I was in her garage. My ’69 VW Beetle was parked there, standing in a puddle of stagnant water. Her car wasn’t there.
The house was a meandering single floor building, built a little cheaply. Not all the dry wall fitted well. There were holes in the corners of rooms where the walls didn’t meet up right.
It wasn’t that it felt like she hadn’t been there in a while. It felt like she had never actually moved in.
Walking down the furthermost hallway, there was a door on the left. It was a cheap hollow core door, like mobile homes use for closets. Behind it there were feral cats growling. I tried to make sure the door was locked, so they couldn’t get in, but only realized how flimsy the door was, and how wobbly it fit in the frame. I left it hoping that the cats wouldn’t’ break in and tear everything up.
Somewhere there was a great white lizard about four feet long, with bright pink ruffles down its back. At first I thought it was a stuffed animal. Then it moved. I didn’t’ want it to touch me, maybe bite me. I moved away.
I couldn’t find any sign of mom. It was troubling.