It was a time when the family was in transition and this 10-year-old was determined to remain with my father. Never mind that it would compound his life. After all, he was working in New York City; a place deemed unsuitable for a fifth grader accustomed to the suburbs.  But I was pledging my faithfulness to him and wanted to comfort Dad after the finality of a dozen years of marriage.
Fortunately a maternal Aunt agreed to temporarily accommodate Dad’s eldest offspring and enabled Dad to visit every weekend. With one small suitcase I moved into her two-bedroom duplex.  The second floor unit had a little-used sitting room outside of my younger cousin’s bedroom. Colorful floral curtains separated my new room from the more formal living room.  The rented house was located in the blue collar town of Ridgefield Park, New Jersey, nicknamed “the Garden State”.  In the evenings distant glowing fires could be seen from the kitchen window. It was still legal to burn garbage at the dump.
Aunt Lillian did small, personal kindnesses. She noticed how I would nervously eat my fingernails until the cuticles bled.  Lovingly she painted a clear liquid called “Thumb” on my ragged nails. She warned me not to continue my habit. I quickly realized the secret ingredient in Thumb was hot sauce! I have been obedient to her warning for the last 50 odd years; growing nails long enough to hand weed my three-acre garden!

Halloween dresses from her former glamour days were transformed into costumes for two happy cousins. We imagined ourselves to be dressed for the Queen of England’s High Tea. One special weekend Aunt Lillian volunteered in the Catholic Church Bazaar. This was a combination of children’s games, home baked pastries, hand made crafts (especially tatted doilies and place mats). The best section was reserved for the “white elephant” gifts.  These items were donated by the local parishioners and consisted of toys, knickknacks and lots of goods that appeared to be failed gifts, like gaudy bowties. Part of the items became prizes awarded after a large wheel of fortune was spun. Other special items were individually priced. One huge, grand, prize caught my eye. This was the first time I was ever captivated by a houseplant. The long striped leaves were identified as a “snake plant.” It was housed in a modern, multi-square textured, brown shiny ceramic pot, about 14” across. My weekly allowance was short by one dollar. As the event got closer to closing, the special items were reduced in price. At last the exotic looking plant was affordable—a whole dollar and it became mine. I could hardly wait
to present the plant with the strange name to

my wonderful Aunt.
Naturally this young, impetuous girl could hardly wait to gift the marvelous plant to my Aunt who meant so much to
me. She thanked me profusely and announced that she already chose a special location for the plant….on the landing just outside the front door at the top of the stairs.
Many years later, as an adult I wrote Aunt Lillian and asked if she remembered my snake plant gift. In a letter she told me that she remembered it very well. As a matter of fact she didn’t feel comfortable until now to reveal the origins of the plant. It was she who had donated it to the bazaar, hoping someone else would appreciate it; after all, it had occupied the landing for many years.
Aunt Lillian is gone now, but I am thankful for the memories, and for planting the seed of love in a young girl’s heart.

A Short Story By Carolyn Melf