Monday, June 6, 2011

My coffee mug feels warm in my hands as I watch the wind blow the September sky blue. Inside, I still feel chilled, or empty. I swing back and forth. We're all walking around in a state of shock, but I'm not even walking much. I sit on the porch and watch the weather. I feel anchored to this home.

Becky and Mark think we should put the house up on the market. It's a good time of year. I ask about probate, knowing nothing about it really.

"Misha, there isn' t enough money in the estate to trigger probate," Mark explains. I try to remind myself that he isn't being condescending. We're all a little on edge.

Selling the house makes sense. I certainly need the money, and Becky and Mark could probably use it.

"Can I just stay here for a while?"

I'm stalling. And I guess that Becky's pulled in different directions. She's probably wondering why I'm hunkering down here now, when I haven't been around for so long, why I'm holding up this final bit of business, and yet I don't think she's ready to lose her home, her past.

Gulls wheel, ride the drafts. I feel safe here. I need to feel safe here.

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