Personal Narrative: Kisses or Cards

The stench of sea salt permeated my Great Uncle Craig’s Dodge. It was just Uncle Craig and me driving to his brother’s new home in a tucked away corner in Soldotna, Alaska.
We drove up the thick black pavement scanning the meticulously trimmed grass and flowers. The landscaping was absolutely stunning as if we had stumbled upon the lost Garden of Eden. The truck came to a halt and I slid out, went around to the back, and yanked out my waterproof dry-bag crammed with clothes and toiletries because I knew we were spending the night. Entering their home, the smell of noodle soup came wafting in to the front room as my Aunt Kathy stood in the kitchen stirring the soup with a large wooden spoon. I immediately felt conscious of my greasy hair, my salt-plastered clothes, and the smell of fish on my hands from a few days of fishing on the ocean.
I slipped off my boots and I followed politely behind my Uncle Craig into the dining area.  

Aunt Kathy turned to face us, invitingly. “How was the fishing?” Following the immediate question of, “Are you hungry?”

To that I quickly responded, “Yes, I am starving.” 

From the hallway, in walked my Great Uncle Mark, a weary smile on his face. It became evident to me that the yard was the pinpoint of his satisfactory exhaustion. Uncle Mark, as I called him, bore a stark resemblance of my own grandpa. The familiar bittersweet knot accompanied my stomach as I inwardly recalled how much I missed Pops.

“It doesn’t even surprise me that Craig forgot the hot dogs. He’s just getting senile in his old age.” Uncle Mark, the older brother, teased.

“Hey, at least I didn’t forget the ---” Craig retaliated before he was interrupted.

“Wait, wait a second, why don’t we tell Tawnie some embarrassing stories about Greg?”

“That sounds like a great idea to me!” I chimed in, notably excited for blackmail.

“A few years ago when your dad came up here to hunt black bear, we went to Kodiak Island. There were bears everywhere as close as 20 feet away,” he proceeded to point to the couch in the adjacent room, “as close as where that couch is!”

I smiled and nodded, intrigued as the story continued, but inside I was taking things with what they call, “a grain of salt.”

“ . . . Greg clearly had to use the restroom, but because of the bear outside he was too afraid to go outside of the tent!” Uncle Mark went on visibly excited he was reaching the climax of the story.

Suddenly Aunt Kathy interjected, “Marker, you better be careful with what you tell Tawnie because her dad could easily tell her stories about you.”

“Trust me, this is fine,” He paused for a moment, remembering where he was in the story before continuing, “so he grabbed an empty water bottle and –”

“Soup’s ready!” This time Aunt Kathy timed her interruption, “Please have a seat Tawnie and Craig.” She motioned to the bar stool seats overlooking the cooking area.

Uncle Mark just grinned at Aunt Kathy, while she pretended not to notice him. She poured us heaping bowls of noodle soup, placing small saltine crackers on the side of our bowls. The condensation was dripping down the sides of our tall glasses of ice water, offering a stark contrast to the steaming soup. Craig and I used our spoons to blow on the broth fervently to prevent any mishaps to our tongues.

While savoring the tender carrots and noodles Craig heartily exclaimed, “Kathy, you must have known this is my favorite soup!”

I watched Aunt Kathy’s face as she grinned inwardly, while wiping the granite countertop, not saying anything.

“This is so good, thank you so much!” I said aloud, wiping my mouth on a napkin, reminding myself that I did have manners.

She watched with a satisfied, pleasant look, glad we were enjoying ourselves. She mentioned, because of our concerned looks, that they had eaten earlier and she was just reheating the soup. She continued dutifully tiding up the kitchen with an apparent pleased attitude.

Uncle Craig seemed to catch on to her mannerisms, because he commented, “Kathy, you sure have done a lot with this place, it looks beautiful.”

“It’s Marker that has been doing all the work, and he’s been working so hard, he’s doing a great job.” She smiled at my Uncle Mark.

Uncle Mark pretended to be intrigued with some paperwork, on the opposite corner of the counter, his reading glasses pushed to the rim of his nose, but I caught a glimpse of his pride of making his wife happy.

“How are the buildings plans coming along?” inquired Uncle Craig, finishing his last spoonful of soup.

“It’s funny you would ask that, I have them right here.” Uncle Mark came closer to where we were sitting and showed us the paperwork he was looking at. My attention was piqued because this was a conversation topic I was unfamiliar of, but I pretended to understand, hoping they would reveal the details without my prodding.

