There’s a little folding step stool beneath her feet, and I remove it from the car and set it on the ground to make this step down easier.
She is a tiny little thing, but she has big opinions.
“All I’m saying is you don’t want to sleep on a mattress that’s as thin as a piece of toast and that hundreds of people have banged on.” She gives her head a shake. “Do you know when the last time they replaced those mattresses was? Probably when I was in college.”
Great Aunt Myrtle is one of the few females of her generation who actually attended university. It wasn’t common for young women to go to school back in the day, but she and my grandma both went for business and eventually helped my grandfather run his corporation.
Grandma and Aunt Myrtle used to love telling stories about their sorority days, cotillions, and all the young bucks that vied for their attention; two smart and beautiful co-eds living in the fifties were a hot commodity.
“The last thing I want to do is live in the dorms. I’m an old man compared to the people who live there.”