At 9 o clock I finally stepped down from the cab at the corner of my street. It was a bumpy ride from there and most cab drivers charged extra bucks for the ominous journey. And I was a thrifter no doubt. But also I liked walking home, especially on nights like these when the moonlight danced mystically through the clouds, dimly illuminating the roofs and chimneys of the snow covered houses on the lane. A gust of cool breeze grazed against my face and I wrapped the beige coat around my shoulders tightly. Arthur. His beautiful face flashed in front of my eyes as I breathed in his cologne. Funny how it all seemed like a dream already even though it had been only moments since Arthur bid me goodbye at the bottom of the steps, gently kissing my hand as he wistfully looked at me one last time. He didn’t offer to drop me home and I was glad that he didn’t because I wasn’t ready for my Cinderella story to end and Prince Charming to find out my reality so soon.

Arthur was a dream, yes, but how many people get to live a dream if even for one evening? I did. And that was enough. And that was the end of the story.

I unlocked the front door and slid open the glass. 

“Nell, I’m home!” I shouted, embracing myself for the bashing that was sure to come. I had never stayed out this late in my life and aunt Nell had all sorts of stories to warn me about the “creatures” of the night. I made my way towards the kitchen, the smell of  hot brew tantalizing my senses.  

“Nell!” I called out again.

And there I saw her, on the chair next to the little dining table, the cup of coffee turning cold beside her. She had her head bowed, and she didn’t meet my eyes even when I sat down beside her.

“Nell, what’s wrong?”

She finally looked up, as if she had just heard me.

“Oh Laura, you’re home so soon?” She asked in a daze. There were little red circles around her eyes as if she had been crying for hours. The last time I had seen aunt Nell cry was 13 years ago.

“Why are you crying Nell?”

“Oh Laura!” She sighed as she bowed her head again. “It’s Thomas.”

Uncle Thomas. Of course.

“He’s gone Laura, he’s gone.”

                                                                                  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nathan had called at Mr. Black’s house shortly after noon to inform of Uncle Thomas’s sad demise. Or was it really sad? Are you supposed to cry for a person you had already lost 13 years ago? My image of Uncle Thomas was very vague and maybe much tainted by that last night of October 1981 when he walked out on us.

I couldn’t find it in me to mourn his death even when I put on the crisp black dress that aunt Nell had laid out for me on the bed. I couldn’t bring myself to mourn as aunt Nell put her arms around me and cried. I couldn’t bring myself to mourn as we sat in the car sent for us by Nathan. And moments before we reached the funeral service, I decided that I will never mourn Uncle Thomas’s death. And maybe, just maybe, he deserved that.