The Woman with No Name

She unlocked the large sliding glass door with her small silver key, and pulled with a firm grip of her right hand. The door moved slowly against the determination.

"Hello New House," she called inside, walking through the narrow door opening. Her voice echoed through the chambers she would come to know as home.

Stepping inside, she heard her voice answer her back. The reverberations of sound in the large dwelling caught her off guard. She closed the sliding glass door behind her, using extra effort to no avail against the heavy glass door.

The white carpet in the den had been visited by the carpet contractors, and pieces of leaves had not yet penetrated the glass barrier. The carpet looked to her like fancy burlap. She had sat on the floor previously, and found the composition of the material pleasant to touch. Her aged white Reeboks looked grim against the newly laundered carpet.

She walked across the room to check the automatic thermostat. She had read the instruction booklet, and attempted to vary the temperature setting in the dwelling to coicide with the need of the hours of winter. The thermostat was the most complicated she had ever set. She hoped it was set properly, because the room seemed comfortable.

She opened the beige panel of the box on the wall, and read aloud, to convince herself, "70 degrees." She had mastered this technology on first encounter. She was pleased with herself.

She walked the rooms of the empty house again, surveying the three bedroom, two bathrooms, parlour, den, study and kitchen with an unfamiliar pride.


more to come. . .