"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 1960's.
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 Kay's 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
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 li
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