Nancie

My Aunt Nancie was my grandparent's only child for four years before
my mom came along.

Unlike any of the adults I knew, my Aunt Nancie was different, not
just because she was adopted, but because of her adolescent, carefree
attitude. She was up to date on all the newest songs and movies that
came out, she stayed up late when she wanted, she dressed like a
hippy, and every so often she swore.

"Don't swear in front of Jonathan," my grandmother would quickly scald.

"Oh don't worry," she'd say laughing confidently. "He won't repeat it."

My Aunt Nancie and I had a special relationship. She felt like a
friend under the grown-up eyes of my grandparents. Though that
grown-up supervision was never oppressive or gloomy, she sometimes
made it seem like it was, and we stuck together, sending each other
reassuring glances when no one else was looking. She was my godmother.

Nancie's full name was Nancie Nurscek. She was married to Ken Nurseck,
a burly, quiet plumber from the local area. She spent most of her
afternoons on Autumn drive, wear she could eat, do her laundry, and
sleep until she left at around () o'clock. She worked at the same
hospital my mom did, in charge of (tvs). My aunt had strawberry blonde
hair that waved passed her shoulders, skinny legs and a skinny face,
high cheekbones, a long nose and big boobs.

She was weird about some things. I remember one winter.

"We're you watching him Ma?" Nancie asked as I stepped my way back
inside from the biting cold. I looked up at both of them.

"I was watching him," my grandmother replied.

"Well don't you think someone should be bout there with him?" she
asked again. "You never know these days."

I pulled the wet, suctioned mittens from my frozen hands. Nancie
turned to me, "You know not to go with anyone if they stop and talk to
you right?"

It didn't seem like the questions were going to stop. "Yes I know
that," I said. Never talking to strangers was the first thing my mom
taught me. Even though I could take on any bad guy on my own if I got
mad enough, like the movie Home Alone, my response would be to scream
and run away. I had promised my mom I would too many times.