most of the figure that turned heads when she was a young woman, but her face is heavily lined. May used to be a heavy smoker before a heart scare caused her to stop when I was in high school, but the damage had been done. Still, her smile lights up her face, and I’m glad to see her, the sense of coming home filling me with warmth.
“Hey, Auntie, how’re you doing?”
May hugs me as tight as she can, which isn’t nearly as tight as I can take, but it still feels good. “So good to see you. Haven’t heard from you in a good week. Maple and Syrup missed you,” she says in her deep accent. I know it’s where I got mine from. “You need to call me, girl!”
“I’m so sorry, Auntie. I’ve been so busy at work that I haven’t had a time.” I nod over at the camera crew and the guy in the jacket. “What’s all this about?”
May turns, the excitement making her eyes sparkle. “Oh, that’s just the morning wakeup news” she says with a false air of ‘no big deal’, even though I know she’s bursting with happiness. “They came out to interview me for their Sunshine Story of the Week. It’s a segment they run to highlight a local Good Samaritan and showcase their cause. I’m hoping to spread a little animal joy to the folks of Bane.”
“Oh, my gosh, Aunt May, that’s awesome!” I exclaim honestly as I give her a hug. “I can’t think of a better person to be recognized for what she’s doing to give back than you.”
It’s true. Aunt May is the type that’d give the clothes off her back if she saw someone who needed them. She always wants to help, especially with the most downtrodden in her mind, our dogs and cats.
It hasn’t always been that way though. She’s told me stories, warning tales, really, about her younger days. She’d been quite a party girl, and the wrong crowd was her crowd. She’d even been arrested once after a bar brawl broke out and the cops had cuffed everyone, country boys, bikers, and women alike, before sorting it all out at the precinct. She jokingly told me that was when she knew handcuffs weren’t her kink and then laughed her ass off when I’d yelled ‘TMI’ and covered my ears.
But all her wicked ways changed when her younger sister, my mom, had shown up late one night with me in tow. Aunt May said she’d tried to get my mom to come in, tell her what was going on, but she refused. Instead, she handed me over, carefully wrapped in a baby blanket, and ran away to hop in a waiting car. That was the last time we’d ever seen or heard from my mom. But Aunt May changed that very night, suddenly responsible for someone other than herself.
She quit drinking, partying, and hanging out with the wrong folks and got a steady job to support me. Now, over two decades later, I have her to thank for the woman I am today.
So I’m truly happy for her as I smile warmly. “Congratulations, Auntie!”
“Thank you, honey,” Aunt May says, blushing but obviously pleased with the attention for her beloved animals. Before she can say anything else, the TV station guy taps her on the shoulder, asking if she’s ready, and May nods. “Sure, just one sec.”
She turns to me and grins wide. “Okay, they want to start their filming inside. Can you go on in and ride herd on the other volunteers? I’ve got them washing down the pens right now.”
“Sure, that’s easy . . . and stinky, so better them than me,” I joke, although I’ve cleaned the kennels more times than I can count. I head inside, finding two girls and a guy in back, hosing down the pens while half the dogs are outside. I barely have a chance to say hello before I hear familiar barks coming my way. I turn to see Maple and Syrup, two basset hounds May rescued and decided to keep as mascots, coming around the corner. They’re waddling as fast as their little legs will go, excited to see me.
“Hey, babies!” I say as Maple, the slightly darker brown one, tries to jump up. I bend down and hug her, letting her give my face a bit of a tongue bath before Syrup gives me the same treatment. ”Yes, yes, I love you too.”
I hear the