My Dream of Grandma's House

The evening was  warm.  I was sitting on Grandma's  rose colored
carpet in the front room of the Ivy Street house. It was good to be
back.

The house had been empty for most of the last 35 years, but it was
still nice. Shabby, sure, and a little dusty, but nice. Comfortably
messed up, so you didn't feel that you had to watch yourself every
minute.

I was sipping a drink, full of clinking ice cubes, from a tall plastic
cup. I had a flight back home in an hour, but it was so nice and
comfortable there, I almost didn't want to leave.

The t.v. was on, very quietly, just a sort of light show. Morgan and
Tim Aller came into the house through the kitchen. We all said hi and
joked around a little bit. It was good to see them again.

No one much comes up to the house anymore. It is weird really how
isolated I feel from the rest of life when I am staying up on the
hill. There have been dangerous  times, but this evening, with the sun
slowly dimming and a warm breeze blowing through the open front door,
doesn't feel like anything bad can ever happen here again.

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