Sin
Sin
by Nonnie Augustine
After my mother died, I met Aunt Shirley.
I found her in dozens of snapshots piled in falling
apart cardboard boxes we hauled down from the attic.
Small girls, with huge bows bobby-pinned
right on top of their heads, play with three
little brothers on Staten Island sidewalks.
Faces solemn, they pose in First Communion
veils in front of Sacred Heart Church. I once
wore white lace gloves like theirs to Mass.
Teenagers during the Great Depression,
they wear their dark hair in the same page-boy style,
dress to show off their tiny waists, smile in every picture.
(Did they help each other sew those outfits? How lovely they were!)
In my parents' wedding pictures, Mom wears an ivory satin gown.
Her train curls all the way down the church steps. Shirley,
Maid of Honor, wears a knee length dress. (I wish I could see
the color.) My father's in his Army uniform. It was July, 1942.
Shirley laughs with a sailor she dated, and there's a photo
of her with Joe Louis, the fighter! (Dad told me they'd been friends.)
I found a studio portrait taken of my aunt after the war,
but then she disappears from the boxes.
My Aunt Shirley, who had a good job in Manhattan,
who had her own apartment off Washington Square,
who was in love with her best friend's fiancé,
slept with him and became pregnant,
who was the most devout Catholic of the bunch of them,
slit her throat with Grandpop's razor in the white tile bathroom
of my grandparents' old house on Castleton Avenue.
A man, a neighbor, broke open the door, and so Nana found her.
Blood, screams and whispers, then a priest who refused
to say Mass at her funeral or bury her in a consecrated grave.
And maybe my mother wanted to die too, but she was a wife
who had children to raise, and a house in New Jersey to keep.
Dad didn't tell my brothers and me the truth about Shirley's death
until we almost grown. My mother never talked
about her sister even to me, her only daughter.
Not until I searched through those old photos did I see how close, how alike
they'd been back then—smiles unguarded, brown eyes kind.
After Mom died, I met Aunt Shirley.
Great job. This was intense. My favorite was second half of it. I thought it brought to the reader numerous issues to think about. I felt the sentence,- Not until I searched through those old photos did I see for myself how close, how very alike they'd been.,
said so much about the two characters. Great write.
What a sad story well told. I like how the narrative unrolls. Good stuff.*
Wow. Wow wow wow. Sometimes I wonder why and how it could possibly take more than 1000 words to tell an incredible story. I'm not Catholic. I grew up in the Upper Midwest. On the surface, this has nothing to do with me. But it does. My god how it does. Very nice work. I hope this goes very very far. It deserves it. Clean writing... very clear. This isn't a piece about English gymnastics (although they can be glorious). Thanks.
Very powerful piece, describing all the photos strewn around the house revealling a family's history. Fave*
This would be great as a post for the group Siblings.
A favorite. Nonnie, Nonnie, this is special writing.The private family details are so finely drawn. Importantly, to me, I found the introduction to Aunt Shirley via the photographs, after being told her story seemed to bring her to life for the narrator: "After my mother died, I met Aunt Shirley." Stories don't get told much better.
Wonderful piece about family silences and that horrible concept of sin that dooms everybody several times over. *
felt that one *
The intensity builds steadily, in pace and volume, from a quiet melody until the thunderous climax. Exquisitely executed, Nonnie.
And it helps me now appreciate those family photos incessantly taken and resented at gatherings, which can come to life after all that remains of some of its more interesting principals are vague whispers. *
your last line is perfection.
From the opening line, this never lets up. Nice writing, Nonnie *
I love the way you bring it back to the front after a rather harrowing journey. This is fantastic. Very glad I snuck some time from my work day to read.
I love the way you bring it back to the front after a rather harrowing journey. This is fantastic. Very glad I snuck some time from my work day to read.