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Whenever I get change, I use to glare at her without her noticing. I never dare to look in her eyes. Once in a month I talked with them to hand over the monthly rent. Her husband switched base to USA for business. He left leaving aunty behind and would take her when business gets established and everything settles down. While going he asked me to take care of her needs and help her when she would be in need. I and aunty became friendly thereafter and started talking freely. We even discuss personal and private matters. She was very normal in talks and helpful but was depressed for not baring child. They had medical checkups and report was normal. I felt sorry for her. After 6 months her husband came back for a week. He left and asked me to take care of her. I was invited for dinner by aunty that day. After having dinner she asked me whether I can help her which I agreed. I asked what type of help she required. For which she replied that she want a child from me. I was shocked to hear. " To do a mass bust out?" If we find it is possible."Silence slid by. "Just let me know. I'll have to rent a bigger car whenwe do."*****"So that's what it is ma'am," Rob told her. "You can live out a life withthe Faerie of this realm. Not a piddling little seventy or eighty yearsbut one measured in centuries if you're careful. But it's your choice. Ifyou want to die with dignity, you can. We'll get you back to the hospitalbefore you change and grow back to what we would consider normal size.You can go back to dying if that's what you want."Margaret Bell, who was Rhona's mother nodded. She was petite, long brownhair running down her back, and tended to be dumpy. But she wasattractive in her own way. Rob was suddenly reminded of Robert Heinlien'scomment in the book The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. 'There are no uglywomen. Some are just better looking than others'. She reminded him oflazy summer afternoon, warm fresh baked bread, and loving hugs. Shereminded him of his mother so much that.
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“Whatever’s cheap and on tap,” I said. She didn’t appear to even notice my face. She sure as hell noticed my chair though. Maybe that’s why she didn’t wanna make any faces at my looks: she felt sorry for me. I figured that that was fair; I felt sorry for me too.Some guy, a big guy put on some Alan Jackson stuff. Well, in Arizona there twern’t no bars with Jose Carreras on the jukebox. At any rate, I liked country, and I liked Alan Jackson.I was drinking alone as usual. The jukebox guy gave me a thumbs up at one point when he came up to the bar to get a refill of something dark in an old-fashioned glass.“Afghanistan?” he said.“Yeah, but how . . .?” I started.“You’re too young to be and Iraq vet; and your injuries are clearly war wounds,” he said.“Well, you’re right on all counts,” I said.We talked for a little bit. He as it turned out, was a vet too but of Iraq vintage not Afghanistan.It was my first foray into the social scene around my nothing digs. Well, social scene might be a.

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