Your kitten heels sink into the soft, wet, gravelly mud of the old woman's unpaved driveway. You realize that you cannot stop thinking of her as "the old woman' instead of your grandmother. You suppose it isn't fair to hold yourself to some expectation of familial piety when you had no idea she existed a month ago, but as you turn the key into the lock of her home that you inherited, you still feel bad about it somehow. The lock clicks, and the door swings open with a rusty swing. It is dark in the house. You flip the switch, only to find that it isn't working. So, you use your cellphone's flashlight to look around. The house itself is not very large. Not large enough to warrant the death stares you got at the funeral, but you never know; maybe the property was worth a lot if you were to sell it. You shrug; you know nothing about real estate... Or homeownership for that matter. Yet, here you are. The door swings shut on its own behind you, and you jump in surprise. For being rusty, those hinges sure do get the job done. You try to shake off the strange anxiety you feel rising in your chest as you look around the living room. It was modest, with a single couch, coffee table, armchair, and television set. A piano stands in the leftmost corner of the room, and you offhandedly wonder if the old woman ever played. She must have, you suppose, for it to be here. Along the walls, there are framed pictures that you can't yet bring yourself to look at. The thought of seeing the smiling, happy faces of strangers who share your last name is a little more than you can bear right now. You kick off your muddy kitten heals in the entryway to avoid tracking mud through the beige shag carpet. There are doilies on every surface and a fine layer of dust on everything. Looks like the old woman hadn't been home for a while before she died. Maybe she was in the hospital? Maybe she was sick? You sink into the dusty couch and realize that you are exhausted. You glance at your phone and realize that it is nearly midnight, and you have had a very long, very strange, oddly emotionally rainy day. You swing your legs onto the couch and tuck your hands under your chin. It's not like you would be able to do much exploring with your phone flashlight anyway, you tell yourself. It's better to wait until you can see everything properly in the light of day. You close your eyes and try not to think about the old woman who was your grandmother in the casket or in the ground, or playing the piano, end especially not sitting on this very couch. You try desperately to think of nothing, and eventually, you drift off to sleep.
