my aunt alice

i've been working on a play for the last month, basically creating a character based on my aunt alice. alice was my grandfather's younger sister. she lived 2 houses up from us, and about six houses down from my grandparents. my middle name is hers.
alice had more piss and vinegar than any broad i had ever met. she was also a devout spinster. she grew up in a house full of irish boys, taught school to children of miners, had a sweetheart die in the war, drank beer in a can until her mid-80's and could shoot you a look that would stop you in your tracks. she scared the shit out of me. she also had the biggest heart of anyone i knew. generous to a fault. she and my grandmother talked every night on the phone. no matter how egregious alice had been to my grandmother that day, my grandmother always spoke to her in quiet, consoling tones. i could never understand their relationship. as i became an adult, i realized, alice needed to be loved. she wanted to stand on her own two feet, live in her own house, make her own rules. but at the end of the day, literally, she just wanted to feel loved.
used to hate my middle name. but feeling more and more like alice every day.