Beth’s aunt Mabel was the most unhappy-looking person I’d ever seen; even though she smiled an awful lot and spoke in a bright, happy voice, the tightness of her features, the worry etched into her skin, and the way she sat as if expecting the other bomb to go off at any moment betrayed her true feelings. This was a sad woman, a cheerless woman, stoopshouldered and shopworn and heartbroken and chain-smoking. Looking at her made me want to cry; she reminded me too much of Mom.
“How’s the lasagna?” she asked early into dinner.
“It’s real good, thank you. A lot better than the hospital.”
Mabel laughed a thick, chortling laugh composed equal parts of phlegm and sandpaper. “I should certainly hope so. Lord! If I can’t beat hospital food, I might as well hang up my apron!”
I giggled and took another bite of the lasagna; it was quite good, but its rich flavor and aroma were overpowered by the smell of the house, which made me feel sick.
Beth and her aunt lived in a one-story house that was only slightly bigger than a double-wide trailer; two small bedrooms, an even smaller bathroom, a big living room, and a kitchen that took up a full third of their living space. Deep shag carpeting the color of old rust covered every inch of floor-at least I think it was the color of old rust; it could’ve been light blue for as much as I could tell by looking at it, which I tried not to do because it only made me feel sicker.
A fly buzzed around the lasagna pan and Mabel swatted it away. “Damn things,” she mumbled. “I got to replace those screens on the doors.”
I was surprised that only one fly had found the nerve to come over; there were so many of them.
Something brushed by my leg and I looked down to meet yet another of the Its-one of the seven dogs that Beth and Mabel shared their home with. That’s right, seven dogs of various shapes and sizes-from a Chihuahua to a mid-sized sheep dog and everything in between-none of whom seemed to be very housebroken, if the pee stains and scattered piles of dried and not-so-dried poop were any indication.
Imagine what the inside of a kennel left unattended over a sweltering three-day weekend would smell like, add an underlying scent of sour milk and rotten eggs, then spray an entire aerosol can of rose-scented air freshener and you might have some idea how this place smelled. I didn’t have to ask Beth why it had been so long since she’d had any friends over; one hour in this house and already I wanted to shower until my skin came off. It wasn’t only the smell, it was the feel of the place; it felt ruined, the air thick with humidity and animal fur. By the time dinner was finished, all three of us were wheezing to one degree or another. Mabel’s constant smoking didn’t help matters, but I never said anything; I never said anything to Mom or Dad when their smoking started bothering me, it seemed rude to complain to this bright-eyed sad woman who was so happy that I liked her cooking.
I helped Beth clear away the dishes and wipe down the table. Mabel disappeared into her bedroom with two of the dogs and emerged twenty minutes later in a light-blue outfit, smelling of deodorant and Avon perfume.
“Okay, kids, I gotta head to work.”
Beth’s face immediately registered alarm. “But, I need the car to take-”
“I know,” Mabel replied. “Suzy’s giving me a ride both ways tonight, so the car’s all yours. But you be careful. Get him home and then come right back.”
“Of course.”
“I mean it, Elizabeth. I’m going to call you when I get my break and you’d better be here to answer.”
Beth shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I will be! Jeez-us.”
“Don’t ‘jeez-us’ me, young lady. I’m only looking out for your well-being. God knows my sister couldn’t be bothered to.”
“Please don’t say things like that about Mom.” Now it was Beth who was stoop-shouldered and shopworn. This hurt, and I wondered if her aunt knew it hurt and that’s why she’d said it.
Mabel came over, put a hand on Beth’s shoulder, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I didn’t mean anything by it, okay? I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”
A shrug: “Okay.”
“Okay, then.” Mabel turned toward me and held out a hand. “It was real pleasure having you over for dinner, young man. I hope you’ll visit us again. Often as you’d like.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, shaking her hand-the first time I’d ever done so with an adult. “You’re a real good cook.”
“Aren’t you sweet.” Then she bent down and kissed the top of my head. A car horn sounded out front and Mabel waved to us on her way out the door.
“God!” said Beth with a sudden rush of air. “I swear she must think I’m retarded or something, the way she treats me.”
“Where does she work?”
“Huh? Oh-at the nursing home. She’s one of the night nurses. She also cooks breakfast sometimes.”
I remembered the home from visiting my grandfather there when I was seven, how lonely, exhausted, and used up everyone seemed to be. No wonder Mabel was so sad.
I wasn’t sure how to ask this next question, so I just let fly: “Where’s your uncle?”
“I’ve got a couple of them, why?”
“I mean…your aunt’s husband?”
A quick shake of her head. “Mabel isn’t married, she never was. I don’t think men interest her much.”
“Whatta you mean?”
She mussed my hair. “It’s a little hard to explain, sweetie pie. She has friends who stay over sometimes. I don’t think she gets lonely. She’s got me to talk to and all of the Its for company. Speaking of the Its, want to help me clean up a little? I do this every night after she leaves for work.”
“Is it safe? Mabel seemed awful worried about-”
“Mabel worries about everything. We’ve had some trouble in this neighborhood-some break-ins, a couple of shootings a few blocks over, you know-so she thinks every time she leaves me alone that all these monsters are going to knock down the door and attack me. She even has a gun in one of her dresser drawers-like she’s Clint Eastwood, Dirty Harriet or something. There’s not going to be any trouble. C’mon, give me a hand.”
We spent the next hour picking up-and scraping out-all the poop from the carpeting, then Beth let the dogs out in the backyard by twos and threes so they could relieve themselves as nature intended. (During all the years I knew Beth and spent time over there, that house was always filled with dogs; if one died or got sick and had to be put to sleep, it was quickly replaced by another. Beth and I eventually began to refer to her house as “Doggyship Down.”)
I sprayed the pee stains with this foamy stuff Beth took out of the bathroom; she told me to let it set until it dried, then we sprinkled baking soda all around and Beth ran the vacuum cleaner.
Once finished, the carpeting looked a little better and the stench wasn’t as strong as it had been.
“That’s only because you’re getting used to the smell,” Beth said. “Live with it long enough, and it doesn’t seem that bad.”
I wondered how she kept the smell off her clothes; not once during her visits to me did I ever smell the dogs on her, so I asked her how she managed to do that.
“Every week I take five outfits from my closet, wash them at the coin laundry or have them drycleaned, then hang ’em up in my locker at school. I get there about a half-hour before school starts and change in the girls’ restroom. In the mornings, after my shower, I can usually get out of here before the smell sinks into me.” Another shrug. “No biggie, really. I like to look and smell clean when I’m at school or going to the movies or something. If I go out, I do it after school on Friday so I don’t have to come back here first. Don’t worry yourself, the system’s worked fine for a while now.”
I nodded as if I were mature enough to understand. She was a wonderful mystery to me.
“Why do you have so many dogs, anyway?”
“Because nobody else wants them. A couple we adopted from the Humane Society, but most of them are strays Mabel or I have found. Just can’t turn away a animal in need, I guess. It doesn’t seem right that nobody wants to keep them, care for them, have ’em there in the middle of the night to snuggle with when you wake up and feel lonely… .”