The car bumped down the driveway to my grandfather’s house. He had just passed away. My mom and I were coming to help sell the furniture and things, so we could sell the house. I slammed the car door and walked into the house. I walked down the hall and into the kitchen. As I looked at the refrigerator, I could taste the cold chocolate cookies my grandpa always kept in a glass jar on the top shelf. I walked over to the basement door and I could feel the pain of when I got stung by a bee while cleaning the floor. I could feel the dread of the punishment coming from when I was playing with a big long glass light rod and I hit it against the ground, and it broke. I walked out of the kitchen and through the dining room into the living room. Looking around the living room, I see a little shadow of where my sisters crib used to be in my mind’s eye and I hear my little three year old voice saying, “Where’s my baby sister?” as I was waiting for my her to come home from the hospital. When I sat down on the couch, I remembered looking down at my new baby sister, holding her for the very first time. The hours passed and people came and went, taking my grandfather’s belongings with them. “Time to go!” yelled my mom from the front door. I walked through the living room where I first laid eyes on my sister. Through the kitchen where I always had the best cookies, and through the house that I had lived in from when I was a baby to when I was five. Then I walked to the front door. Me and my mom took one last look around the house, remembering tastes, sounds, and feelings of our own. Then we walked out the door, shut and locked it, and drove down the bumpy driveway, the taste of chocolate still sticking to my tongue.