I covered myself with my skull-and-crossbones hoodie as the driver, undeterred by the pouring rain, unloaded suitcases from the bus’s cargo hold. Finally I saw my suitcase, grabbed it, and huddled underneath the bus-stop shelter along with a crowd of other passengers. One thing hadn’t changed—Aunt Libby was nowhere to be found.

I watched as each traveler was picked up by their party until I was the only traveler left waiting at the stop. When tapping my boots in the rising puddles grew boring, I headed for the convenience store a few yards away. I checked the aisles for any hippie chicks with the scent of potpourri or women wearing Nairobi sandals and tie-dyed skirts. Unfortunately, all I saw were a few truckers and the hungry bus driver.

I grew more excited to see my hipster Aunt Libby again. She and I were outsiders among the Madison clan. My aunt lived an unconventional lifestyle, working as a waitress in a vegan restaurant to support her acting career. She was a free spirit, and Hipsterville was a funky town where she could be her organic-eating, hemp-wearing, liberal self. Though we had different tastes, I always felt bonded with her in that we shared a passion for being different.

Ten minutes later, Aunt Libby was still nowhere to be found. Perhaps she was stuck in a rehearsal or filling up the saltshakers at the restaurant. I could feel the glare of the tattooed cashier. I didn’t want to appear to be loitering, which I was, or stealing, which I wasn’t. My stomach started to growl. I hovered over the candy aisle, debating which sugary cavity-forming candy to buy, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around. A beautiful lady wearing pressed pants, a Happy Homes real estate jacket, and my dad’s smile was standing in front of me.

“Aunt Libby?” I asked, confused.

“Raven! It’s great to see you!” She gave me a hard squeeze and I could feel her rain-stained face against my own dampened one. “I hope I wasn’t too late.”