paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- missing my aunts My weekend was sandwiched by telephone conversations with my two favorite aunts. Our relationships become increasingly complicated and difficult as our families erode. They are from two completely different families. Cara is my father�s little sister. Beth is my step-father�s little sister. They have two things in common. One is that in the world of family gratitude, I divide my chips between them. The second is, quite oddly, that they both work in the pharmaceutical industry. Cara and Beth met once when they were both in State City during a holiday. Mother and the Major were having a holiday party, Beth was visiting from Boston, and Cara dropped by to say hello. Actually, I believe my father accidentally locked her out from his house, she was pregnant and it was cold. So she rang the doorbell and I brought her inside. I took her up to my room and Beth joined us and we had a wonderful evening. I left them in there as I returned to my party to do my junior hostess duties, walking around with little trays of appetizers, making small talk with Mother�s and Major�s friends. I was so envious of my two favorite adults up there having their own party, jealous because I was 13 and that is one of the strengths of 13-year-old girls. I brought them plates of food, beverages, and even eavesdropped on them. Because they knew me better than anyone, they knew that I was probably eavesdropping and started saying really nice things about me. But they spoke too loud, and so I caught them� They did promise it was all true. What a nice surprise to find Cara on the phone, just in a friendly, chatty mood. No questions or guilt about why I have sort of dropped out of the family. She called because she missed me and wants me to come to Indianapolis for Thanksgiving and her 50th birthday. She missed me so much she read my favorite book � at least my favorite book the last time we were close � My Antonia by Willa Cather�and every night as she read the book she thought about me. And oddly, I thought about her. I wrote on a piece of paper about three weeks ago, while half asleep on the couch, �I miss Cara.� The past six years we have drifted apart because my father has a problem with my being gay. Or, if it is not my father, it is his wife. And this is extremely awkward because we cannot get past it. It is puzzling because my grandmother had a big affair with a woman. At least, that is the suspicion, because once when my cousin and I were visiting, she said �you girls sleep in Carolyn�s room and she will sleep with me.� It was odd because this was always the guest room/junk warehouse and we had spent years playing in the closet. And although it was supposedly Carolyn�s room, it looked exactly like the guest room/junk warehouse. We peeked in the closet, and it was full of old junk, per usual. The next day, we opened a drawer next to our grandmother�s bed and found it full of Carolyn�s tube socks. Being incredibly worldly, I knew what this meant. I remember telling my cousin �anyone who has this many tube socks in another woman�s dresser is a fixture.� I knew how to talk about this because of the large number of wives, husbands, live-ins, that I had witness from my parents. I asked my cousin, �did you get Carolyn a Christmas present?� She hadn�t. I did a quick poll of the family and no one had gotten Carolyn a present, even those who knew she would be there. I made all of my cousins make cards for Carolyn and I made her a set of paper dolls. We wrapped them up so the tube-sock-wearing, folk-singing, woman would at least have something to open the next morning. Well, I made her cry with this gesture, but she was fairly gutsy. I would not have been able to do it, and when I look back on it, I am quite proud of my instincts, even at 10, for kindness. But things ended badly for my grandmother and Carolyn. Cara had to call my father one night to move her out after she had had too much to drink and had my youngest cousin who was a baby on her lap with a gun. My father drove down there in excess of 100 miles an hour and that was supposedly the end of it. So perhaps the incident has prejudiced my family. Although Quinn does not wear tube socks and would never make my father with his vast soloist ego listen to her strum chords on the guitar. I digress with the family gossip. My relationship with my father�s sisters, who are probably not as weird about this as my father, just went down with the ship. I don�t want to have to sort this out because there is not much point in it. I spent so many years being hurt by my father and trying to live up to his expectations that, although it sounds bad, I just don�t miss him. We have conversations and he is always on his very best behavior. I like it that way. So I am contemplating going east for Thanksgiving � leaving Quinn at home definitely by her preference � to have a holiday under control. I don�t know if I can do it, but maybe I won�t think about it� I�ll just make my airline reservations and go. I remember comments that people make and then I become nervous about letting them know I am gay. Once Cara said �I don�t like it that such a beautiful word as gay is used to signify homosexual relationships. I want the word back.� This was before anyone suspected I was gay and I was at the time masquerading as a married woman. But it offended me at the time because I knew I was attracted to and fell in love with women. I married a man I didn't really love in some effort to surrender myself to middle-America, mediocrity and just live an easy life because I was tired and uncertain of myself. So I thought �I can�t tell Cara because she once made the comment�� But I am more comfortable with who I am now. And I also have more monetary flexibility � if I am uncomfortable; I leave early. The thing is that Cara loves heart to heart talks with a beer or two long into the night. And it would not be respectful to who I am to pretend otherwise about my life. She knows I live with a woman named Quinn and given the whole thing with my grandmother and Carolyn, I bet the rest has been guessed. Now my aunt Beth is a different story. She is the first person I told about Quinn and she has been completely supportive of our relationship. Beth prides herself on being a social butterfly. She flits about the eastern seaboard and visits her many, many friends. I love talking to her because she gets out and about to some of my favorite places in Boston. Most of her friends are familiar to me through parties, vacations and her stories. Beth gives great advice, too, and is an accomplished cheerleader and morale booster. She talks fast, uses the occasional profanity, and is incredibly emotional. It is easy to get her mad, but also easy to get her unmad. When I lived in Boston, we used to go to the movies, eat M&M�s and then get Mexican food in Brookline, which is actually where she lives. We did this almost every Sunday night during the winter. I would get home about 11:30, quietly sneak into my room where my male model roommate Keith would already be getting his beauty sleep. (Strictly platonic relationship.) After I moved back to State City, Beth would call me on Sundays a lot because she missed her movie buddy. So it was so fitting that she called tonight. But I miss Beth, too, because we rarely get to see each other. When she comes to town, she stays with Mother and the Major and is their collector�s item. She is different around her brother � kind of stressed and trying too hard. And Quinn and I have not been able to get to Boston for several years. It is difficult to maintain a close relationship without seeing someone for a while. The phone calls spread out, the e-mails too, the postcards�. Before you know it, those precious phone calls are spent just catching up, which is tiring. We mainly want to make certain we both have some good things going in our lives, are not too miserable with the jobs, and then we console each other a bit and say that one day we will have more creative jobs. Tonight we talked about how chicken we have each been to go after something we would love. How we have played it safe and have gotten so far away from anything that might allow us to earn a living doing something we love that neither of us can find our way back. The people who really love what they are doing, who are somehow engaging themselves not just performing for pay are noticeably happier. I can say the strangest thing about myself � my oddest worry or most eccentric thought, and Beth can relate. I have never stumped her with my oddities. And I love that. But mostly, I lover her, even though she is far from perfect and can be downright tiring, because she has a generous heart and a brilliant mind. 12:26 a.m. - 2002-09-16 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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