Me, Aunt Bea, and Some Candy Corn (Part 3)

The following is a work of fiction in several parts. You'll find the other parts on my blog.

Part 3

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“It wasn’t permitted,” I guessed.

Aunt Bea nodded. Inter-racial relationships are a challenge in most societies, but back then where she had lived, they were close to impossible. As white a name as Dean might sound, her Dean was an African American gentlemen. I remembered now how good of a saxophone player he had been. Dean had died a few years ago and I knew that Bea had been very unhappy at the time.

“I’m so sorry, Aunt Bea.”

She lost it then and the tears came flowing. I sat with my aunt and comforted her. If this was enough and she wanted to move on from the conversation, I wouldn’t press it. But she seemed to feel an urgency to tell the full story. When she had recovered enough, she continued.

“In those days, where we lived, a man like Dean couldn’t have married me. We would have had to have moved away and be shunned our whole lives. In the town where your father and I grew up, there was a black man who was charged with burglary for having a relationship with a white girl. We all knew the charge was trumped up, but he was in prison for years. I couldn’t let that happen to the man I loved. Dean's career was here, his music was here.”

“Did Dean end your relationship?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “I did. I stopped it. We couldn’t be together. I didn’t want any harm to come to Dean. It was me that introduced him to Delilah, who I knew from the jazz clubs.”

“Did Delilah know about you?”

Aunt Bea shook her head and I saw another tear form. “She didn’t know then. I tried so hard to keep it inside. And I never let Dean get close to me again in that way.”

“But she found out?” I guessed.

“Yes,” Aunt Bea nodded. “She found his letters to me after he passed. That was why she moved the kids away.”

Now I realized that she’d been heartbroken twice. She was like a second mother to Dean's and Delilah’s children, who had grown up next door. When Dean had died and Delilah found out about his relationship with Bea, well, that must have been a huge blow. Delilah then moved away and took the kids.

“You’re all I have now,” said my aunt with a sad smile. “And you’re good to me.”

She looked me straight in the eyes. “Now you understand why marriage is such a precious thing and why I want you to find someone who appreciates love. I had it. And I would have given anything to marry the man I loved, but it couldn't be done in our time.”

She paused and let that sink in.

“Thank you for telling me, Auntie,” I replied. “I’m so sorry for how you must have suffered.”

“I loved, as you said. And that was all I could ask for. But you, my favorite nephew,” she said as her radiant smile returned and she patted my hand. “We must find you a good woman.”

I sighed. “If she’s out there, I’ll find her. I’ll tell you, Auntie, I’m not in such a hurry after my divorce. It wasn’t much fun.”

“I know,” said Aunt Bea. “That Serena broad took a lot out of you. But that’s all the more reason to find you a good nurse. I don’t see any grand kids yet. Grandnieces, grandnephews, whatever. I’m 82 years old. My biological clock is ticking and your hair is starting to thin.”

I realized then that I wasn’t living merely for myself. I was a son she’d never had, and to some extent, my aunt was living through my life also. While I resolved to make decisions that would make me happy (i.e. not making another mistake like Serena), I also stopped feeling sorry for myself. My suffering was nothing compared to Aunt Bea’s lifetime of hurt. I realized I needed to get myself out of my own way and move forward.

Aunt Bea finally understood that her current nurse was not a candidate. So she had me get on the Internet to look through the staff directory of the nursing service she used. They had the nurses’ photos and short biographies online. Most were women and I had to admit a number of them were attractive in their own ways. I was a little uncomfortable relying so heavily on the pictures, though, as there wasn't much information given about each of them. Aunt Bea watched me and noted my interest in two of them. I had no idea if either of them were married, single, or what.

Such a weird way to meet women. But as long as Aunt Bea insisted upon it, I didn’t see anything wrong with trying. I still wasn’t sure it would work very well.

"So where should we start?" she asked. "With the blonde from Texas or the Filipina?"

I forced a smile. "Do you have any more of that candy corn?"

Please tune in again soon for Part 4 on my blog.

This is a fiction series in several parts. The remainder will be coming soon to a blog near you. The image above is public domain. It's not really my aunt, since I've never had an Aunt Bea and I'm not really the person in the story either. It's fiction.