Page 80 - Where the Dream Ends ebook

Marc Erdrich

“You can always tell quality merchandise,” she says.

Perched on a wooden mantle above a fake fireplace are pic-
tures of her children as youngsters in the ‘50s and ‘60s. In the
narrow kitchen, a red Formica table, chipped and stained with
age, stands along one wall. The oven stopped functioning a
long time ago, and only one burner on the gas stove ignites,
but it’s been a long time since she has done any cooking.

“Good enough for boiling water,” she says, putting on the
teapot.

Harry’s visit is a special occasion, so his aunt has dressed in
a flower print pantsuit, looking elegant for her 90 plus years.
Her lips are caked bright red — she wants to kiss him! — and
her cheeks are pink with rouge. The hair clips are firmly an-
chored, each one securing a curl. Even though he has just ar-
rived, she insists he eat the treats she proffers: cold cuts and sal-
ads from the local deli, served up in colored glass dishes; butter
cookies from the bakery on 231 Street; crackers, cheese, can-
st
dy, and tea, all rolled into the living room on an ancient metal
cart and served on stackable, plastic TV trays.

“No, I can’t, please, no, I’ve already eaten,” Harry says,
truthfully.

“Eat! Eat!” she insists. So he eats.

They talk about the old days, looking at photographs yel-
lowed with time. When they are through reminiscing, they talk
about the present, but it’s not easy. The last time she went to
a movie theater was in 1962. “Too much sex in today’s films,”
she says, prudishly.

78