The longest pointless story I've ever told

This past weekend my maternal aunt fluttered into town to the delight of Noodle, who immediately fell in love with the woman who is my mother's younger sister. Her arrival was conjoined with an emotional family welcome of several Hispanic teenagers, parents, and grandparents who videotaped their reunion and brought flowers and gifts. The one teen girl hugged her abuela as if she hadn't seen her in years. It recalled memories of my return to Korea, and I wondered, as the flight was coming from south Texas, if perhaps they were coming from Mexico to the U.S. for the first time. As this fusion of emotion transpired, my aunt appeared in the crowd and it was at this point, that I understood the difference between my father and mother. My father, a man of action, a former rescue pilot, sailor, and high ranking military officer, spurned his body forward to make sure Aunt D could find us. My mother, a woman of words, who'd rather complain about the lack of action our government takes on important issues, stood firmly in her place, unable to see over the moving masses. What was more striking was her inability to directly face the direction in which she knew her sister would be arriving. Instead, she chose to have her hands close to her body, and wait for my father to bring Aunt D to her. At this point, it is important to understand the relationship of my mother and aunt. Mother is older by a few years. They have been a constant source of frustration between each other, and in many ways, competition. They have lived vastly different lives, and have only become "close" within the past decade, since my grandparents' death. Since then, my mother has grown set in her ways - so much so that my father informed me he bought her a cellphone over two years ago and that mother just put the cellphone in her purse; last week - and refuses to make changes to her comfortable lifestyle. On the other hand, Aunt D has had several jobs, works doing what she finds interesting, and takes delight in the smaller things in life. At one point she was working for a not-for-profit beach environmental group, working for underprivileged inner-city kids teaching them about nature, and has even done entry level jobs despite her educational background. She doesn't stress if her job is working in a concession stand, nor does she let things bother her when she's on the go. As Aunt D gave Noodle a hug, she took out of her clear back-pack, a small scrap of paper Noodle had drawn for her nearly a year ago. Aunt D brought it to remind Noodle who she was (she's met her once before) and also to make them immediately have something to talk about. Quirky Aunt D brought her entire four days of luggage in a clear back-back; the type they make students use in some schools that have had problems with weapons and violence. I found this luggage choice very telling of Aunt D's personality. Noodle thought this pack was hilarious because Aunt D had all her clothes in the pack. But, what was really great was that Noodle felt right at home with her and wanted to sit next to her in the backseat, along with Grandma. So we went out to dinner at a fancy restaurant, and while there, Aunt D and Noodle fell in love with each other and began a giggling fit that didn't stop until late night. Yes, this means Noodle completely fell off her schedule and went to bed at, gasp, 11 pm. Normally, Noodle falls asleep in the car on the fifteen minute ride home from grandparents' house. However, she was so excited and sugared up on bubble gum, that she didn't fall asleep until after she made it home to the apartment. So why the late night? Aunt D taught Noodle how to blow bubbles with her bubble gum. And, how to pop bubbles with her finger. And, how to run around and be silly in my mother's house, which is generally a no-no. As you can see, the drama is building here. Noodle spent all night after dinner giggling with Aunt D, something she doesn't do with grandma very often. Ah, the fun and joy of a visiting relative who has no kids! The next night was Sunday, and my dad, mom, and Aunt D came over to the apartment to play again. We were supposed to go out by the new place I am buying, and on the way to stop at Walgreen's to find some gum for Aunt D who wanted super bubble blowing powers. My dad and I sat in the car as the "girls" went inside. What I thought to be a one minute stop, turned out to be a five minute ordeal of picking out the right kind of gum. So after the house visit, the gum excursion, and the dinner seating, we were ready to relax and wait for our drinks. My dad wanted to take a picture of the "girls" together. The problem was that Aunt D wanted her lipstick and to brush her hair first. "Oh come on D," said my mom, visibly frustrated by her little sister's protestations. You see, what you didn't know is that it takes my mother approximately two hours (on a good day) to prepare