Suitcase

"Have suitcase, will travel, that girl." My mother said of me. I was fortunate to have been nearly the sole child in the family when I was small. The relatives were older, had no children, or none at home for a long, long time. And I was, for a child, a good guest.

I was two, the first time, when my mother was in the hospital for a week, a hysterectomy, I found out decades later. I went to stay with my Aunt Alma, who had only married Uncle Milton two years before. She delayed getting her poodle, Gigi, that week, to care for me. I stayed there for at least a week every summer, and often a weekend or so at other times of year, so that I cannot tease out which memories happened when. I still cannot quite believe Gigi was not there that first visit. Uncle Milton was the blur. His Union job in the Detroit auto industry the source of what seemed such wealth to me then, the neat suburban house with bought shrubbery, air conditioning in the car, finished basement, and color TV.

Aunt Alma expressed her love in food. We made bread, my kneading never neared her muscular competence with a ball of dough. She made jam, and bought real butter, and no other bread, butter and jam, will ever taste as wonderful. She sated my craving for fresh fruit, though she did not understand how I could eat grapefruit, or strawberries, without sugar or cream. She fed me corn on the cob, from her garden. She fried chicken and made dumplings. She let me drink Pepsi out of tall tupperware tumblers, whichever of the four colors I wanted.

She took me for walks with Gigi. When I brought my second hand bicycle for visits, to race wildly around the large church parking lot across the street, she got a bicycle and rode with me, much more sedately, and around the block. I believe now that she was rather lonely, and we became friends. She loved to tell the story about me, still high-chaired, when she took a bite out of the toast in front of me, and I snapped out,

"EAT OWN TOAST!"

Which horrified my mother, with a horror of naughty children. And delighted my dear aunt, who rather liked me when I broke out of my shell.

And brushed Gigi's teeth, with the only toothbrush I had.

My other regular suitcase-home was my mother's eldest sister, Aunt Evelyn. We were much more alike than my mother and I, and simply liked to be together. She had a quiet authority that I only tested once, and trusted afterwards. She had some games, and toys from when her son was young, including a small submarine that rose and sank in her sink, with baking soda. I helped her with laundry, a wringer washer, and a clothes line in the back yard. We usually did little more than go to the rose garden in Jackson Park by bus, and then I got to go on the swings.

What I most relished was how she spoke of Ernie, her sweetheart. Uncle Ernie brought her a rose at least once a week. They kissed, hugged, and talked. Peaceably did chores together. Uncle Ernie spent time with me when he got home from work, and took us to get ice cream, or for a walk. Both gave me a view of love, and included me. I never questioned their affection for me.

Both women are part of me, they were my hope. I'd gladly pack a suitcase to see them again. They can have my toast anytime.