Painting by: Basheev: The Prose of Life (Byt)
It’s Sunday morning, just about half past ten and today seems set for another uneventful day. We’re seated at this table and my thoughts wonder into the abyss of the questionably questionable.
Uncle Sam scratches his chin while pondering his day, and Serafina; his first cousin on his father’s side of the family, quietly tends to her coffee; she’s the most unobtrusive woman you’ll ever meet, a real blessing, come to think of it.
My thoughts are questionable only to myself, as I think about escaping this household; without a suitor to go with me. Can you imagine the scandal if I did this? Who would care what anyone thought of me if I just up and left here? The thing is, where would I go? How would I support myself? I’ve no money of my own. It is with thanks to uncle Sam that I live here. He’s been taking care of me since I was 3yrs old; when Mother sadly passed away giving birth; I’ll never know if it was a girl or a boy. No one ever told me. Why these things are kept such secrets, is beyond me.
Uncle Sam never married, and when Serafina came to visit after Mother died, she felt obligated to stay and help uncle Sam raise me. She’s a real gem and even though she’s an aunt, she’s like a mother to me. I’m not sure why she never married. I guess marriage isn’t something that all people find or are betrothed to. Watching aunt Serafina seated across the table, you’d never think of her as a keeper, looking like a servant in that outfit of hers. She’s a good woman and there was no one around her for her to wed. No one that ever showed an interest in her. I feel sad for her. She seems happy enough though. I wonder if I’ll end up just like her?
I’m told that Father was too full of grief to take care of himself; the bottle was his only solace and escape from his sad reality; being left without a wife. He was too lost and uncle Sam took it upon himself to take care of me as one of his own. He felt it was the least he could do for his dearly departed sister. There wasn’t much he could do to help Father with his grief. We all handle grief differently. Uncle Sam is philosophical and from what I can gather, Father is fatalistic.
Now that I’m an adult and very grateful for the life that uncle Sam has given me; you’d never think that I was grateful because I want to leave. I am grateful. Really I am. I guess I’m bored and I want something more to life than what I have behind these walls. Uncle Sam is in deep thought again. He has been this way for a few weeks now. I wonder if he has planned something; like perhaps a husband for me? He knows many people around here, but has always been protective of me and of his cousin Serafina. He definitely is in deep thought. He must have something planned. Surely?
Huh… A few men walk past our home, some alone, some with women glued to their arms…
I wonder if any of them will one day be my husband?
I have to stop my current train of thoughts. I’ll go mad if I don’t.
I’ve got so much to do, I might as well get on with it, plus my feet and legs are getting cold and achy just sitting here looking out of this window.