Uncle Luis
It was a freezing cold night in July, and there were four of us having dinner at granddad’s home: my granddad, my uncle Luis, my mother and I. Since we were not the typical family that was in permanent contact and gathered every week to share our happiness and miseries, that day was considered an unusual one. This family used to be one before grandma’s death and another, completely different one, after her death.
The special night included the saddest anniversary, two years without grandma and believe it or not, Luis’ appearance. During grandma’s last days, Luis had been infatuated with a voluptuous shop assistant, so he would spend his valuable time running behind her whims. He did not even assist his mother in her clinical admission as he was so busy immersed in an uncertain business.
During the meal, nobody uttered a word and we could clearly hear the sound of the wood crackling. After a while, Luis finally did it. Once again he originated a controversy.
“Dad, remember the plots of land Mum used to have in Monte Maiz?” he asked.
“Yes, why are you asking, Luis? Are you planning to move in? Granddad replied.
“Oh no, it’s just that I’m investing some money in a new business. This is the best moment to do so and I don’t want to miss this opportunity. So I thought you could sell the plots and give me my part of the inheritance.”
At that time, my mother’s face went red with anger. Dropping the cutlery, she yelled at him: “Your what? Your father is still alive. Can’t you see him?”
Oh no! My mother is being sarcastic again. Sarcasm is not the only quality that my mother possesses; sometimes Mr. Rage comes to visit her. So my mother, completely seized by Mr. Rage, continued shouting: “You are a spoilt child who only cares about himself. I have an idea! I can also give you MY part (emphasising “my”) so you can pay the food expenditures of your daughter, the one you haven’t seen for two years and you can also afford the treatment for your little problem” That comment was definitely the icing on the cake. The name of my uncle’s little problem was “alcoholism”.
Mum was so livid that she couldn’t measure her words. She blew her top and now she had to face the consequences of her lack of tact. Granddad was absolutely speechless. He murmured some words but we could not understand him. Luis stared at Mum for some minutes and before leaving the house, he shouted: “Who do you think you are?” Seeing Granddad crying broke my heart. That was the last time that Mum and I saw Uncle Luis.
It was a freezing cold night in July, and there were four of us having dinner at granddad’s home: my granddad, my uncle Luis, my mother and I. Since we were not the typical family that was in permanent contact and gathered every week to share our happiness and miseries, that day was considered an unusual one. This family used to be one before grandma’s death and another, completely different one, after her death.
The special night included the saddest anniversary, two years without grandma and believe it or not, Luis’ appearance. During grandma’s last days, Luis had been infatuated with a voluptuous shop assistant, so he would spend his valuable time running behind her whims. He did not even assist his mother in her clinical admission as he was so busy immersed in an uncertain business.
During the meal, nobody uttered a word and we could clearly hear the sound of the wood crackling. After a while, Luis finally did it. Once again he originated a controversy.
“Dad, remember the plots of land Mum used to have in Monte Maiz?” he asked.
“Yes, why are you asking, Luis? Are you planning to move in? Granddad replied.
“Oh no, it’s just that I’m investing some money in a new business. This is the best moment to do so and I don’t want to miss this opportunity. So I thought you could sell the plots and give me my part of the inheritance.”
At that time, my mother’s face went red with anger. Dropping the cutlery, she yelled at him: “Your what? Your father is still alive. Can’t you see him?”
Oh no! My mother is being sarcastic again. Sarcasm is not the only quality that my mother possesses; sometimes Mr. Rage comes to visit her. So my mother, completely seized by Mr. Rage, continued shouting: “You are a spoilt child who only cares about himself. I have an idea! I can also give you MY part (emphasising “my”) so you can pay the food expenditures of your daughter, the one you haven’t seen for two years and you can also afford the treatment for your little problem” That comment was definitely the icing on the cake. The name of my uncle’s little problem was “alcoholism”.
Mum was so livid that she couldn’t measure her words. She blew her top and now she had to face the consequences of her lack of tact. Granddad was absolutely speechless. He murmured some words but we could not understand him. Luis stared at Mum for some minutes and before leaving the house, he shouted: “Who do you think you are?” Seeing Granddad crying broke my heart. That was the last time that Mum and I saw Uncle Luis.
Good story, Anahí.
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