She ain’t nobody’s buddy
Every once in a while, I slip in a character study of people invading my life for better or worse. This is one that falls on the “for worse” side. We may call her Auntie Buddy, but she ain’t nobody’s buddy. How would I describe her? Well, let’s see…unyielding is a good word. That can be followed by dictatorial. Self-righteous works well also. Resentment should be her middle name. And for a woman who is a devout Catholic, she is decidedly un-Christian. But that’s not so far removed from most of the outwardly devout/inwardly nasty Christians I’ve come into contact with over the past, say, five years.
Her real name is Aurora Ann Catanzano, but she never used the Aurora. She hated it. She called herself Ann. She was named Aurora because supposedly the Aurora Borealis was visible the night she was born. Personally, I think it was one of those times in history when Lord Voldemort was making a return. That’s what they saw in the sky the night she was born.
Auntie Buddy is a resentful person because she never did what she wanted to do with her life. She was in love with someone, but her Catholic brainwashing caused her to walk away from that relationship because he was divorced. She never found anyone else. Auntie Buddy never escaped the fate of the unmarried youngest child in a large Italian family: You are there but to serve. Iron your brothers’ clothes. Do your mother’s errands. Take care of whomever is sick. You know, responsibility with that old world charm.
Only the good die young
She is living testimony to the old addage that “only the good die young.” She’s the last in her family at 93, and she’s as ornery today as she was when she was 50, 60, 70 and 80. You can never do enough for Auntie Buddy. And when you do go out of your way for the eightieth time, she’s always got something to complain about. There’s always something you just could have done ever so much better. She brings new meaning to the word ungrateful. I believe I may have left that descriptor out of the first paragraph. That belongs there as well.
I was unlucky enough to have to live with her after my father died. My mother simply could not afford an apartment on her own. It was like living with all three of Cinderella’s evil stepsisters rolled into one. As I got older, her nagging got more offensive and harder to take. By the time we moved to Riverside Avenue in Medford, I was prepared to take extreme measures. To spite her silently, I used to back her 1964 Chevy Nova out of the garage and drive it around the block. This wouldn’t have been bad, but I was only about 13 or 14 at the time. Finally, I got bagged by a neighbor, who came over and blew the whistle on me. That was ugly, but I eventually ended up owning that very car. It was a great car, but I never really took care of it. I was a student at the time. On the way home from an overnight party, I managed to seize the engine (which usually happens when you don’t pay attention to the oil and water). That was a sad day.
Crossing the line
You know, I could handle all the stuff as a kid. I admit that I do have a resentment toward sweet, little old Auntie Buddy. However, I bear that resentment for something she did to me much later in my life. When my family was teetering on homelessness, she could have helped. Auntie Buddy, the cheapest person on the planet, has plenty of money put away. Her plan is to leave each of us $25,000 when she dies. My oldest sister approached her, told her what was going on, and asked about helping me. And Miss Happy said, “All she has to do is ask.”
Well, I did ask and I have to tell you that is the toughest thing I’ll ever have to do. I hate asking for help; it is not in my nature. I’ve been on my own for a long time. Instead of helping, however, she turned me down. She gave me $200 that day but said that was all she could do. She was determined that she was not going to give anyone the money before her death. Not long after that, we were evicted.
Dereliction of duty
When my mother was dying, we promised that we would take care of Auntie Buddy when she was gone. They had been friends (although I don’t understand how) as well as sisters. It wasn’t that my aunt didn’t piss my mother off. It was more that my mother didn’t take any shit from her. I have
to tell you that — although it is not very Buddhist of me — I have no desire to caretake her. I’m trying to get past this little issue, but for now there is no getting past it. In fact, I’ve considered voodoo in the past, which is decidedly un-Buddhist. However, I have resisted my darkest thoughts to date. There are other complicating factors, like I neither have the time nor the financial freedom to drive down to Wakefield from Amesbury to do her food shopping or anything else. I leave that torture to my sisters.
Haven’t seen sweet, kindly, old Auntie Buddy for a while. Missed her at Easter. Dang it. Didn’t go to the fourth of July cookout at my sister’s. Dang it. I’m just striking out all over. I hope the trend continues.
Nothing is safe (or sacred) anymore. Two days ago, the blueberry scone became a weapon. I work at Starbucks and, to be sure, we have some great customers. But this is retail, and assholes abound. This week’s asshole was special.
