“Well you just put that there down by the lockers, honey,” Aunt Bethany offered when I arrived at PepsiCo’s main lobby. From the outside, the building itself was as large and shiney as Aunt Bethany was vibrant and indefatigable, despite her outward elderly appearance. “Don’t hurt your back on the count of lil’ ol’ me. Now just hold on a sec. I’ll get Charlie to sign you in. We don’t get many visitors on the weekends in Chantilee, so I’ll have to kick the ol’ bag an’ wake him up.”

She wheeled around on her heels with her unremarkable tan cargo pants and oversized cotton white T-shirt clinging as though struggling to keep up. The folds on the large Pepsi logo on her back waved at me while she power walked across the lobby. Even though the hallway behind the lobby was excessively large and ornate, I was alerted to her dimunitive size by referencing the handrails that came up to her chest in passageway. I waited behind and placed my backpack near the lockers as instructed.

Four weeks ago, Mom asked me to stop by Indiana on my cross-country drive to Cambridge, MA, from California to visit Aunt Bethany. I was admittedly resentful and hesitant. Since I’m naturally introverted, I was indigant at the deviance from my original plan and would much rather have taken in the nation’s sights alone. Also, I hardly knew Aunt Bethany, and since she was way older than my mom, we really had nothing in common. After some passive-aggressive seething coupled with an overt argument or two, I had unlocked my iPhone and dialed what was likely a rotary mechanized phone on the other end.

“Hello, who is this?” a loud and creaky voice demanded.

“It’s your nephew, Walter,” I yelled back into the speaker, fully understanding the natural tendency to reciprocate volume in kind.

“What? Who is this?”

“It’s Walter!”

“Walter? I don’t know any Walters!”

I sighed, and continued, “It’s your sister Jenny’s son, Walter!”

“Oh yes! Lil’ Jenny and Walter! It’s been too long, I saw you last in your Minnie Mouse diapers!”

That was untrue. In fact, she had used that line at the few (three by my count) family gatherings both of us happened to attend. It was a line that I’m sure would embarrass me at my wedding one day. “Yes, Aunt Bethany, I’m seventeen, now. I’m going to college.”

I explained to her my driving plan, and we spent two hours on the phone, mostly with me repeating myself. Mom had learned a few years ago that Aunt Bethany’s husband had passed away, and she had been meaning to make a trip out there. My cross-country drive allowed some alleviation of her guilty conscience to act as a surrogate since it’s exceedingly hard to fly to I-forget-the-name-of-nowheres-ville, IN. This fact was also the same reason we seldom ever saw Aunt Bethany, though the infrequency promoted lavish gifts when we did.

Together, Aunt Bethany and I decided meet at her work on Saturday, and she would take me on a tour of the Pepsi plant she worked at. Aunt Bethany had an obscure job that I thought would’ve been automated out by now. That notion was more my ignorance: I know nothing about the soft-drink industry, just that she was a bottle-capping inspector for a large plant in the middle of America.

We worked through the rest of the agenda. She’d show me around town and we’d have a nice American supper so that I could feel refreshed the next morning to continue on my journey through college…and likely, the rest of life. Sounded good to me. Can’t wait, I had said out loud…to get this over with, I had said in my head.

Now, here I was, staring at a glass case of bowling trophies and employee of the year awards on the wall in the lobby of a blue-collar building shaped in the form of a bottle with the painted words PepsiCo, Chantilee glaring at me from above. What was that? I did a double take at the memorabilia on the wall. Aunt Bethany’s name appeared on an astounding eleven of the plaques. Tracing the hanging pictures back to the end of the wall, I squinted. “Most Inspiring Employee, 1973, Chantilee, IN: Bethany Livenston.” Below the scripted title, a photograph in brighter-than-life technicolor grabbed me with a striking blond in a one-piece swimsuit showing off a glass bottle of Pepsi on the shoulders of two muscular men in military uniform. My aunt was a bombshell, raged my teenage hormones.

Dude, she’s your aunt, Walt. By the way, she’s like three-thousand years old right now. And speak of the devil, I jerked to attention…

“Here it is! I got it, Honey!”

