Miss Aline had a sad life. Of course, I never knew about her disappearing boyfriend, and the baby she had to give up, until much later. When I was a child I visited her often, in her unpainted wooden frame house across the street from us. Mama always made us ask before we went anywhere. When I asked to go to Miss Aline’s, Mama would send a bag of apples or some Jack’s vanilla wafers or butter cookies, or a big piece of cornbread with me. She would tell me as I left, “And remember that’s for Miss Aline. You have plenty to eat over here.” (Mama knew long before I did that Miss Aline sometimes did not have enough money for food. I found out later Mama often brought meals and groceries to Miss Aline.)
I was a plump child and loved to eat, but it was so exciting at Miss Aline’s that I didn’t think about food when I was there. She had a wonderful collection of toys she actually let me play with. They were all old, but in good shape, and, to me, were unique. (Miss Aline was not like prissy old Great Aunt Josie. All she could say when we visited her was “Don’t play with your cousin’s doll collection.” Or “Be careful of that lamp, I bought it in New York.” Then she would shoo us out to the yard to play. I heard her tell Mama once, when we were supposed to be outside playing, “That’s why you don’t have anything nice. You have too many children.” Mama responded politely, but I knew she was angry, “My children are my Jewels. I don’t need anything else.” We left shortly after that.)
Miss Aline’s toy box was an old wooden crate, painted like the night sky, with the moon and stars. Inside it, she had four gray sock monkeys with clothes to dress them, a wooden soldier on a stick, a china doll with brown hair and a lavender dress, a tiny tea set, a tarnished metal kaleidoscope, and a set of wooden blocks painted with numbers and letters. On top of the toys was an antique metal musical Ferris wheel.
We never stayed inside for too long. I was always anxious to get out and see if Miss Aline had any new flowers or plants. Her garden seemed exotic to me, like something from my favorite television show, Adventures in Paradise. As I pulled her through the kitchen to the back yard, she always stopped and looked up at the brightly painted circus plate she had hanging on the wall next to her refrigerator. (I remember it bothered me that her refrigerator door didn’t close all the way.) The plate had a lion tamer working in a lion’s cage, with a small child watching the show. Miss Aline would look up at the plate for a minute, then make herself smile and walk me outside.
Miss Aline told me once that the circus plate was given to her by someone she loved, and she would leave it to me when she died. “But you can’t die!” I told her. She had only smiled, “But everyone has to die, Little Sha, it’s the way of nature. And death isn’t the end. It leads us to something happier than life on earth, life in Heaven.”
Her back yard had a huge fig tree in the center, several delicious smelling sweet olive trees, two Japanese plum trees, a magnolia tree, two pear trees, many gardenia bushes, orange, yellow and red shrimp plants scattered around, and a rose garden off to the side. Miss Aline had the usual red, pink and white rose bushes, colorful climbing roses growing on two white wicker chairs, and green tea roses, my favorite. We would make a bouquet of whatever flowers were in bloom, for me to take home.
Miss Aline’s favorite was her huge spreading azalea bush in the side yard of her house, almost to the front sidewalk. It was beautiful in the spring, after all the pale purple flowers had bloomed, with the pink centers. If you stared at it long enough, it was like looking at the inside of Miss Aline’s kaleidoscope. While the flowers were pretty we would make azalea crowns for both of us to wear, and one for me to take home to put on Mama’s Mary statue.
The only bad thing was that their beauty didn’t last. As soon as the hard South Louisiana spring rains came, the whole azalea bush would fade to ugly clumps of withered brown, with a few green leaves. Miss Aline would always say, “They’re pretty for such a short time, Little Sha, then they are gone, like happiness in life.” Then she would smile and remind me, “But the flowers come back every year.”
As Miss Aline got older, she grew feeble and seemed to shrink. The faded housedresses she wore swallowed her up, and her long blonde/gray braided hair turned white. She would sometimes stare quietly at nothing. One year after the hard rains had once again wilted the azaleas, Miss Aline stood and looked sadly at the bush. I was afraid she was going to cry. This year, she only said, “They’re pretty for such a short time, Little Sha, then they are gone.” She kept looking at the dead flowers and didn’t add that they come back. So I reminded her, “But they come back every year.” Miss Aline only said, “Even trees have to die sometime.”
As I grew up, I stopped visiting Miss Aline so often. I didn’t forget about her, but the summer I turned 14, I also turned thin. (Thanks to dieting on green beans and canned tuna for months.) Boys started calling me and asking me to movies, much to Mama’s dismay. So there was simply not as much time for trips to Miss Aline’s garden. I did stop by every Friday afternoon, to sit on her front porch rocker and tell her about school. On the Friday before Spring Formal, I brought my dress to show her. It was pale blue, shiny brocade, and sleeveless. Miss Aline loved it, “It’s beautiful! That color will look pretty with your dark hair.” I described my white gloves and the silver ribbons I was going to wear in my hair. “Reggie said I would look like a princess,” I told her. (Reggie was one of the boys I had been dating. He was gentle and intellectual and looked like John Denver. Reggie was my favorite of all, but Mama didn’t want me seeing only one boy. Sometimes I still think I made a mistake not holding on to him.)
“Just don’t let that Reggie break your hear, Little Sha. You are too special to be hurt.” Miss Aline looked sad so I changed the subject. “I know. We’ll come over tomorrow before the dance so you can see me all dressed up. The azaleas are still so pretty. We can take pictures over here.” Miss Aline tried to smile but still looked sad. Probably thinking about broken hearts.
When Reggie picked me up for the dance on Saturday evening, we walked across the street to see Miss Aline. It was still light outside, and she struggled down her porch steps to meet us by the azalea bush. She hugged me. “You look so pretty,” she whispered. Reggie agreed with her, “Yes, she’s like a princess, isn’t she?” Miss Aline suddenly looked confused, but responded. “Yes and we need to make her a crown. Come, Little Sha, remember how we used to make flower crowns. Let’s make you one now, while the azaleas are still pretty.” She tied the stems of several of the pale purple flowers with a string she took from her pocket. Miss Aline seemed anxious and confused as she tucked the flowers under my silver hair ribbon. “I’m always afraid they won’t come back, the azaleas, you know.” She looked at Reggie, who, being a kind soul and much influenced by Walt Whitman's poem, Leaves of Grass, smiled and took her hand, “They’ll always come back, Miss Aline, if not as azaleas, then as something else.”
Just then Mama walked up with her Brownie Box camera in hand. “Let’s take a picture of the three of you while it’s still light. Here, stand in front of the azaleas for me, please. Miss Aline, your yard is as lovely as ever. And you look so happy. You must be having a good day. Now everyone smile.”
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