Mole — Roleplayer Guild

a short story | RPGC#38
women & veteran rights

The Uncle

Part i.

     It was almost time to go. Her mother said so. She had been saying so for the past hour. At least, that’s what the clock told her. 

     Just a second. Be patient, dear. Her mother said, again. The older woman kept repeating herself over and over again, until her daughter finally gave up.

     She sat herself on the living room couch and stared at the blank screen in front of her. She wasn’t allowed to turn it on, because they were about to leave. 

     She looked down at her hands. She fiddled with them for a while and thought of playing her gaming device, but she wasn’t allowed to, because they were about to leave.

     Her feet fluttered for entertainment and eventually stopped. She didn’t want to accidentally kick the couch with the back of her heels. Her mother would get upset.

     She thought about retreating to her bedroom, but she might get too carried away and not be ready to leave, which was very soon.

     Her mother was still putting on make-up and fixing her hair.  For her mother, appearances were everything. In fact, she always felt shy and embarrassed by how other people would stare at her mother. It made her want to run and hide.

     She especially dreaded when someone told her how special she was to have such a beautiful mother. Sometimes, the comments would even get more uncomfortable. She would be told that she would be just as beautiful as her mother when she grew up.

     But, it always took her mother forever to get ready, and she made a promise to herself, to never be like her. When it was time to leave, she would simply just leave. There would be nothing to it.

     She fiddled with her fingers again and then slouched her shoulders. Her back leaned into the cushion, and quietly, she stared at the ceiling.

     At first, she concentrated on the textures of the ceiling, and slowly, she forgot she was even looking at the ceiling. Her mind drifted far away from the couch, her house, and her mother.

     She thought of that old movie her mother once let her watch on a rare Friday night. She was able to eat in front of the television and have pizza — at the same time! 

     The movie had some old man reading a young boy a book. The movie was mostly about the book, and it was packed full of adventures, just like her uncle.

     A small daze ran through her mind. She imagined some tragic accident happening to her mother. Maybe a car accident or something. The details were lacking, but she imagined herself being quiet and sad at the funeral when suddenly, a gentle hand was placed upon her shoulder. 

     The hand belonged to her uncle. She was going to live with him from now on, at least, until her father finally finished his work in New York. It seemed like a scary proposition, but she always liked her uncle.

     When he took her to his place, her aunt was more concerned about her own children. They had their own lives and schedules. Things were much different now, and she missed her mother.

     Her uncle’s house was louder than her mother’s house. It was more rambunctious, and her aunt was always in work-out clothes. She also kept her hair short, and sometimes, she imagined her aunt was actually a man.

     However, every night, her uncle would put her to sleep and open the diary he kept while he was in the United States Navy. He would read to her until she fell asleep.

     The first night it happened, she had a dream she was in one of the stories. Her uncle and his crew were on a top secret mission. They were in a submarine and spying on another nation’s waters. However, a fire broke out. 

     It was terrifying. They were running out of oxygen and could not surface in fear of being caught for trespassing in foreign waters. Her uncle kept telling her to remain calm. He also told her how to help out. 

     The fire was put out in a surprisingly timely manner, and no one was injured. They continued their mission undetected, and she felt like a heroine. 

     By morning, her uncle greeted her. He thanked her for all the help that night and told her what a great listener she was. It was as if everything that had happened in her dream was real, but she knew better.

     At some point, her uncle told her stories about her mother. She was his sister after all. They were funny stories, and they were sad stories. In all, they were stories she would treasure forever, just like the ones from her uncle’s diary that helped her survive each night.

     Sweetheart? Honey? Where are you? Her mother called out. The scent of the perfume trailed behind her. Are you in your room?

     She opened her eyes and cautiously sat upwards. I am here, Mommy.

     Her body stood from the couch and caught her mother’s attention. A smile quickened on her mother’s face. 

     You were so quiet I didn’t even see you there. Thank you for being patient. Do you have everything you need?

     She nodded quickly.

     Good. Go put on your shoes, it’s time to go.

Part ii.

     Damnit! Why didn’t you tell me about this? Her husband was holding a medical bill in his hand and his cellphone in another. 

     She had gotten the mail earlier that day but didn’t bother to open any of the letters addressed to him. It had been that way since they had gotten married. She never wanted to pry.

     There was nothing she could say in response, so she said nothing.

     Three thousand dollars! Damnit! I can’t keep living like this! He was cussing at the top of his lungs. 

     Her eyes looked downward as she drew in a small quiet breath. It was her fault.

     Shit! Dammnit! I hate my life! Her husband banged his fussed against the wall as his voice continued to rattle through her memories.

     She had taken her son to the hospital, but they had no rooms available. Both she and her son had spent the night in the emergency room, waiting for a room to be available. 

     They told her, since she had signed the paperwork, that if she and her son left the hospital, they would call Child Protective Services on her. Her son needed help, and there was nothing left to do but wait.

     Finally, sometime the next morning, the staff informed her there were still no rooms available. However, they would transport her son to another hospital via an ambulance.

     Yes, she could go with them. No, she could not drive him there herself. It was against the law.

     He stayed in the hospital for a week, and when they released him, he was in even worse shape. 

     The bill came several months later. Insurance paid for the hospital stay but not the ambulance. They were another three thousand in debt, and her husband was livid.

     Her husband called the insurance company, and she quickly withdrew into the bedroom. She lied on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

     Her husband was cussing and yelling again. Eventually, he would calm down. It was difficult to concentrate on anything when he was like this. The best she could do was pretend she was invisible until his anger subsided.

