Stevey and Aunty by Ilana Simons

     Stevey Smith crouched on the living room floor, nose to the dust. He was waiting for his Aunty to storm back in. She was just outside answering a call.

     The door flew open. She came in: “You know I’m doing this because I love you. Stevey stand up. Come over, baby!” She grabbed his head and folded him into her chest. She rubbed his hair. He stiffly endured it.

     She let him go with a push, and they sat on the couch together. She looked at her nephew with pity, with a tear in her eye.

     Stevey was thirty. He had always been a bright thinker, but he didn’t have a job, and he was shy. His sister was a general in the army.

     His aunt slapped his hand on the couch: “You can do anything you want to do!”

     He stared down.

     “Tell me what you want to do.”

     “You don’t have to pick any one thing!” she laughed. “We’ve been talking about a general feeling.”

     He nodded.

     “Try it. Do you know what I’ve been saying?”

     He put a finger out flat on his lap. “There’s an idea of Spiderman,” he began.

     She laughed. She put her own finger out: “Yes, extend a finger like this, and imagine everything in your head can come spurting out and be reality.”

     “That what I will can happen….”

     “OK try it. Stand up.”

     They stood. Her breasts stood out like a pillow. “Open your eyes,” she said, “Try.”

     He smiled, wide eyed.

     “But do you really want it, or are you just trying to please me?” she bellowed.

     He said he really wanted to try.

     She had him close his eyes and visualize walking into the world. Imagine knowing everything you want to do, you can. You’re strong and nothing can stop you. You walk off the porch and through the yard, out the gate, into the world, and everything familiar just fades away, fades. “Stevey, it does! OK?”

     He nodded sheepishly.

     She held his shoulder. “Listen to me. You’ve always been a little fainthearted. Stand up and say, ‘I am the best.’”

     He smiled.

     She tugged his hand. “I want you to walk out there. Tiger! Sometimes familiar things—our doormat or the porch—will scare you, because they make you think of what you think you’re supposed to be. But Stevey, there’s no ‘supposed to.’ I want you to think about walking out there and letting everything solid fade away, so there’s just you and the day, and your desire, whatever it is.” She put her finger out like Spiderman. “You can do anything.”

     He lay in bed that night and started at the ceiling. He picked at his nose and thought about the possibility she’d posed: Could he walk out of the house, past the familiar doormat, by the flower pots and overhang, and feel lighter than it all? Could he look at familiar things and forget what they had always implied for his tired, obedient mind and feel easy enough to do anything? Could he use his imagination?

     He’d try. He put on his pants and a sweatshirt. He turned on the light to check his hair in the mirror. He listened in the hall. It was quiet. He went out, gently closing the house door behind him.

     He walked down the porch steps. Under the lamps he saw the wooden stairs of the porch and the flowerpots. He tried to push it all out of his mind. If he felt the burden and the old meanings of things, he tried to erase it all—to feel there were no obligations, no meanings, no old Stevey, just the dark night, cool air, and his will.

     He walked a while and rounded the corner of the bank with its street lamps. He saw a man in a suit and a broad hat walking a dog.

     Stevey walked up to the man and stood in front of him. He blocked him with a smile. The man stared back at Stevey like he was strange.

     Stevey squatted, as if to pet the dog. His hand hovered by the muzzle: “So should I pet her?”

     Streetlamps lit the yellow fur under the dog’s belly. She was drooling around her mouth.

     Stevey kept his hand there, not petting yet. He stared at the drool under the muzzle. He felt darkness, remembered his aunt’s credo to follow his instincts, and swept his hand around to grab the belly. The dog moved too fast. Stevey only touched her side. He slapped again quickly, this time hitting the muzzle.

     “Shit!” yelled the stranger.

     Stevey tried to pick up the dog. The stranger got her first.

     “Oh, but just put her down a sec,” Stevey laughed. “Just put her down.” He tried to grab the guy’s dog. He could only get at the nose again and slapped.

     The man strong-armed him. Stevey laughed, “Let me.” The man just held his dog, stiff. Stevey had a sudden, bright feeling that he was keeping the man’s attention. He slapped at the dog. He ran. The man left the dog and his hat flew off and he ran after Stevey.

     At home Stevey grabbed for his keys but didn’t have them. He rattled the door. He lifted the window and rolled inside.

     Aunty was up. “Well honey, good God, what happened?”

     Stevey laughed: “I hit his dog! I slapped the guy’s dog.”

     The man banged at the door.

     Aunty laughed at the scene.

     “Well, what are you going to do with him?”

     Stevey stared at the door, not knowing.

     Aunty’s red plaid nighty stopped mid-calf. She smiled in the shadows.

     The guy was loud and excited and climbed through the window.

     “What will you do?” she laughed.

     “I don’t…!” But then instincts kicked in. Stevey grabbed the guy and twisted his arm around his back.

     “What was the intention?” laughed Aunty.

     “I just…!”

     “Ok, great.” She walked up to Stevey and touched his arm. She was happy and not overly surprised. “Can I talk to the man for a second?”

     Stevey didn’t let go.

     Aunty tapped Stevey’s arm. “Let go of the guy