She waved around a sticker on her index finger, presumably with my name on it. I looked back at the 1973 picture and whispered, “Naah”. This old lady had an old-woman perm with peppered-white and gray hair. This old lady had huge Coke-…Pepsi-bottled glasses that were bifocaled. And this old lady couldn’t be that young lady.

“Now Walter. You gotta remember to keep your hands to yourself. There’s a lotta dangerous stuff in here, and I ain’t going to tell your momma that you lost your finger on account of me.”

“Yes, Aunt Bethany”

We toured the plant for a few hours. When my attention span faltered, I reached into my pocket for my phone. Aunt Bethany, aware of this, would slap my hand away and take it as she led me through rooms with massive machines looming over us.

“Now, hon! You gonna appreciate this when you grow older. Not many people have been through our lil’ factory, and this is where all the magic happens.”

As we walked past large metal arms and silver gears, my mind wandered. What must it had been like to work here? I’m sure the factory looked very different back when Aunt Bethany first started, which I surmised was in the 1970’s. Those blue eyes with bags under them have been witness to changes in automation that detailed the history of American manufacturing. We arrived at what must have been a well-preserved relic of the factory. It was a small workstation with a lever that hung over a long assembly belt with indentations where bottles would have been placed.

“And this, well, this is where I sat. And this here contraption was my faithful bottle-capper! Y’see it still works and all; just take your hand and press on it right there. Yeah, that’s it right there. It ain’t all that easy, right? Your Aunt Bethany used to have some muscle. Boy I was thin back then,” she lamented as she patted her belly, “cuz I worked out on this here lee-ver!”

Her voice faltered slightly. It was barely perceptible because she masked it with her consistently loud voice projection. “The foreman said that I was an MVP…everyone loved me back then.” Sigh, “I don’t think any of those guys is alive anymore, but I made them my friends sitting right here in this chair. ‘Course it helped that I was the only girl on the assembly line for a few years until Julie showed up,” she chuckled. “The boys on the line got ‘specially jealous when soldiers dropped by before heading out to ‘Nam.” By now, the chuckle had evolved into a cackle.

Soldiers…Vietnam: 1970’s, I believe? I guessed she had a lot of boyfriends stopping by the factory in po-dunk Indiana before shipping out. And then, a ton of bricks fell on me. I didn’t show it, but I could see the picture from the lobby in my mind again, the one from 1973. One of the two muscular men holding Aunt Bethany up looked an awful lot like Uncle Calvin when he was alive.

“Honey, what’re you thinking about right now? Looks like I’ve lost ya again!” Aunt Bethany exclaimed with a smile on her face. “Alright now, seems you’d rather be somewhere else. That’s fine, I know when I’m rambling.”

Of course she was rambling, but none more than usual. My mom always called Aunt Bethany chatty to her face, but that was not quite the right word for it. It was more like being talked at than chatting. She would take on the responsibility of holding court, even if you’re the host. She’d try to take care of you and feed you, which I thought was ironic since she never had any kids. Right then, I found that I really didn’t mind all that much. I’m a pretty quiet guy, and so it’s easy when the other party assumes the role of both sides of the conversation.

Still, my curiosity wouldn’t allow my fascination with the lobby picture to be left alone. “No, no, Aunt Bethany. I was just thinking about the picture I saw in the lobby.”

“Picture? What picture?”

“There was a picture of you being held up by a couple of guys. Was one of them Uncle Calvin?”

“Oh that picture! Yes! I was pretty smokin’ back then, wasn’t I? Uncle Calvin was so handsome and strong. He came by every day after work with some purple Magnolias in his hand. Must’ve cost him a fortune. But,” and she giggled again, “ I was worth it!”

“Back then, this whole factory was just this lil’ building, see? And he’d meet me right over there where that big ol’ machine is.” Her speech seemed to slow a bit, and I noticed a slightly softer tone…only slightly. “Yes, he’d have combed his brown hair so neatly and be wearing his dress tie. I could see him right now.”

