Uncle

Uncle escaped. He took a handgun and descended into the cellar, and the air resonated with the muffled sounds of a car backfiring. I hardly knew either of them, he or Auntie. Daddy said he did it to get away from her. That may be. Anyway, he left a fortune. A million, Daddy said, at a time when a new Cadillac could be had for less than four grand. Today a Caddy is forty grand, …

…The roast pan that rode home with us was old, the porcelain chipped away in places. Almost rusty. Years later, the last years of her life, I was informed that Auntie roamed the halls of her abode, mindlessly, her existence of no more value to her than the waste that she lived among. I didn't mind. And if that dooms me to regions inhospitable, I'll know how to enter, won't I? With grace and humor.