Left Behind

"Our existence is but a breif crack of light between two eternities of darkness"
--Vladimir Nabokov, 1947. Three years ago, my family and I moved to Erie, Michigan.

Our old one story home was scooted up to a ranch style house built in the late 1960ís.

Kay Luis lived there. She was an older woman, around the age of fifty, who welcomed
anyone into her heart. About three months ago, Kay died of leukemia. She left behind
her house on Cambridge street in Trenton, Michigan. My grandparents, who now live in
our old home, had become very close with Kay. Close enough, that Kay had left her home
in the care of my grandma and grandpa. Because of their low income, my grandparents
decided to sell Kayís home. Before they put it up for sale, they let me tour the house that

I had played in as a child. As soon as I walked in the front door, I realized that the home
was kept exactly like Kay still lived there. Walking from room to room, I noticed the
house resembled the appearance, personality and the death of Kay herself.

I stood in front of ninteen hundred and fifty- four Cambridge street, the small
rectangular ranch home looked distant. I could make out a small indentation of the
ancient lawn sprinkler. Both the left and right sides of the house were blanketed in vines
which had hidden the damaged brick that lay underneath. Like Kay, the house was aged
and the crevices were simaler to wrinkles. The creamy tan paint still shines through yet it
is considerably faded. Above the porch, the original crystal clear glass windows acted as if
they were the eyes of Kay. She would stand in her windows and watch the neighborhood
events. Yet, a bright light seemed to shine from the top window, almost as if Kay was
there and very much alive.

Still hanging on the front door was a welcome sign. Even now I felt welcome into
her house. The first thing I did was lift her cookie jar lid, and indeed left inside was a
batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies. Kay knew that chocolate chip was my
favorite kind of cookie. She always wanted to make piople happy in the tiniest ways. It
was ironic that there were cookies left in the jar. Then in eachroom there was a bed made
up with the fluffiest pillows just in case she had an overnight guest. It is a shame, I do not
think she ever did. Now, even after Kay is gone, her house is ready to welcome visitors.

As I walked through the house I began to notice the small nicks and scratched
surface. The den had an older style organ sitting towards the edge. Molding had fallen off
the bottom of the wall which left chipped paint on the retro orange carpet. I decided to
look in the basement. When I did, I realized that a leaky drain had dripped ice cold water
on the tile floor. A basket of laundry stood in front of the washer. Kay hung her laundry
out to dry, she could never afford a dryer. I used to help her fold it on occasion. Now
though, I can only look at the empty hangers and cloths line, and remember the way Kay
stood there with a smile always. Kayís home, old and fragile, may die along with her.

Creamy tan in color, welcoming with cookies and pillows, yet faded and chipped.

Kayís house paints her way of life into the mends of everyone. At 75,000 dollars, Kayís
house sold to a deserving well-off couple. After much screetiny, my aunt and uncle
decided the old ninteen sixy ranch would be fantastic with a baby on the way. They not
only invested into the home but also the memories of our past neighbor will live