As the energy seemed to drain from her, I quipped “Ok, Aunt Bethany, no need to go into details, jeez. You might gross me out.”

Chuckle. “Of course not, Sweetie! I can just see him now. Your eyes look like his, y’know.”

“Haha, Aunt Bethany, you’re not going to jump me, are you?”

“Well, he is quite a bit stronger and bigger than you! And on that note, let’s go get some meat on your bones. You’re gonna need them to impress them college girls. We gonna sign you out and let’s get some grub out at the lil’ smokehouse on Haste Road.”

I left my 2013 Kia Sorrento in the parking lot because Aunt Bethany insisted on riding together in her ancient Cadillac DeVille. The Cadillac was a boat on wheels, and it had the type of suspension that didn’t let you feel the road. There were beads with a cross on the mirror, and the AM/FM tuner was entirely analog. I was feeling a bit oppressed by the heat, so I tried to find a dial for the window because I was fairly certain that the push buttons for the A/C wouldn’t depress. It smelled slightly of smoke anyway, and realized that there was no button. There was, however, a handle to manually role the window down.

“You want some gum, Sugah?” she asked as she reached into a huge purse that she’d set beside her. “Don’t role that window down too far, Honey. Ever since your Uncle Calvin died, I couldn’t figure out how to role that one back up. He used to be a real mechanic, and this confounded hunk o’ junk was always giving him trouble.”

I nodded as I sucked in the fresh air through the crack in the window that I managed to open.

“Texas Roadhouse BBQ, I know the cook! You’ll get a hoot outta him,” she winked. “It’s been round here since I was a lil’ girl. Y’see that there thingy-doodle? I bet you don’t know what that is!”

I glanced outside as we approached the restaurant. It was a rusty water pump, undoubtedly out of use.

“Yes, back there behind there was where we would come after church and belt out Bye, Bye, Ms American Pie. You ever hear that song?”

“Of course, Aunt Bethany. You wanta sing it for me?”

A little chuckle…and then, “BYE BYE MS AMERICAN PIE! TOOK MY … “ I almost had to cover my ears.

We had dinner; she picked at a salad while going on about the cook. Apparently, he was also named Walter, which she thought was funnier than I did. I laughed anyway, and I noticed that it made her light up. It dawned on me that she might not have heard laughter at any of her jokes for a while, probably because she hadn’t told a joke in a while. Most of the workers at the factory had retired by now, and I’m sure they were on pension, or perhaps they had moved away with their children. Those that remained were likely dead or in a nursing home.

Before long, I was devouring some ribs and potatoes, uttering the occasional, “Mm hmm.” Being on the road had meant MacDonald’s and Burger King for days on end, and this was some quality meat. I hardly noticed the restaurant decour. What I do remember of it was that there were bison heads mounted over doorways. Pictures of the local population, many of whom were in military uniform, also haphazardly littered the walls.

We laughed a bit, and I was surprised at how much of a good time I was having listening to Aunt Bethany’s stories. Maybe it was the fact that I’d been on the road without hearing a live human voice. Or, maybe it was just her honesty and matter-of-fact tone that she loudly asserted. Her force of personality exuded energy that my quiet personality soaked in.

I had barely licked the last bit of gravy on my plate when Aunt Bethany eagerly asked, “You done? Now…how ‘bout some ice cream? I know just the place!”

We walked over to Ned’s Ice Cream Shop around the corner, without having to get back into the old Cadillac. “Uncle Calvin used to love their banana-nut coffee flavor; I hope they’re in stock today! My friend owns the place and they’ve been runnin’ it for years. It’s got these cute lil’ sprinkles too; you should have some. It’s family run, y’know? I’m so proud of them keepin’ the business alive.”

I opened the door for Aunt Bethany, but then froze in my tracks. Behind the counter was a young brunette girl with freckles scooping out pistaschio strawberry ice cream for another patron. Cute girl alert! Cute girl alert! Cute girl alert! Aunt Bethany hadn’t noticed that I wasn’t following her in and was loudly proclaiming the virtues of being self-sufficient or something along those lines. She turned around and giggled loudly. Too loudly. “Now, Walt! What’re you doin’ standin’ all the way out there; you’re letting the hot air in!”

