The tickets were 16 bucks, but because my mom's friend, Auntie Mavis, was one of the organisers of the show, my mom and I helped out with the box office and got in free: mom sold tickets while I used my charm and wit at the door, ripping tickets and complimenting ladies' wigs and gold jewellery. Speaking of bad style, my dad has this black and burgundy-striped suit that he wore, a blood red shirt, a pimp hat and BEIGE SHOES! He looks like a background extra for "Shaft", or "Superfly": his taste in clothes matches that of his eloquence, in that he has neither. There were a few people that I recognised, like my Uncle David and his wife Auntie Norma, who were really cousins to my mom, but the one person I hadn't seen in decades was my Uncle Buzz's ex-wife, Joy.

When I was little, my mom got a phone call from him to come over. I had no idea what was going on, but I was suppose to follow her. My mom, my younger brother and I arrive at Uncle Buzz's place, finding not a single piece of furniture left: she had left him. Actually, the only thing she left him was an armchair supporting my unhappy and deflated Uncle. Everything was stripped bare, every room had too much air and space occupying it, the house stood like a skeleton picked clean of its meat by vultures; how much more vivid can I make this?

Anyway, when she approached me with her ticket, she wasn't looking at me. Maybe she didn't recognise me, maybe she politely ignoring me, maybe as she fades into slumber right now, it's just dawning on her that I was one of her ex-husband's nieces, and to make eye contact with me would bring too many ugly memories thrusted back at her. I mentioned her to mom and dad. Mom had seen her but didn't know where she was sitting while dad affirmed that he also saw her, and that she doesn't speak to him. Oh, the soap opera this would make!

I don't have too many memories of her, except that I didn't like her.