The Truth About One-Eyed Uncle George Part 8

The Truth About One-Eyed Uncle George

A serial story

Part 8 by Julieanne Gentz

Lila opened her eyes and stretched, letting the bright rays of the early summer sun that came  streaming in from the east window warm her face and her spirit. It was quite early, and at first she was confused as to why she was even awake. It was Saturday, and after a long, stressful week at work, her plans had been to sleep in. As she lay there, for what seemed like a very long time, she remembered the strange, vivid dream she’d had last night. She squinted her eyes and furrowed her brow as she tried to capture every little detail of it. There was a giant rabbit, a swarm of bees, and dragons – each having a  name, as if they were people! There were magic potions, strange surroundings, and . . . and, had it seemed to her that they were in Wonderland? What was most disturbing to her, was she distinctly remembered having told Uncle Joe, in a quite unhappy tone,  that he hadn’t been completely honest with her about his past, something she had in real life lately, felt might be true. But dragons, and magic potions?! Those were not quite what she had envisioned that entailed! As she went over and over it in her mind, trying to make some sense of it all, the fact that it seemed so real somehow made her feel like there was an urgent need to check on Uncle Joe once she had gotten herself ready for the day ahead, just to make sure he was OK.

After breakfast, which, of course, included a cup of coffee (she’d made it extra strong hoping it would, perhaps, help her think her strange dream through) she decided the best place to think things over was the sprawling front porch of the house. Now on her second cup of strong coffee, she made her way to her favorite thinking spot – the old, high-backed rocker in the east corner,  well-worn from generations before her rocking and ruminating. Listening to the familiar creak, crick of the rungs against the equally old wooden boards of the porch floor, she couldn’t help but wonder what her mother would say about all of this. What had she known about Uncle George? Why was he so mysterious? What in their lives had happened that she, Lila, knew nothing about? And why, why did she have this strange, gnawing feeling inside of her that she didn’t like what lay ahead?

Before Lila could think any longer, she heard the crunch of rocks as boots came walking along the tree lined path that led to the house. She sat there, coffee in hand, waiting to see who would be on their way to see her this early in the morning. Lifting her cup of coffee to her lips, but keeping her eyes fixed on the lane, she stopped in the middle of taking a sip, almost too shocked and amazed even to swallow.