I always learn things when I spy on Mom and Auntie Theresa. When they cook Mom tells stories about the old days when all the boys were so crazy for her sister that Grandpa had to plant poison ivy on one side of their house to stop the boys from coming to her window. I guessed that Italian grandpas liked to use poison ivy instead of policemen to protect their daughters from S-E-X.
I hear mom say that men are still crazy for Auntie Theresa (even though she is old and forty-five) but then Auntie Theresa says, “All the men except my husband” and Mom puts her arm around her and they are quiet for a while before they both forget about Uncle William and have fun again.
Auntie Theresa grunted as she does when she leans over the stove for the pepper mill. I was mad that because I was spying from the living room, I could not see the Jesus Ballet. That is when Auntie Theresa’s gold crucifix necklace gets trapped between her boobs when she leans over the stove. When she stands up straight again, the cross spins because Jesus’ feet are stuck between her boobs. That was the best. Once I told Mom about the Jesus Ballet and she laughed very hard.
I know they are talking about me when Mom says I was Auntie Theresa’s Little Star from the moment I was born.
Auntie Theresa says, “Mag, we always knew she would be our Little Star.”
Mom says, “You were the only one that knew all my tears were from pure joy.” (Mom cries happy tears a lot and this makes no sense to me.)
“Remember when Dawn was born, and they told you she would not be afflicted like Liddy-Jean?”
“Yes,” Mom said, “and Stan hugged me as if we had finally gotten it right, and it took me a year to forgive him for that f-ing victory hug. But you understood that day.”
Auntie Theresa said, “Yeah, I pushed Stan aside and said, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll still love this new one.’”
While Mom sliced up another batch of fresh tomatoes for the sauce, she said, “Remember how Liddy-Jean’s first day at The Center almost didn’t happen?”
“Oh, I remember,” was all Auntie Theresa said.
Mom liked to bring this up because sisters like to remind each other when they were wrong, just like I do with my sister.
Mom said, “I asked you to go since Stan couldn’t, or wouldn’t, and you offered to gradually take money to pay for it, so William wouldn’t know.”
“Yeah,” Auntie Theresa said, “aside from sex, the only thing the bastard hates to give me more of, is money.”
I had to be careful not to laugh out loud at that one!
“Tre, remember the young kid who gave us the tour?”
“He looked like he escaped from a Norman Rockwell painting,” Auntie Theresa said. “So clean-cut and innocent . . . I think he was over eighteen, and, looking back, I should have defiled him.” They both laughed, and I could hear more chopping on the wood block. Onions. I took a deep smell because even though I don’t like to eat onions, I like to smell them because it reminds me of McDonald’s.
“They certainly didn’t spruce up the place to impress the tourists,” Auntie Theresa said, “broken toys and bare floors, for the most part.”
Mom said, “No money for extras, The Center has not changed much. Remember they were getting ready to play that game when we came in? They were gathering the more challenging cases into wheelchairs and rolling them toward the middle of the room near that plastic rolled-up mat.”
I loved hearing Mom and Auntie Theresa talk about old stories from The Center.
Auntie Theresa laughed and said, “We had no idea what we were in for! I thought there was something familiar about that white vinyl they were rolling out, so I kept staring at it while our guide kept talking.”
Mom said, “I had hoped in a place like that Liddy-Jean might get the chance to help others. So many young people in wheelchairs. Remember the two boys?”
Auntie Theresa remembered, and I remembered too.
Mom said, “When the pair of young girl counselors rolled them closer together, you could tell just by the way their bodies and mouths moved that they liked being near each other. I had hoped you noticed too, but your face looked like you had witnessed a car accident.”
I knew Mom and Auntie were talking about Andy and Brian, who scared me at first with all their weird faces and sounds, but then I found out this is how they smile and talk. Andy and Brian are best friends and hate to have their wheelchairs parked too far from each other.
Mom said, “Remember the games they played?”
Auntie Theresa laughed. “I remember Twister!” and they both started giggling.
I knew it was because of how all the clients got so excited at the colored spots and would scream when they rolled the mat on the floor. I copied them and screamed too, which was one of my favorite parts. Some needed help to crawl over to the mat and I would help them get near their favorite color spots by dragging them across the floor like a mop and they laughed. I was the only one who remembered everyone’s favorite colors, and sometimes the counselors had to ask me.
I loved the Twister game. It always started when one of the counselors yelled: “Okay, ready . . . set . . . GO!” and there would be lots of squirming around on the mat, and I knew some of the clients didn’t know why, but they squirmed anyway while the counselors cheered them on from around the mat, like gym teachers at school.
Mom said to Auntie, “I always think of your face . . . when they explained the object of the game was to drool on a color spot.”
Theresa was snorting when she whispered, “Pretty sure I said, ‘What the fuck?’”
Even though I heard them tell this story a hundred times, I still had to hold my mouth so I would not make a laughing noise.
Mom said, “Our guide was so patient with us, explaining this was all some of them could do and they loved it, and it took him years to come up with a game that everyone could play.”
My favorite part was watching the counselors adjust Andy’s head on the floor so he could hit his favorite blue spot, and he would get so happy and kick fast like he was riding a bicycle.
I heard Auntie Theresa slop the extra sauce from the pan into the serving bowl, probably speckling her chest at the front of her V-neck with Tomato Tit Freckles. She said, “So, Maggie, how badly do you need me to tell you I was wrong, and you were right about sending her there?”
“Not necessary,” Mom said, and I heard Auntie Theresa snort laughing, just like Mom says I do.