Shoot, the girl noticed and smiled politely, “Hey there Ms Bethany. How’re you doin’?”

“Clarice? Ooh this here’s my nephew Walter! You both are lookers if I do say so myself. Now, Walt, you go on an’ order. Remember! Banana-nut coffee, yes?”

“Hey there, Walt, you want some banana-nut?”

“H-hullo, yes…that, that would be good.”

Unfazed, Aunt Bethany continued, “You two both gonna go to college an’ have some things to chat about!” I blushed and wished I could tell Aunt Bethany to shut up. But, I didn’t want to do that in front of my new found crush, Clarice. That would be rude. “Let’s all sit down and have a chat!” Aunt Bethany commanded, holding court again.

Aunt Bethany told more stories about Pepsi and the ice cream shop while Clarice and I secretly glanced at each other. Clarice’s father had emerged from the back and yelled, “Is that ol’ Ms Bethany? Ooh wee! Yes it is! Good to see you, ma’am!”

Clarice’s father and Aunt Bethany yelled out stories about a stray dog’s recurring visits at the shop, that time a bear walked around Chantilee, and sometimes Uncle Calvin. And then Aunt Bethany would brag about how I was going to some fancy East Coast school.

“Really, I heard all the schools out there are full of geniuses,” Clarice charmingly inserted.

“Aww,” was all I could muster.

Aunt Bethany kicked me underneath the table a little too hard. Occasionally, a customer would come, and Clarice would need to service them. That was when Aunt Bethany would laugh and encourage me. “Now Sugah, you go on and make some acquaintances. Otherwise, I got some dirt on you. Those Minnie Mouse diapers you were wearing when you were a baby? I can remember you runnin’ all ‘round in those lil’ things.”

I rolled my eyes, but was secretly appreciative that Aunt Bethany was a surprisingly good wing-woman.

The rest of the night was a blur. Aunt Bethany dropped me off to pick up my Kia, which I drove back to her house. She showed me around the one bedroom apartment, and made the couch with some sheets and blankets. “You like some tea?”

I nodded.

“Y’know them paintings over there? I only started them last year. I used to get up every mornin’, and get some of my oils and color them with what I seen in the mornin’. It’s tough to do, y’know, but y’gotta make time. You’re the first to see’m, by the way…”

I started to drift off a bit while she talked. Her voice reminded me of my mom’s only five times louder and twice as fast. Still, I took comfort knowing that I was sharing this house that seemed like home yet so very far away from anything that I considered familiar. I hadn’t noticed that I was sleeping until I woke in the middle of the night. She had tucked me in, and the window curtains were drawn so that the moonlight wouldn’t hit my eyes.

I heard faint humming from Aunt Bethany’s room down the hall, and I couldn’t quite make out the tune. Barefooted, I slowly grabbed my phone and used its screen to make my way to her room. It was Don McLean’s American Pie.

The door was shut, but it still had an old fashioned keyhole that I could peep through. I leaned down and peered through it. Her back towards me, the Pepsi logo’d t-shirt had been replaced by a brown jacket. It was still hot in the house, yet she was wearing a jacket? It was a man’s aviator jacket, one that I had seen Uncle Calvin wear on occasion at Christmas.

She was slouched over looking down at something on the corner of her bed, a picture.

“Took my Chevy to the levy, but the levy was dry.”

A sigh. She stood and placed the picture on a shelf. A small chuckle, “Yes, yes, I remember.” She climbed into bed, still wearing Uncle Calvin’s aviator jacket. My peeping eye made its way over to the shelf and found the same picture in the factory of her being lifted up.

“Then good ol’ boys, …”

She trailed off a bit. And then continued to hum.

I stood up and stretched my back. I had a good time tonight. Maybe another day or two wouldn’t hurt. Orientation doesn’t start until next Friday. Who knows? Maybe I can get some ice cream again. Maybe I might need a bit more of Aunt Bethany’s stories and her brash commentary before I start the next leg. And maybe she might want some more company for a lil’ while.