My aunt knelt down slowly and tugged the sleeve of my faded pink t - shirt, the emerald green, patterned block turtle pressed into my chest, a friend. A summer shirt, made of thick cotton and slightly discolored at the neck. The tug was an adjustment, evening the placement across my round, thin shoulders. 

She looked into me with wide, soft eyes. I refrained to meet her. I did not yet welcome her visits as they often meant we would go away.

My mom, in the tan billowing trousers and red blouse she’d sewn herself, stood beside me in the doorway. Her neat permed hair firm and unwavering, her wide bifocals framing precise, keen eyes. She had work to do. 

So off I went, into the bliss of a summer day. 

My cousins waited for me in the boxy red van parked out front. Surely it was getting warm in there. My aunt opened the door to the house, turning the brass knob and pushing ever so slowly. The creek of the dated joints extended an entertiny. The sun seeped in and warmed my cheeks. My whole body flushed. My feet grew heavy. 

My Aunt reminded me how much I enjoyed the lake. I am a little older now. Distractibility no longer worked on me. 

This was a feeling I did not like, a circumstance I rejected, yet I stayed still and silent, reaching deep into myself, and understood. 

I rallied all I could as I turned away from the door in a steady procession, stepping out onto the concrete pathway. My elbows brushed against the vivid green hedges. 

All was quiet except for the occasional passing car, a brief whoosh and then gone, on with their day. The breeze blew through the stalks of corn in the neighboring fields. 

“Can you keep her until 7?” My mother asks. I stand by my aunt’s side, reaching only her hips. A few wisps of my short silky hair blow across my face. Others brush up against my aunt’s firm body. Delicate and unassuming, she does not feel them.

“There’s a guild meeting this evening.” A pause between the two women. My aunt responds in the most matter of factly tone. 

“Well I sure can, but don’t you think Kathy is getting old enough to go with you?” 

I harden further still, my face solid and secure. Beads of sweat trickle down over my ear, the cold slimy sensation sends a slight chill through my spine. 

The cicadas buzz, too early in the day for them. Their calls heighten and then release, mellow, a measurement of time. 

I hear my mother breathe. She lets out a feigning cheer of a laugh. It is brief, soaked in condescendation. Yet, you do not mind, as it was meant for you. In mere moments, it is gone as if it never happened, as if you were never there.  

“It is just business tonight, nothing that will interest her.” 

I am devastated. I hold tighter to the stillness across my face, clenching my teeth and bending my neck ever so slightly to see a few weeds beneath me peeking through the crevices in the pathway. 

My aunt squeezes my hand. 

I have learned. The adults also hear my mother’s words, and in their own ways, abide. 

Knowing this makes me feel a little less small. We are all up against it, whatever “it,” is. 

I try to understand.