Sharon's place was much nicer than mine. It had walls and a roof. It was a house. A real house. An expensive house at one time. We came out of the woods and Sharon paused to look around. So did I. She motioned for me to come up and stand next to her. I whispered "Yes?" She whispered back "I usually come in after dark. We're going in through the sliding glass doors under the deck." Then she bolted for the doors racing threw the knee high grass. Once she pointed out the way I could see where she had cut through the grass before. I followed her, just not as fast. Then she surprised me. She bent over and pulled a nail out that she, or someone, had driven or drilled through the sliding glass door frames to lock them in place. She stood up, slid the doors open, grinned at me, then slipped through the opening.
She left me standing in the basement while she darted in and out of a rooms. I looked down at my feet where the floor was covered with trash and broken glass. Something was off about the trash and basement. The air didn't stink. I looked a little closer at the trash. It was clean trash and so was the glass. It was camouflage. I was impressed.
She came back from where ever she had been and dropped a sawed off broom handle in the sliding glass door tracks and said "It's okay. C'mon." I followed her lead and watched how you could step around the glass if you did it in a little skippy kind of hop step. I laughed out loud. She didn't even turn around. She just said "Whatcha laughing about?"
"This. I like it. It's a skippy hop dance."
She giggled and said "Yeah. Kind of."
She led me down the hallway past the stairs. I looked up and saw that a stainless steel refrigerator had fallen part of the way down the stairs and blocked them. We went past that and into a bedroom complete with a bed and a dresser. The dresser had a bunch of candles on it, most of them melted down, and the air smelled like Whole Foods. It was very neat and clean. The dresser had a a couple of photos on it that as soon as my eyes touched them she ran over and snatched up. A stuffed bunny sat next to them. I always liked stuffed bunnies. I had one as a kid and my sister and got in a fight and his gutsies were ripped open. I tried to stuff paper in there and even tried to sew him up. I wasn't very good at it and he was hurt bad. I kept him in a shoebox by my bed and one day when I was out my Mother trashed him. I was sad for awhile.
I told her "I like the bunny."
"I do too." She gave me a sad smile and said "Don't fucking touch him or anything in this room. Understand?"