“Don’t be foolish,” I heard my father say on the phone. As I placed my ear against the door, I waited anxiously for more information. “Vicky, you cannot take an entire semester off of school! I don’t care what the hell is going on with your love life.” Oh god, not my aunt Victoria. The only other time I’d encountered her had been on Thanksgiving a few years back when she told my grandfather she wanted to study art instead of biology. Pop-pop’s hope of bragging rights about his surgeon daughter along with a new house went down the drain. Not only did he voice his dissent, but he decided to bring unwilling volunteers into the conversation, resulting in a heated argument. It was the worst Thanksgiving.

            Dad remained silent for a long time. What was she saying to him? I just hoped she wouldn’t come back disturbing the peace again and cause more anger and resentment. Every time I visited Pop-pop, she would always find a way to resurface to any topic he was discussing. He would rant all day, even as I tried to tell him of my 8^th grade graduation approaching.

            “Y’know Victoria graduated the 8^th grade with honors,” he had told me last week. “She was destined for greatness. Then she went to college and devolved into some damn hippie…” he had continued on and on until I texted Dad to pick me up. I didn’t hate my aunt, but Pop-pop always made it so hard for me to like her.

I didn’t notice how long Dad had been silent until his deep voice brought me out of my memories. “Ok, Vicky. Just come home. Just come home.” I slumped by the door in a pool of disappointment. Just then, I realized that I should probably be somewhere else instead of in front of this particular door. As the door began to open, I stumbled to my feet only to slip and fall to the ground with my ass in the air.

            “What did I tell you about eavesdropping?” Dad reprimanded.

I turned over and sat criss-crossed against the wall in order to offer my rebuttal, “I’m an important member of this family aren’t I? I think I should know if someone’s gonna come live with us.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, “I cannot argue with you right now, Julia. Your aunt took all my energy.” He walked over to sit down next to me. “Your aunt.” He paused as he tried to muster up any remaining strength. “Your aunt Victoria. You remember her don’t you? Thanksgiving?”

“Uh, yah. Fantaaaasic time,” I muttered.

            He continued on as if he hadn’t heard me, “Well, she’s coming to live with us for a couple of months. She’s just having a rather difficult time down at school.”

            “Wow, I thought she was pretty smart,” I sarcastically interjected.

            “Cut the crap, Jules. She’s just a bit burnt out. We all only have so much energy to deal with things.” Oh, god, he was going to start talking about his own problems, particularly with Ma.

            I attempted to keep the conversation on track, “So…When’s she coming?”

            “Sunday. So we only have three days to get this house in shape.” He turned to look at me. “Julia, I know you two aren’t very close, but please just endure this.  You’re going to be starting high school soon, so I’m expecting you to handle this like a young adult. Just keep your distance if you can.” He thought for a brief moment, “Now I’m not saying you won’t be spending some time with her. In fact, I can actually get a lot of work done if she can watch you whenever…”

            I awoke to a loud slam. Jumping out of bed, I didn’t think to check the clock. I probably overslept. I exited my room, only running back to retrieve a hair tie to tie up my long, curly hair, which was inhibiting my vision.

            “Julia! Come in here!” I greeted my father’s loud mouth.

            “I’m right here. Geez, Dad.”

            “Oh wow, you’ve grown! How pretty are you!” I turned to address an airy voice. The mean mug slipped off of my face and there stood her slender figure dressed in dark-wash jeggings with an oversized burgundy sweater. Every accessory on her fingers, wrists, neck, and ears only complimented her lovely round face. She raised her hand to adjust the flowered headband which rested on the abundance of short, dark-brown, kinky hair. I was in an embarrassed awe.

            “Um, thirteen…,” I answered as I uncomfortably shifted my weight.

            “Well you’re absolutely beautiful, Julia” she complimented me as she dropped her large purse to draw nearer. I almost retreated a step back, but decided against it knowing the dire consequences I faced from my father. She reached her destination with open arms and wholly embraced me. She smelled of some type of fancy flower I would never care to learn the name of. Engulfed in her overwhelmingly Boho presence, I impatiently waited for this encounter to end.

            She deeply sighed and uttered, “Home. Good to be home.” And for the first time, I felt a familiar vibe coming from her, almost an unexplainable sadness that I never wanted to face in life. I cleared my throat to imply that her time in my bubble of personal space had concluded. “Oh! Hahaha,” she laughed as she drew back.  She turned and looked at Dad. “Well, thanks for letting me stay here for awhile. Glad to be home, guys.”

            “Well Jules can show you to your room and I’ll bring in the rest of your things,” Dad said.

            “Thanks so much. Oh, my easel!” she exclaimed.

            “Don’t worry, Vicky. It’s in the trunk,” he reassured her. “Jules, help her out with some of those bags.”

