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PhineasSmithisAuntAngelina’sson.AuntAngelinaisnotmyaunt;sheismymother’sbestfriendfrom
girlhood, her best friend still—and next-door neighbor. Our mothers had been pregnant together that
springandsummerlongago.Mymotherrespectablyso,marriedtoherhigh-schoolsweetheartforovera
year with numerous pictures of their wedding scattered throughout their house with a fenced-in
backyard.Myfatherwas—is—neveraroundbecauseofhisworkatTheOfficebutMotherdidnotmind;
shehadAngelina.Angelinawaspregnantfromherlover.Hewasmarriedandrichandfartoooldforher.
Healsorefusedtobelievethatitwashischild.Itwouldtakeacourt-orderedDNAtestafewweeksafter
Phineas’sbirthtogethisfathertodothehonorablething—buyAuntAngelinathehousenextdoortomy
mother,andafter writingeach monthlycheck, pretendthatshe and the baby did not exist for the next
thirtydays.
My mother did not work and Aunt Angelina taught art at Vogt Elementary across the street from her
duplex, so the summer was theirs to spend. They told us that the summer of their pregnancies, Aunt
AngelinawouldwalkoverfromherduplexonChurchStreet—herstomachlargeandheavy,protruding,as
ifitwereleadingtheway—toourlargeVictorianhouseonElizabethStreet,andtheywouldspendtheday
onthebackporchwiththeirfeetproppedupontherailing.Theywoulddrinklemonadeoricedtea,and
onlygoinsidetowatchtheILoveLucyShowintheafternoon.TheysatclosetogethersothatFinnyandI
couldkickeachotherliketwins.
Theymadesuchplansforusthatsummer.
Phineaswasbornfirstonthetwenty-firstofSeptember.Aweeklater,likelymissingtheonewhohadbeen
kickingme,Icamealong.
InSeptemberpeoplewilltellyouthattheirfavoriteseasonisautumn.Theywillnotsaythisduringany
othermonthoftheyear.PeopleforgetSeptemberisactuallyasummermonth.InSt.Louis,thisshouldbe
apparenttopeople.Theleavesarestillgreenonthetreesandtheweatherisstillwarm,yetpeoplehang
smilingscarecrows ontheirfrontdoors.By thetimetheleavesandweatherdo begin tochangeinlate
October,theyhavetiredofautumnandarethinkingofChristmas.Theyneverstop;theyneverwonderif
theyalreadyhaveitall.
MymothernamedmeAutumn.Peoplesaytome“Ohhowpretty,”andthenthenameseemstoglideaway
from them, not grasping all the things that the word should mean to them, shades of red, change, and
death.
Phineas understood my name before I did. My name had what his did not, associations, meaning, a
history. His disappointment when our fourth grade class looked up names in the baby name books
surprisedme.Everybookgavehisnameadifferentmeaningandorigin:snake,Nubian,oracle,Hebrew,
Arabic,unknown.Mynamemeantexactlywhatitwas;therewasnothingtobediscoveredbyit.Ithought
ifanamewasofunknownoriginandmeaning,itcouldnotdisappoint.Ididnotunderstandthenthata
boywithoutarealfatherwouldcraveanoriginandameaning.
ThereweresomanythingsthatIdidnotunderstandabouthimovertheyears,butofcourse,ofcourse,of
course,ofcourse,theyallmakesensenow.
WegrewupinFerguson,asmalltowninthesuburbsofSt.Louis,composedofVictorianhouses,oldbrick
churches, and a picturesque downtown of shops owned by families for generations. I suppose it was a
happychildhood.
IwasquirkyandoddandIdidnothaveanyfriendsbesidesFinny.Hecouldhavehadotherclosefriends
ifhewanted;hewasgoodatsportsandnothingwasoddabouthim.Hewassweetandshyandeveryone
likedhim.Thegirlshadcrushesonhim.Theboyspickedhimfirstingym.Theteacherscalledonhimfor
therightanswer.
IwantedtolearnabouttheSalemwitchtrialsforhistory.Ireadbooksundermydeskduringlessonsand
refused to eat the bottom left corner of my sandwiches. I believed platypuses to be a government
conspiracy.Icouldnotturnacartwheelorkick,hit,orserveanysortofball.Inthirdgrade,Iannounced
thatIwasafeminist.DuringJobWeekinfifthgrade,Itoldtheclassandteacherthatmycareergoalwas
tomovetoNewYork,wearblackturtlenecks,andsitincoffeeshopsallday,thinkingdeepthoughtsand
makingupstoriesinmyhead.
Aftera momentof surprise,Mrs.Morgansen wroteFreelanceWriter under my smiling Polaroid picture
andtackeditonthewallswiththefutureteachersandfootballstars.Afterconsultingher,Iagreedthatit
wascloseenough.Ithinkshewaspleasedtohavefoundsomethingforme,butsometimesIwonderifshe
wouldhavecaredasmuchifIhadbeenuglyaswellasodd.