herself to leave her bedroom and enter the rest of the house. If she has to leave the house for a specific reason, then it might take her three hours or more. For example, I once called my mother and father to see if they could make it out to join me for dinner. I made this call at about 4:30 pm. They said they couldn't be ready until about 8:30. This was a Sunday. On the other hand, it takes Aunt D very little time to actually get ready to go somewhere. Well, very little compared to my mother. Since I wasn't there, I like to imagine a race between the two. Both put down their tea and milk, sizing each other's hair needs up, they sprint (okay, amble) to their respective corners (ie. bathrooms) and began furiously preparing themselves. As for my mother's hair preparation, imagine Edward Scissorhands working magic on a pouf. So this brings me to our restaurant moment, as my father is steadying the camera, mother is looking at Aunt D for her to hurry up, and Aunt D is gently and deliberately slathering on a fresh coat of gloss to her lips. I can see in my mother's eye the same frustration and impatience I have with her when she tells us to come over at 4:30, but isn't ready until 5:30 to actually visit. Yet, for some reason I have not felt the impatience with Aunt D for the behavior I normally detest. Why? Because I only see Aunt D once a year, if I'm lucky. Sometimes it might be once in a few years. My mother on the other hand speaks with Aunt D on the phone nearly every week. Something she has been forcing herself to do since both her parents passed away. And why does she do that? Because she told me she feels she needs to be closer to her family. Perhaps it is wine or irony, but something here borders on edifying. And so, as the flashes are finally going off and my mother and Aunt D have smushed Noodle between them, their smiles from ear to ear, I begin to sympathize with my mother for all the difficulty she has had in reconnecting to her family. When I was 11, my grandmother took me to meet Aunt D for the first time in the Houston Mall. There, by the indoor ice-rink, I saw her and said, "Wow, you look just like my mother!" Aunt D replied, "Well I take that as a huge compliment." Aunt D suffered from eating disorders throughout her life, and I can only imagine it was to keep up with my mother's natural tendency to remain thin. I remember when I returned from my first year in college when I remarked to my mother that she looked good, she said, "This is the first time I'm heavier than I was in college (102 lbs)." As they were giggling about each other in the restaurant booth, I realized that Aunt D no longer looks like my mother. She looks like my grandmother. An almost exact match, with gray hair, the same weathered beach skin, and same bob haircut my grandmother sported during her late tennis days (she won the entire state of Texas age group tournament one month before she died of stomach cancer). Was it that Aunt D had no further desires to be my mother, and was instead placing her energies in being what grandmother was? I wasn't sure, but I couldn't help feel that Aunt D was still, at this ripe age of 60+, trying to find herself. Yet, the story goes further. Noodle had taken a keen interest in Aunt D. Something she has not done in the same way as she has taken to my grandmother. And while I knew it was only for the pure fact that Aunt D flew in like Glinda on bubble cloud, I could see how it bothered my mother for a bit that Noodle was having more fun with Aunt D than she normally had with my mother. Aunt D let Noodle throw in mounds of tape gum into her mouth to try and learn to blow bubbles. My mother would have instead tried to give Noodle one piece, because, after all, one is enough. Aunt D let Noodle run through the house and jump on her guest room bed. My mother would have instead tried to get Noodle to slow down, and be careful. Aunt D let Noodle stay up late and got her spinning her wheels even though we were trying to go. My mother would have instead had Noodle brush her teeth, relax, and get ready to leave. Aunt D let Noodle pop her gum with her finger and make a mess. My mother would have instead told her it was dirty to put her finger in someone else's gum. Aunt D was Aunt D. My mother was me. I realized, I was just like my mother in those respects. I realized, Aunt D never had children. My mother had two. I realized, I was my mother's child. The night was beginning to be like the end of a Joyce Carol Oates novel. The protagonist was suffering from familial enlightenment while the antagonists were slowly revealing their tragic flaws to themselves. And so, as Aunt D was leaving that night, the last I knew for Noodle, I wondered back to that family reunion in the airport. I was wondering who amongst them was becoming a divinity stick pointing at something they had wondered about their self, only to find it in the person they had hoped it wasn't.