An Old Question and a Funky Story

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eks

New Member
Aug 16, 2018
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I'd like to preface this by saying I was born and raised in Maine. I've seen everything in Maine from the Navy yards in Bath, to the endless trees and distinct lack of humans in Palermo, to the bustling tourist attractions of Camden and Portland. I know a lot about Maine, including that Mr. King is from here, but my knowledge of him happens to end there. Truthfully, I don't know if Stephen King has an aunt that likes pink or not, but this is about the time I may or may not have met Stephen King's aunt.

Ten years ago, in 2008, my mother fell from her horse and broke her wrist. The fall, the break, and the neurotic horse aren't relevant, but they did bring my brother and me to Waldo County General Hospital in Belfast. Specifically, the waiting room outside of where my mother was (I think) getting an X-ray. I was nine and my brother was twelve. My brother was going through a Stephen King phase where he'd blow through book after book in a matter of days. He would then proceed to try to scare me with the details and once forced me to watch the original two-part IT movie, but we accidentally watched the disks out of order.

Now, I was nine when this took place and nine-year-olds are not the most observant or responsive of creatures. They are especially non-responsive when strangers try to speak to them. My brother and I, seated in uncomfortable plastic chairs, both with our own books, were blissfully unaware of a women sitting across from us knitting. I think she was knitting something pink, but it's possible she was simply wearing something pink.

My brother, as was the norm at this point, was engrossed in a Stephen King novel. I have no idea which one. We were startled when the woman spoke up and it wasn't because she was a vision of terror with her pale hair and knitting needles, but more so because we'd been reading and we were two kids sitting in a sterile waiting room. She asked my brother if he was enjoying the book and that her nephew had written it. Neither of us believed her, but apparently, the thing she was knitting was for her nephew, Stephen King.

Our mother came out after that and we left Stephen King's supposed aunt to her knitting. My biggest question is whether or not Stephen King actually did receive something knitted from an aunt, pink or otherwise, in 2008. My guess is it would have been ready by Christmas.

I don't know if this woman was who she said she was and the memory is now corrupted with ten years worth of new memories, retellings, and the spotty observational skills of a cautious nine-year-old girl. However, it's a memory I've been chewing on for so long I figured I would share it someplace and hopefully, someone who knows more about Stephen King than I do, himself or someone else who spends their time on Stephen King forums, get's a kick out of it.
 

GNTLGNT

The idiot is IN
Jun 15, 2007
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