Audrey

Audrey H.  She was probably as old as I am now when I knew her thirty years ago.  That would make her over eighty years old if she’s not dead.  I’m betting she’s dead.  What a creepy woman she was.

Audrey turned out a very diverse bunch of offspring.  One was a lesbian, one was a pedophile, one was a cradle robber (different from a pedophile in that he didn’t do things with children but was drawn to younger girls (barely over eighteen) who would be impressed by him only because they had no experience), and one was a weirdo military guy, sort of, who adopted an Asian baby because it was the “in” thing to do, except he was sure his pedophile brother had designs on his little China doll.

Audrey herself was a widow.  I don’t know if I ever knew about how her husband died, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he blew his own brains out to spare himself the bizarre family he helped to create.  Interestingly the cradle robber found a suicide note in the attic one day, apparently written by Audrey’s father, although he never actually committed suicide.  Maybe the note was really written by the Audrey’s husband and the cradle robber was just too embarrassed or ashamed to admit it.  Wow, now that I think about it, it probably was Audrey’s husband who offed himself.  If I had a family like that I probably would too.

But I digress.  We were talking about Audrey.  She had a job and every once in a while she’d have some friends over to play bridge, but for the most part she would hibernate in her room every evening when she returned home from work.  She would sit in there and smoke all night long, in her bed.  She came home from work, got into bed and smoked.  In bed.  She’d watch TV or read too.  And eat condensed cream of mushroom soup right out of the can.  And smoked.  In bed.  A lot.

She had a wrinkly face and long fingernails.  Whenever I caught a glimpse of her she was wearing a robe.  Seriously, I never saw the woman in real clothes.

For a long time I thought Audrey was the weirdest, creepiest person I ever knew.  Looking back now I can only pity her, and wonder where everything went so terribly wrong.  I bet she wondered that too.  Or maybe she thought it was perfectly natural to lay in bed smoking and eating cream of mushroom soup out of a can.  Or maybe she just hated the fact that her boy the cradle robber always had a stupid young girl in the house all the time.  Maybe if the cradle robber wasn’t entertaining his young ladies Audrey might have been able to eat her condensed cream of mushroom soup from a can at the kitchen table like a normal person.

Poor Audrey.

The End

P. S.  I found out recently that Audrey was listed in the obituaries.  She wasn’t dead after all!  But she is now and she was ninety-six when she died.  The obit didn’t say much about her and there was merely a private interment.  I kind of wish I could have been there, lurking a bit away, peeking at the burial from behind a tree or something.  I know that’s creepy, but I think it would be really interesting to see how her grown children reacted to the whole thing.  Maybe they were dancing or peeing on her grave.  That would have been a sight.

The End (for real)