my word is: foreign.
***
May frowned at the warm breeze. It wasn't home here in South Carolina. Chicago was home.
The more she gazed up at the Carolina's blue sky, though, she felt more comforted. It would have to be home, for a while at least. Her life had dipped into a wide array of mysterious deaths and defrosted memories. She couldn't go back to the revealing attic of her three-story home in the deep city of Chicago. Nobody knew what she had discovered. They couldn't. She'd be gone, into a mental home. The capacity of her new life waited in the shabby white house in front of her, along the shore of the beach. The taxi was gone, leaving her fingers dragged down by a heavy suitcase. Her belongings consisted of a rainbow of hair supplies, four summer dresses, a red bible, and her magic 8 ball. The contents of her mind pulled her down harder than those in her suitcase.
Suddenly, May's aunt appeared at the window, her eyes aglow. She vanished and grinned in the open doorway. She was a thick woman with coarse, wiry hair and silver eyes. She smelled like cheap lipstick and laundry detergent. Her brain was scattered and frothy, full of melted ideas, an old genius, stricken by a car at the age of twenty-eight. She struggled down the stairs. May remained on the sand-dirtied road, staring at the woman. She was amazed at the restlessness her aunt had in herself. She was like a baby, confused and reluctant to giving up. Once she got down the stairs, dimples poked themselved into her cheeks. Her front two teeth were missing.
Something about this unique woman shoved its way into May's heart. No matter their difference, not matter May's foreignity, she loved her aunt from the first time she smiled.
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