INTRODUCTION

 

We grow old and die, and so too our memories. Some fade away with time, whereas others follow us to the grave. I am no longer the child I once was, but even now in my early thirties, I have one of such memory that I know will follow me to my grave. It is the story I would like to share with you, if you will permit me to first lie back on this lounge chair and recall its details...

My Aunt's name is Caroline Martin, and this is her story.

 

Chapter 1

 

My Aunt was a happy woman, or at least as happy as I knew her to be, until when she lost her husband. Heart attack, was what I later found out it was. He'd been out in the garage tinkering under the floorboard of his car when it happened. Aunt Caroline wasn't home at the time, and even if she were, she probably wouldn't have known. It was one of the neighbours that found him, Mrs. Cavendish. She was strolling past their home walking her dog when something made her turn her head and she saw Edward's legs sticking out of his car unmoving. She hollered out to him but got no response. Curiosity got the better of her and when she realised what was about ran back towards the street, screaming for anyone to come help.

Caroline was two blocks away fixing her hair. When she returned there was an ambulance, a police car and a growing crowd of onlookers hovering and milling about her driveway. Baffled, she'd had to wade through the crowd, becoming afraid when she saw a body being pushed on a gurney into the back of the ambulance. It was Mrs. Cavendish who came to her rescue.

"Oh Caroline... I'm so very sorry-"

Reality stung her right there and then. Her body felt numb even as an officer came beside her, asking her if she knew the deceased. She barely listened to him. Her eyes followed the covered-up body being shoved into the ambulance. It was then she came back to life.

"Edward! Edward!" she cried out as she approached the ambulance's doors. She would have jumped inside it had there not been officers and one of the ambulance attendants who held her back as suddenly she broke into wrenching tears.

"Oh God... Edward! Edward!" she mumbled between tears.

Her neighbours watched with sympathetic eyes and two officers dragged her away from her husband's dead corpse.

My Aunt was never cut out to becoming a widow, not when she still had the rest of her life ahead of her. She was thirty-eight at the time. Her skin creamy white, long auburn hair with the loveliest pair of green eyes you could ever come in contact with. She had been a ballet dancer back in college, and though she didn't last through the program, and she'd added much weight on the specific areas, but not enough to make her plumb. Her body still retained that supple levity any college girl would die for. Her cheekbones were always quick with a smile. But when Edward passed away, that smile kind of went away from her. She became cold, weary, and distant. Life still went on for her as they normally did, but you could tell the light she once had wasn't there anymore. My parents felt sad for her. I used to hear them talking about what they could do to ease her pain. She's still young, I overheard my mom mention once. She could still find another man to fall for...

The weeks became months. My parents debated this issue back and forth every now and then though neither ever thought of confronting Caroline about it. They wanted to, but didn't know how. They were afraid she'd take it the wrong way. As for my Aunt, she grew depressed as the weeks turned into months. She barely carried on with herself, taking care of the house as well as her job as a municipal secretary. I took to spending frequent times with her. My parents allowed it as it would help ease her burden somewhat, as she and Edward never had any kids.

Things changed in the early weeks of May.

It was getting towards the ending of April when my Aunt decided the time had come she rented the upper room above the garage. It wasn't like she seriously needed the money-she's a contentious woman, my Aunt always has been. My later guess was she wanted to hear the sound of someone else's feet that didn't belong to mine or hers. Sometimes the house can get real claustrophobic I tell you.

She put out an ad in the newspaper and I helped her paint one on a mini-billboard and we nailed it in front of her driveway. It had been three months to the date that she lost Edward; his presence hung over the house like a shroud and obviously it worried her. She was still fighting to get herself back. Though she did smile, you could tell it perfunctory-like. And she wasn't the sort who spent much nights chatting with friends or going out.

I can't recall the exact date, though I remember it was the early week of May because then I was off from school. I was in her driveway playing with my Lego set with a friend from down the street, Daniel, when this taxi drove past our home. The taxi screeched to a stop and my friend and I turned to look at it. The cab reversed till it came to a stop in front of our driveway and the side door opened and this tall black man stepped out of it carrying a bag over his shoulder. He wore a leather jacket with a blue shirt and jeans. His head was shaved and he had a goatee beard. He settled the cab and then stood there turning his head around like he was checking out the neighbourhood. Daniel and I stood up and approached him. He turned his head and looked at us and smiled. He had a nice smile.

"Hi," Daniel and I said almost simultaneously like we were twins.

"Hi," he replied. "How're you kids doing?"

"Fine," we both said. Then I asked: "Who are you?"

He turned to look at the billboard standing beside the driveway and pointed at it. "Do you know if it's still available?"

"You mean the room? Yes, it sure is. Though you'll have to wait, my Aunt isn't at home yet."

He looked at the house. "Your Aunt, is she the one who lives here?"

"Yes, she is. You can sit on the front porch. She'll be back in the next hour."

"Thank you, little man," he said to me.

"I'm Jerry," I said to him and pointed to my friend. "He's Daniel."

"Nice meeting you both," he said to us then shook our hands. "My name's Curtis."

And that was how I first met Curtis Kouffe.