Aunt Cornelia had fleas. I guess she had too many cats or the cats had too many fleas, I don't know, but every time she came to visit she'd scratch and scratch, like it was the most natural thing to do. Grandma hated it when Cornelia would sit on the sofa, because afterwards she'd have to vacuum it and clean it with a piece of cloth and vinegar. I don't know if that's how you get rid of fleas - maybe they just went home with aunt Cornelia.
Well, she wasn't really my aunt, she was just a woman who lived down the street with her bed-ridden Mom and the cats and the fleas. She always wore black, which was unfortunate, as her shoulders were always powdered with dandruff.
Grandma would offer her coffee and biscuits, never wine, although there was always an open bottle in the fridge. Maybe she was afraid that would aggravate her twitch. I forgot to mention she had this weird nervous tic in her left cheek, like she was constantly winking.
Funny thing is none of us children ever made fun of aunt Cornelia, we did not laugh, call her names or even mock her behind her back. I guess it was that air of innocence that enveloped her, there was something childlike in her. Not that she was simple, mind you, she was very smart. That's why Grandma liked her - Cornelia always had something interesting to say as she read a lot. Mostly French novels. On my twelfth birthday, Cornelia brought me a book called Lost Illusions, by a writer whose name I don't remember. She pressed into my hands and told me it was her favorite book in the world and I would learn all there is to know about life from it. Grandma must have thought I'd learn too much from the book so, when Cornelia left, she put it on the shelf in her room.
One time I pressed Grandma to tell me the story of this woman. The foolish romantic teenager that I was imagined there must be a dark secret in her life, a lost love, a tragic accident, a heartbreak, but there was nothing to tell.
Some people are born like this, was all that she had to say.
Everybody thought Cornelia would be devastated when her mother died but she found a new purpose to life in the most unexpected of ways. One of our neighbors gave her an old computer, bringing the whole world in her small apartment. She even got a job with a popular magazine, writing the advice column. 'Ask Cornelia'. The girls in my class never missed her weekly thoughts about unfaithful wives, jealous boyfriends or the perfect first date, especially that. They were impressed when I told them she was a friend of the family. I did not mention the fleas, though.
Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge. Today's prompt was: fleas. Check out her blog and join our freewrite community.
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