            Over the next few weeks, I ambitiously avoided paths with my aunt. There were few times where she would knock on my door to talk, but I only had given her some excuse (usually homework) as to why I couldn’t chat it up with her at the moment. Most of the time she stayed gone with friends or spent time in her room painting. Dad spent extra hours at the office and always called when he would be arriving late for dinner. She cooked, but I always waited to eat her tasty food after she was already in her room.  

            “How are you two getting along?” Dad asked one day. I began sweating bullets because I knew I could not tell him I was avoiding her.

            “Ok. We rarely see each other, and she’s always gone or in her room being artsy and what not.”

            He laughed but then got serious, “Well, she wants to take you to the movies. Invite some of your friends. It’ll be a blast.” Friends. I really didn’t have anyone I was that close to. I found my band buddies rather stuck-up.  At least the ones my age. “She’s not that bad, Jules. Give her a chance. It’ll be good for you to have a female role-model in your life…” Shit, he was going to start talking about Ma again.

            “Ok! I’ll go. Just drop it, please.”

            That night I decided to meet her in her room before the movie. I don’t know why. Maybe I was too anxious to wait for her to come to my room. As I approached her door, I could hear the notes of a powerful guitar melody seep from her doorway. I slowed my steps to attempt to recognize the song that was playing on what I assumed to be the radio. Some old rock band most likely. Pop was all the rage at school. So no one my age really listened to that kind of music, but it had always interested me since Dad played once in awhile. The closer I got, the clearer the lyrics became: In the final curtain call, you left me here with the coldest of feelings… As a bass guitar riff created a strong emphasis on “coldest of feelings,” my spine shivered. When I reached the doorway, I saw her in some kind of “artistic” fit. Each swift stroke of her brush coincided perfectly with her body, which rhythmically moved to the sluggish beat of the rock ballad. The lights were dimmed. How the hell could she see?

            I watched this magnificently depressing spectacle for a moment. Why was the singer’s voice so chilling? It was like a funeral. Finally, I decided to create some disturbance in order to get her attention. I gently knocked, and she turned to face me with tears in her eyes. “Oh! Julia! One sec, hun.” She attempted to hide her face from me as she wiped her eyes. She rushed over to turn the music off on her laptop and pulled a chair out for me to sit. Apprehensively, I sat and looked up at her painting while she rustled through her closet for clothes free of paint. Odd. Though light pastel colors covered the easel, the actual painting was shocking: two obscure figures faced each other as one clutched at its bloody chest while the other was in the process of dropping a heart. It was frightening.

            “So, you’re probably wondering about that painting, huh?” she asked with a half-smirk. As she placed another over-sized sweater on, I could only utter out a bunch of Um’s and Uh’s. “It’s ok. I’m just going through some things right now.” She walked over to the window and opened it. Then she sat on her bed to pull out a lumpy cigarette and lit it. “I know you don’t care for me, and I wish to God this was a different time where we could bond.” She took a drag. “Do you listen to rock?”

            “Not really. It’s all about Justin Beiber at school. But I really liked the song you were painting to,” I offered as a subtle compliment. In some kind of fucked up inverse way, my fear of her was subsiding. She was pretty creepy, but I felt she needed me. Regardless of all her friends, she seemed lonely, like me.

            She chuckled to herself, “Oh, Je-SUS. But yeah, Coheed and Cambria.”

            “A what?” I confusedly wondered.

            “That’s the band. Coheed and Cambria. That song is from one of their more depressing albums. Though…most of their songs are sad as hell… But the guitar work and vocals are too beautiful to ignore.” She took another drag from her ugly cigarette.

            “Oh…Your cigarette stinks. Dad smokes all the time but his don’t smell like that.”Again she chuckled to herself. I hoped that I was being clever, but I was just glad she wasn’t crying anymore.

“Oh, yeah. Hm, I shouldn’t be smoking this with you in here. Let me finish this up.”

“So, is that some kind of old school, classic band or something?” I asked.

“Hell no. They’re pretty contemporary. I just love their songs,” she stated as her cigarette continued to shrink.   

“Well, I like their sound. I guess I don’t know much about that style of music. But we do play a lot of contemporary band music!” I wanted to impress her, but I felt like I was hopelessly failing.

“That’s awesome. I was in band, too. It’s a great experience. It really solidified my love and passion for music.”

“But, you paint.” I said.

“Yes. I do. I tend to be better at that than rockin’ out on bass.” I laughed.  Her face turned serious. It was that dream-like face again. She continued on, “But music inspires me. It’s like a medium through which I can extract certain things from my heart, y’know?” I silently nodded. She placed the tiny remains of her cigarette in an ashtray on the coffee table next to her bed and then asked, “What do you like to do?”

“Play the piano. And read. I like to read.”

