Story 9

Story 9: Cousin Apaté

Dion enjoyed his routine. He found comfort in predictability. Orderliness is next to Godliness was his personal motto. He stepped out onto his porch to enjoy the warmth of the early morning sun, put his coffee on the small table next to his rocker, and sat comfortably in his rocking chair. His cat, who was waiting for him, as it was every morning, jumped into his lap. The cat enjoyed the routine as much as Dion did. The honeysuckle was in bloom, so he drew in a deep breath through his nose to enjoy the dizzying sweetness of the morning air perfumed by the blooming honeysuckle. Life was good. Life was orderly. Life was predictable. Life was just the way that Dion liked it.

Summer would follow Spring. The sweet smell of the honeysuckles would give way to humidity in the air and the morning sun would be a little warmer than he liked. But summer would give way to fall. The air would cool. The morning sun would feel good again. The leaves on the trees would turn into a display of red, yellow, and orange. He would watch the wind chasing leaves across his front yard. Eventually winter would come, and he would have to sit inside with a warm blanket over his shoulders looking out the window at the pristine snow that had fallen on the front lawn the night before. Before long it would be warm enough to sit on the porch and smell the honeysuckles again. He didn’t mind the change. It was part of a larger pattern. And it was orderly.

One fine spring day with honeysuckle in the air and the cat in his lap, Dion noticed something that didn’t belong in his little slice of paradise. An elderly woman was walking down the sidewalk in front of his house. She didn’t look threatening in any way. After all she was just some old lady shuffling along in her orthopedic shoes with a scarf over her head and a wool shawl over her shoulders. But he was not used to people walking down the sidewalk when he was enjoying the morning sun. She smiled and waved at him. Reluctantly, he cautiously waved back. He secretly hoped this was a one-time occurrence. It interfered with his routine.

But it was not a one-time occurrence. Every day for the next couple of weeks she appeared on the sidewalk in front of his house just as he had gotten comfortable in his chair with the cat in his lap. She was becoming part of his routine and he couldn’t decide whether or not he liked it. After a couple more weeks of morning waves, he decided to do something completely out of character for him. He put a second chair on his porch and waved to her to come over for a chat. He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. But it was better than feeling conflicted.

He stood as she came up the porch steps and waved gallantly at the extra chair. She sat and smiled warmly at him.

“My name is Dion,” he said in his best neighborly tone of voice.

“My name is Apaté,” she replied with a slightly exaggerated tone. “A-pah-tay”

“Apaté is an unusual name,” Dion replied. “I once had an aunt named Apaté.”

They chatted some meaningless small talk when she paused and asked, “Tell me about your aunt.”

“Not much to tell,” Dion replied. “I’ve never actually met her.”

“Oh, why not?”

“Well, she was my mother’s sister and was the black sheep of the family. We were not really allowed to mention her name.”

“That’s too bad,” replied Apaté. “So, you don’t really know anything about her?”

“Not really.”

For the next few weeks, Apaté shows up every day at the same time and chats with Dion. Dion was getting comfortable with her and due to her regularity, she had become a comfortable part of Dion’s routine. As he became more comfortable, he began to share more about himself.

“It was tough growing up,” Dion shared. “No matter what I did, mom mocked me.”

“Yeah,” replied Apaté, “Momos was like that. Always mocking.”

At that, Dion sat bolt upright like he had touched a live electric wire. His head snapped over to Apaté and he saw a brief expression flicker across her face.

“How did you know that my mother’s name was Momos?” he asked barely able to get his breath. He was feeling cracks forming in his orderly world. “Are you Aunt Apaté? Tell me!”

“It’s worse than that,” responds Apaté. “I am actually your mother.”

 Dion’s life was as orderly and predictable as six inches of ice on a deep pond. But Aunt Apaté’s revelation crashed through that protective ice like a meteorite two meters across. The pond water of his tranquility splashed up throwing mud and the pond scum of reality all over his orderly world. Dion would never know much less enjoy or even feel safe in orderliness again.

This story is almost 900 words long. The recording is 6 1/2 minutes.

Send an email to me at drjohnartz@gmail.com if you have a comment on any of my stories. And please check out my website at DrJohnArtz.com to see other things I have written.