3.1415916…3.1415926…?

Cally stood in the empty dining room. A carved, wooden table sat in the middle of the wooden paneled room with a wooden bowl of fruit in the center. The room was quiet, but a peaceful quiet. With the light streaming in through the tall windows and particles of dust drifting around the beam of light. As she glanced around the room, a sense of loneliness swept over her. 

She had just lost her grandmother to old age, and this used to be her house. As a little girl, she would go stay with her grandmother every summer. She would help tend the garden, cook food, clean the house, and other chores that needed to be done with her grandmother. Cally walked over into the living room and leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. Her eyes fell on the old couch, bay window, empty bookshelves, and rocking chair, all covered in sheaths of white cloth. The flower garden was just outside, below the bay window, and now that it was mid spring, the tulips would be in full bloom, bright yellow, purple, and pink. The vegetable garden was outside the kitchen door. The tomatoes and asparagus were overgrown; they hadn’t been tended to since the funeral. 

The house was untouched, save for the white cloth, of course. Consumed by the quiet, Cally stared off into space, her mind flooding with resurfaced memories of standing at the gas stove, stirring a pot of soon-to-be jam. They’d make a batch of every berry her grandmother had in her garden each year, and store the cans of sweetness downstairs. 

A noise from the front door startled Cally out of her trance. 

She left the living room and walked past the kitchen, down the hallway to the door, where a single envelope had just arrived through the brass mail slot. Strange. Everyone in the neighborhood knew her Grandmother had died, and all the distant relatives and friends of her Grandmother had also been notified, so why would anything be addressed to this house? 

She bent down to pick it up. Studying it, it was just a simple white envelope of medium size, with an address neatly penciled in the center. 

Lilly

314, Hemmimgway Street, 

Dacoda, Dacoda, 15916

That was interesting. 

Cally walked back down the hall. In the kitchen was a secret staircase leading up to the second floor. The Corner Stairs, as her grandmother called it. She sat down on the 3rd step, like she always had. Her Grandmother’s maiden name was Lilly. Was it possible that a friend did not know of her passing? 

She looked down at the letter in her hands, and frowned.

~🖂~

Lacy paced around her bedroom, wringing her hands. 

A loud banging came from below her feet. 

“You’re pacing like a caged animal, Lacy! Quit it!” A woman’s voice said from below.

Lacy stopped pacing. 

“Sorry,” She called down. 

“Good Gravy, child, what are you pacing at anyway? ” Mrs. G called up. 

Lacy plopped down on the couch. The apartment was small, so it was one of the only pieces of furniture that fit. 

“It’s nothing, Mrs. G.” She said to the floor. Only the most important something. 

“Hmph. Well . . . -” 

She had posted a letter last week to Lilly and still. Heard nothing in response. Had Lilly forgotten about Lacy? She looked across the room at her reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror. A caramel face framed by dark curls stared back at her. She was tired. And it showed. But oh well, there was nothing to be done about that. Leaning forward, she picked up the sticky note with the new address Lilly had penned on it. 

Lilly

314, Hemmimgway Street, 

Dacoda, Dacoda, 15916

Or was it 15926? The 2 was smudged. Maybe she’d written the wrong address on the envelope. That would be bad. Well, actually, it might be funny. The thought of an absolute stranger receiving a love letter to Lilly made Lacy bust out laughing. 

“I was right. She is crazy.” Mrs. G’s triumphant tone only made Lacy laugh harder. So what if the neighbors looked at her strangely, and little Timmy-from-down-the-hall’s eyes grew as big as dinner plates when he saw her. She was living the good life. 

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. 

“I’m just waiting for her to write back. It won’t be much longer…” she whispered, crumpling the sticky note in her hands. 

~🖂~

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