MY AUNT KATHY

     Little Jackie Paper had Puff.  Puff was a magic dragon.  Obviously.  Big Bird had Snuffy.  Even

one of my daughters had Keeka Keek.  Keeka apparently hailed from North Dakota.  Her middle

name was Paula.  I assumed this middle name helped people differentiate between her first and

oddly similar last names.  Comfort.  Quiet comfort pulled from thin air.  As children, we are

often hesitant to own our actions.  Or words.  Or complicated emotions.  An imaginary friend

can sometimes make for a much softer landing onto new fertile terrain.  I never had an imaginary

friend.  And it wasn't for lack of imagination.  I was a thin, almost shadow-less figure that

easily moved between multiple worlds.  I just had no use for an imaginary friend.  I had my Aunt

Kathy.

     When I was five, my parents were young and struggling.  Overwhelmed, mostly.  They were

like so many Jack's and Diane's of their time.  Just two American kids doing the best that they can.

Sometimes though, the tensions and the screaming crept up to particularly dangerous levels.  And in

would swoop Aunt Kathy.  Just in time.  Always just in time.  I'm not sure if she sensed that she was

needed or not, but there she was with an adventure to be had.

     As least, they were adventures to me.  Aunt Kathy had the ability to turn any errand into the high

seas.  Going to the DMV for a 1970's old school car inspection was one.  Horned rimmed glasses

and silver tie clips.  The smell of hair tonic hanging in the air.  The unspoken scent and uniform of

middle management.  Dark, frowning faces.  It became a game.  We would stare back at the

serious DMV crew in an attempt to get someone to smile.  I furrowed my brow with as much

sincerity and seriousness that a five-year-old could muster, but to no avail.  Aunt Kathy and I

spent the afternoon giggling and having DMV-styled staring contests.

     "Hazards, please," I would say sternly.

     "Left blinker," Aunt Kathy would respond.

     Sometimes our adventures were sort of quasi-adventures.  The adventure wasn't necessarily the

activity.  The adventure was the vibe.  Me and her and other assorted quiet, rag-tag souls once spent

an afternoon at a nearly forgotten cemetery.  We had parchment paper and made pencil shaded

replicas of some of the oldest stones.  It was a gray October day.  The trees were bare.  Empty dirt,

mostly.  The occasional weed sprouting up between the stones.  We took turns spraying whipped

cream into each other's mouths, reading about the deaths of soldiers and young mothers from

decades long gone.  Many came close, but couldn't quite hold on to watch the old century change and

spawn up some new days.  It all felt so open, so quiet.  So free.  And now, I'm glad I have no photos

of this.  It makes a much richer memory than and staged picture could capture.  And that's how it

went.

     But just like Little Jackie Paper, we all grow up.  We move on.  And a kind and gently soul like

my Aunt Kathy?  The world just sort of swallowed her up.  Too often the world licks its lips and

feasts off the meek and their understated beauty.  Bad times.  Darker days.  Unrest.  And me?  I left

my childhood as far behind as I could and tried my hand at adult living.  Some successes.  Some

failures.  And there were days when I found myself daydreaming about DMV inspections and

discarded cemetery stones.  And with both feet so firmly planted in the adult world, those days began

to feel as it they were somehow just imagined.  It's strange sometimes how reality can just feel like

pure imagination as the years smooth out all the edges.  Years of what seem like disjointed memories

and moments begin to play back like perfectly written prose.  A narrative that you had planned to

write all along.  Maybe this is time's kindness to us all.

     After years apart, Aunt Kathy and I found each other again.  At a time when I needed a little

family, someone who knew me and the boy I once was, there she was.  She swooped right in.  And

just like all those years ago, I wasn't really sure if she sensed that she was needed or that she just had

uncanny timing.  No matter.  There she was.  Just how I remembered.  Quite comfort.  And so much

better than even  the best imaginary friend.



For more inspirational stories from Chris Bowen, just click here.  Happy Reading!