My best friend is my aunt is my best friend

The sun had risen up. Actually it was not the sun’s ray, which was illuminating the room, that woke me up. It was my aunt’s voice that woke me up.

I was used to this alarm…my aunt’s alarm.

I always stayed with my aunt. My mom and dad both worked in a company so they would go out early in the morning and return back late.

My aunt’s final exam had just ended and it was her vacation. I was also having my summer break.

“Abemma…hey baby…wake up…pipi is here.”

Like my aunt called me abemma….I called her Pipi.

I was five years old at that time and Pipi was sixteen. In spite of the age gap, she was more like my best friend to me.

My mom, as usual, handed her the bag with my stuffs…that day’s stuffs. Then Pipi took me to her room. 

Home sweet home…a great place to live. But without mom and dad at home, I would need to make a number of unsubstantiated assumptions about the attributes that makes “home” a homely attractive home. Pipi’s room was my home. All my dreams and memories lies in there. And I spent most of my time in her room.

I don’t understand how she managed to stay with me the whole day every day. She never got tired of being with me. Infact I was never tired of her too.

“Pipi….let’s play computer game.
Pipi’s father had a computer in his room. We broke into his room gingerly-played until our eyes would pop out-came out gingerly again like nothing had happened. Grandpapa never allowed us to touch his computer.

Pipi then told me,”Abemma we shouldn’t play this everyday……you see we will become fat like teletubbies…. someday”

I laughed and replied “I will be the yellow one.”

“No…..you are the red one and m the yellow one
“Yellow”

“Red”

And then we would fight on and on about it.

“Pipi, tell me a story.”

She nodded.

I got down from the bed and took a copy of tinkle from her bookshelf. I took it to her. Narrating stories was her specialty. And I love to hear her stories…..except for the fact that she would always end up sleeping before she completes her story.

She had started narrating the story from the Tinkle I brought. After some two or three minutes, her voice became completely inaudible. And that was when I woke her up.

“Pipi…Pipi…..come on…you can’t sleep. You have to complete the story.”

“Ohh…ahhh….” She began with those expressions. She mumbled some few unrelated words…and then she went back to her sleep.

I waited for hours for her to wake up. I was not unhappy or strongly displeased about it. My aunt, my Pipi would do anything I wanted. I love my aunt. I even enjoyed waiting for her to wake up.

“Rosie…..come……it’s the time for floral tribute”

It’s my husband calling out for me. I closed my aunt’s diary. Thanks to it….that I can clearly remember my childhood days with her.

Today is my aunt’s fifth death anniversary.

I am in my late forties and I still wish that Pipi was here with me today and play with me.

All these years after her death, I am cherishing every moment we had together by reading her diary.

She is my all time best friend.

I love you,Pipi.