“You seem very intelligent. Ron wasn’t kidding when he said you were smart,” she said with a smile.

My eyes widened in disbelief. “Dad said that about me?”

“Girl, yes. He’s very proud of you. Though he rarely allows himself to show it since your mother left. His heart has always been in the right place.” She paused to think for a moment, all the while staring at me. She was trying to read any emotional responses from the mention of Ma. “Have you talked to her as of late? God, you look so much like her, besides from your skin tone.” She knew she was walking on eggshells with bringing this up.

“Not really. She called last month to say hi.” I was oddly comfortable. She understood pain, a different pain, but deep pain nonetheless. “I don’t know. I’ve come to terms that I’m only an afterthought in my mother’s mind. I don’t even know where she is right now.”

My aunt continued to stare at me until she began, “God, you’re mature for your age. Ron and I lost our mother when you were still young. Since he’s so much older, he helped Pops raise me. But. Your pain is so much greater. This person is still on this Earth, walking around, living life, and choosing not to include you in it.” Her words slapped me in the face. I’d never had someone sum up my own feelings so accurately to me. She raised her hands to adjust a braided headband in her hair, this time she had picked her hair out into a small afro. I reached up to feel my long mane, consisting of looser curls. Maybe she could teach me how to take care of my hair.

The next three months flew by as I continued to spend time with my aunt. She would take me to and pick me up from school when Dad wasn’t able to. We would go for drives and listen to some Coheed along with classical rock. I laughed one time when she started to play a Queen song in the car.

“The hell is so funny?” she asked me.

“I don’t know. Dad doesn’t like Queen so I always thought they kinda…sucked.”

“Sweet Lord. Your father can be such an ass. You have to find the beauty in any type of music and try to make it personally specific to you. Here, listen. Bohemian Rhapsody. You’ll appreciate it as a band kid, I’m sure.” As the song began, the lead’s voice amazed me as he sang, but the piano really moved me. It inspired me.

I played the piano for her and she helped me write some songs. It was what she called therapeutic. It did help me. She also helped me expand my music collection: Killswitch Engage, Rilo Kiley, Metric, along with some classic artists like Hendrix and Joplin. She also encouraged me to go to more social gatherings that my school held. I promised to, but I knew it would take some time before I was comfortable enough.

 “That’s ok, Julia. Don’t go searching for useless friends. The people that are meant to be in your life, you’ll find them,” she told me as we sat at the table in a local diner. She looked out the window and gazed for awhile. She gazed on and said, “Definitely don’t go looking for people who don’t want to be bothered…” I hated when she went into her sad reverie, but I understood. She blinked back to reality. “Just remember: don’t put in more effort than you should.”

“How do I know how much effort to put in?”

As my 8^th grade graduation approached, I couldn’t help but feel a dark cloud dampen my happiness. My aunt would be leaving right before. I guess she had found some job in California painting for some important people. She never elaborated. I also noticed that she spent more time in her room, smoking her ugly cigarettes. She was letting the pain win. I think it had something to do with leaving. At least, I had hoped it did.

Time passed by so quickly and as she retreated into her painting, I retreated into my music and school activities with my band. I actually started teaching some of the younger kids their parts during rehearsal. I was sharing a part of me with them. It was nice.

Then, before I knew it, the day of my graduation had arrived, but my aunt would be leaving shortly before. That morning, she helped me get ready and talked on and on about music and life and stuff. Then, as she was styling my hair, I suddenly burst out, “Why won’t you stay? You know how much it means to me.”

She kept combing my hair as she took a moment to respond, “I know. I just can’t. I just can’t deal with some arriving drama.” Pop-pop. I knew it. I understood, but it still hurt. I only nodded in silence. After she was finished with my hair, she handed me my bohemian-inspired outfit: an ankle-length blue skirt and light blouse with stripes. She even bought me some cowboy boots to go with my it.

When I finished dressing, she came into the room and smiled. “Beautiful. Just beautiful.” But there was that sadness in her eyes again.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as she drew nearer.

She embraced me and sighed, “I’ve got to leave, Julia.”

“I understand.”

“You remember: You are a beautiful person, inside and out. Don’t ever rely on someone to affirm that for you. You have strength I wish I still had.” She cradled my head as she went on, “We’re two of a kind, y’know. Remember that. Always.” She pulled back to wipe the tears from her face. “Walk me out?”

I stood at the door as I watched Dad help her with her luggage. He leaned into her car and talked to her for awhile. I never knew what was discussed.  As she drove away, I ran out to wave.

“I’ll be back soon!”she yelled over the heavy metal playing in her car. Then I watched her drive away from us. Away from me.

“Well, look at you! You look gorgeous!” Dad interrupted my thoughts. “Where did you get this get-up?”

I smiled and replied, “Aunt Vick.”