Dreamt about Aunt Frankie last night. Only— she was thinner— in the dream— in a room with delicate curtains—and the windows were open.
Aunt Frankie—my mother’s sister— was a very, very, very large woman — seems impolite to call her fat. Obese.
My sisters and I briefly stayed with her—once—only once—one summer. We were supposed to stay longer — but Aunt Frankie was different. A crocodile, really. We weren’t used to different — like that.
She cooked well. Really well. But, never sat at the table with us. Not ever. Not even for dinner. She preferred that chair — in the corner — sipping from her jumbo-size plastic glass— of juice — that’s what she called it— juice — watching us and commenting— from afar.
I was skinny once, Aunt Frankie said. Sounded like a threat. Maybe it was just a warning.
Made me nervous, though—especially when I stepped on the scale—each night.