     She closed her eyes and took in a breath. She hoped he wouldn’t come into the bedroom and yell at her. She could never escape when he did that. Occasionally, she could make a run for the closet. But, that usually made him angrier.

     Instead, she would listen to him and say nothing.

     Why aren’t you saying anything? Her husband would demand. 

     Because there’s nothing to say, she would think to herself.

     You’re stonewalling me! He would retort in further anger. It’s like you’re not even there! Well, it hurts me when you do this!

     Her lips would press together, as she pretended she no longer existed. Saying anything would make things worse. She would regret whatever it was she said. It was easier to have him explode and get it over with then say the wrong thing and make it worse.

     Thankfully, he didn’t come into the bedroom this time. She was able to keep her mind elsewhere without feeling guilty or ashamed. 

     Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned her head. Right next to her was her uncle. He was sitting on a stool with a book in his hands. When she studied the book, she saw that it was the diary he always read to her.

     Did I ever tell you about the time we had to defend ourselves from pirates? Her uncle cracked open his diary.

     A small smile drifted into her face, and she closed her eyes. She could no longer hear husband yelling. Instead, she heard the roar of the ocean as her uncle grabbed her hand. 

     Do you still remember how to use a gun? 

     She nodded. How could she have forgotten? It was like riding a bicycle. It had been a while, but yes, she still remembered.

     The pirates were nothing like she had seen in the movies. This didn’t come as a surprise. She was old enough to understand this concept, but she was shocked to see how they really looked. 

     Their boats were smaller than in the movies, and the proteas themselves were like a cross between the average looking person and a homeless person. They were all very tan, burned even, and they smelled foul. The look in their eyes was also more terrifying. 

     She was cornered by one pirate, and she was having trouble aiming her gun at him. Her hands were trembling too much. Try as she might, she was having a hard time catching her breath. Surely, her uncle would show up any time now.

     Hello? Why aren’t you saying anything? I’m talking to you? Can you at least show some response?

     She opened her eyes. Her husband was standing right next to her. His cellphone was still in his hand.

     Goddammnit. I don’t know where you had gone. A walk? The bathroom? You could have at least replied. 

     She sat herself upwards. The weight from the pregnancy was making it harder to sit upwards, but she managed to hide the strain.

     I was on the phone with the insurance company for an hour. They said they’ll take care of the ambulance bill. He gave her a firm kiss on the lips. God, I have so much work to do. I don’t have time for this. I need more help. Just with basic things.

     She watched as he turned to leave the bedroom. He was already taking another call. 

     After he was out of ear shot, she turned to where her uncle had been seated. The spot was vacant.

Part iii.

     Some days were better than others. It was her memory. It came and went. It was difficult when her memory went, and it was difficult when it came back.

     It wasn’t just difficult for her. It was difficult for her family, too, especially since they refused to put her in a nursing home. For this, she was thankful. 

     Every morning, her daughter would give her breakfast and medicine. The medicine was supposed to help with her memory and the depression that came along with it failing her.

     Every afternoon and evening, her daughter would bring her a light meal. She could not eat much since she was predominantly bedridden. On the few occasions she tried to wander the bedroom, she had fallen and hurt herself. 

     It was safer to stay in one spot, lying in the bed, staring at the ceiling. Other than her daughter, no one came into the bedroom. She did not even have a screen to watch. 

     It’s better for your memory to not watch so many programs. Besides, your hearings gone bad from Daddy watching the screens too loudly.

     Her daughter was practically shouting at her to make her point. 

     She wished she had said something to her husband about listening to the screens too loudly, but she didn’t want to anger him. It didn’t matter anymore anyways. He was gone now.

     Although, sometimes she forgot he had passed away. She wasn’t sure if it was her memory coming and going or if the fact that she had somehow managed to outlive him was making it hard for her to remember. 

     There were days she pondered this, and sometimes, she wondered if she should have gotten married at all. At the end of her pondering, she always concluded that, at least, she had someone to take care of her.

     She also had six grandchildren. She counted them on her fingers as often as possible. She recalled their names over and over, again. Occasionally, one or two would come and visit her daughter. They would bring their children, as well. 

     None of them ever climbed the staircase to see her, though. She could never recall what any of the great-grandchildren looked like, and for some reason, she was not as intent as remembering them. 

     Sometimes, she thought that recounting them would make her feel more lonely. Other times, her memory made her forget they even existed. Either way, they never bothered to visit her. She existed in the bedroom by herself. It was just her, the ceiling, the picture books, and the window.

     She often felt invisible. The feeling seemed natural. She could not put her finger on why as she tried to focus her failing eyesight on the blank ceiling. It was as if, she had always felt this way, and the feeling, now in her old age, had only become one with her.

     Her eyes drifted down the ceiling and along the wall. A man was sitting in the chair next to her bed. He was holding something in his hand. A book, perhaps. She thought he had died a while ago, but maybe that was just another trick of her memory. 

     He began to speak. She remained quiet as she listened to him clearly. He began reading to her. The story was about a time he had been in a top secret environment during his time in the United States Navy. He was exposed to a toxic chemical, which inevitably riddled him with Lupus there afterwards. 

     It impressed her that he had lived such a long time with the illness. 

     It wasn’t easy. If you remember. It was as if he read her mind. Your aunt left me because she didn’t want to watch me die. Funny how I ended up outliving her.

     She thought how he was now going to watch her die.

     He adjusted his reading glasses and continued reading his story. When he finished, he closed the book and thanked her for always listening to his stories. 

     Not very many people enjoy hearing about other people. They are too busy thinking about themselves. 

     But, she didn’t hear him. Her eyes were closed, and the stillness of her body made the impression that she might as well not even have been there, like the spot on the bed was vacant.
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