Old Women and Pink

My daddy had two older sisters. They were 12 and 16 when he was born in Pinckard, Alabama, in 1934. Aunt Betty never married and except for a few years working at Ft. Benning in Georgia and coming home every, single, weekend, she never moved from the house my Daddy King built, where my daddy was born. Aunt Helen married and moved to Pennsylvania until Uncle Dick died, when she came back to live with Aunt Betty. They adored being together in their old age. Aunt Betty was healthy. Aunt Helen had emphysema because Uncle Dick smoked, and she was on oxygen all the time. It didn't slow her down much. She could hustle all over the house with the long hose attached to her nose. 

In the middle of the night on the day of the National Peanut Festival parade in 2001, the house in Pinckard caught on fire. (I don't know if we ever really found out how.) The security system on Aunt Helen's oxygen detected the smoke, and the alarm woke Aunt Betty, age 78, up. (Kings notoriously cannot hear. It is a miracle that she did.) Aunt Betty went into the den and saw the 20-year-old, heavy, floor-length curtains burst into flames. She ran out of the room and into the bedroom that the women shared to wake Aunt Helen, age 82. The only way out of the house was through a window in their bedroom. Aunt Betty was stronger, so she went first. It was farther to the ground than she thought. She fell and broke her arm, then helped her weaker sister out the window. There was a chain-link fence around the backyard, and the gate was locked. A portion of the yard was contained by a cement block wall (that my daddy built when a porch was added in the mid-60s). The two old feisty things—one with a broken arm and one without her oxygen—climbed that wall.

By this time, neighbors had noticed the fire and called 911, so help was on its way. The women were in an ambulance on their way to Flowers Hospital when the fire got to the oxygen tank, and it exploded. The fire found the natural gas line that ran up under the house. It spread "like fire" and destroyed almost everything.  

Their brother, Uncle Buddy, called me later in the morning. He told me they were fine but were going to be in hospital for a couple of days. I went with my family to the parade, sent Chuck home with the children, and went to the hospital to see my aunts. Aunt Betty's arm had been cast. Her face was scorched and blistered. She was mourning her house and grateful to be alive. Aunt Helen, oddly, since she was weaker, fared better. They escaped, as they say, with the clothes on their backs. And those clothes were nightgowns.

I told them that I was going to spend the afternoon shopping for them. I got Uncle Buddy's credit cards, their sizes, and instructions: "We buy our undergarments at the Dollar General." Aunt Betty was a couple of sizes larger than Aunt Helen, even before Aunt Helen started to shrink. I got the bras and panties and other sundries at Dollar General. Then I went to the mall for clothes. It was cool that day, and old women are always cold, so I picked out for each of them a warm, comfortable, let's say "pleasure suit"; jogging suit would be a stretch. I can't remember what color Aunt Betty's was. It might have been pink. Aunt Helen's was red.

I went back to the hospital so proud of all I had accomplished. (My 2 sisters lived elsewhere; Aunt Betty had no children; Aunt Helen's children lived in Maryland and were getting here as fast as they could. I was the only soul out hunting for clothes for those poor creatures who had none.) I proudly displayed the treasures I got for them when I returned to the hospital several hours later. I knew they would love those pretty "jogging" suits. Aunt Betty opened hers, "Thank you so much." Aunt Helen opened her red "jogging suit" and said (drum roll, please), "But I wear pink."

Can't you just hear Scarlett O'Hara saying, "I . . . will . . . nevah . . . wear . . . any color . . . other than pink . . . AGAIN!"

So, I took the clothes back to Parisian. And bought her something pink.

The two old women undertook the rebuilding of the house. It was very similar in layout to the original. Aunt Helen lived about 5 more years. Aunt Betty lived alone for about 5 years after that. They both looked very pretty in their coffins—in pink. Aunt Helen is buried in Pennsylvania next to Uncle Dick. Aunt Betty is buried in the family plot in PINcKard.

Aunt Betty with my children at Uncle Buddy's house. On the back she had written "Day after the fire, Nov 1, 2001."