Through an Angry Mirror

I gritted my teeth and made my way into the kitchen. Bitterness poured off the linoleum in waves. If ever I forgot that this house was still home to someone, all it took was setting foot in this kitchen.

"It's all right, Grandma. It's just me."

I walked over to the porcelain sink, pitted and cracked, and looked out into the backyard. I focused on the old burnt-out mulberry split down the middle and crushing the lawn. Tried to steady my heart. The first time I'd felt her, I'd let my imagination have the run of things and eventually found myself hyperventilating in the front yard.

I came right back the next day though. That was three years ago.