While pointing to what looked like a map, “Here is where the residents will live,” Uncle Mark pointed to a small neighborhood of close knit homes.” He continued pointing to the tentative areas for the pathways, the gardens, the farming area, and the caretaker housing. I noticed a lady in her late twenties entered into the kitchen from the bedroom hallway just off of the kitchen. Uncle Mark continued to explain the plans, while Kathy and the lady exchanged a few words and she left politely to go home for the night.

After his excited explanation, his mood became somber when he finished with, “But, they are pushing back the building plans for another six months.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Mark,” Uncle Craig could see the deflated look in his brother’s eyes.

Aunt Kathy whipped around the counter to the barstool, placing bowls of angel food cake topped with homemade whipped cream and blueberries in front of us.

In an attempt to ease the mood, she cheerfully said, “I picked these blueberries myself down the road a bit. I love wild blueberries, and you know the best time to pick them is just after the first frost, that’s when they taste perfect.”

In that moment, from the same bedroom hallway, Kara, my second cousin walked in hesitantly. A sweet spirit accompanied her presence. She wobbled in with shaky stance, unsure of the unfamiliar face that I was to her. 

“Bear, bear . . . bear.” She repeated over and over with her plastic bear grasped in her clenched hand.

Her face was round and pink from all the medication in her system. At this point in her life, she stood taller and wider than my Aunt Kathy. She wobbled around the tile and carpet areas, swaying back and forth, alternating words of “puzzle” and “bear.” She slipped in and out of the rooms as if she was a warm breeze and was welcomed by all of us at the house. My feelings, however, were mixed because I didn’t know how exactly to interact with her, so I just smiled as the conversations continued well into the evening.

“We have to play Spades – the Fitzgerald family tradition – before you two go off to take your showers,” Uncle Mark encouraged.

We all agreed, so Aunt Kathy lovingly gave out some instructions, “Marker, please put Kara down for bed, I’m going to find some paper and a pencil, Craig you can shuffle the deck, but no funny business.”

I sat down at the dining table beside Uncle Craig. Uncle Mark shortly followed sitting on the opposite side, leaving the head of the table for Aunt Kathy.

“Well Craig have you dealt the cards yet?” Aunt Kathy inquired after returning to the room.

“Yes ma’am.”

Sitting left of the dealer [Uncle Craig] it was my turn to name how many tricks I had in my hand, so feeling bold, I stated, “Nello.”

“Just like your dad, going nello on the first round!” Uncle Mark teased, trying to get me to back down.

I pretended to be nonchalant, but I was more intimidated than I let on. After everyone had done their bidding we began; however, I noticed that Kara had wandered in from her bedroom. She slowly wobbled up to her dad and brushed her hand on his shoulder, so we paused to acknowledge her.

“Night, Night, Kara go . . . night, night . . . Kara night.”

“Yes, Kara needs to go night, night.” Aunt Kathy softly stated, “Do you want me to tuck you in?”

I could suddenly see the dark lines under her eyes, but the tone of her voice was unchanged. She stood up from the table and lovingly rubbed Kara’s back.

“Kara, you need to go night, night.”

“Daaaaaadd . . .”

“Yes, Kara-bug?” Uncle Mark turned to face her placing a kiss on her hand. “Do you want me to tuck you in?”

“Dad, night, night.”

“No Kara, Dad’s going to stay up and play cards for a little while longer, but let me come tuck you in,” He softly informed her as he escorted her gently to her room, paying no heed to a trivial card game.

With only one deck of cards being used, a serious card player would have all the cards played memorized by now, but I couldn’t focus. My card playing was becoming less and less strategic, but even my competitiveness was choked up by what I was witnessing. I suddenly became a wallflower as I watched them lovingly lead her to her bedroom at least five times each with kisses, love, and patience each time. I focused my attention on not just my cousin, but the marriage of my aunt and uncle. They have been through a fiery furnace and back unscathed, when they could have easily thrown in the towel years ago. Instead they fought together. For 34 years I could have rewound time in order to watch these same scenes. My aunt and uncle knew something that I didn’t and for a moment, a brief moment, I was beginning to understand.

Stephanie - a friend, Uncle Craig, & Me = riding our bikes to Lost Lake later that week