I was watching those bitches tearing up the place . . . yellin’ . . . fighting each other over this and that and nothin’. Each one claimin’ to have a more rightful claim to everything—just junk mostly—useless stuff she’d saved—crap she’d collected and things she’d professed to have. They tore that shack up . . . turnin’ it inside out. Hollerin’. Each one announcing “my name’s on that necklace, she give me that half-dime, that ruby ring’s mine” . . . fightin’ over things they’d only heard about. It made me sad. I just turned away and then my heart nearly stopped . . . the Gold Bracelet . . . it really did exist . . . the Gold Bracelet really did exist!! In the commotion, it must have rolled out of some box on the table and come to rest unnoticed in the corner on the floor, partially hidden by stuff already discarded and kicked aside. Some how I was able to fight that irresistable urge to just grab it and squeal (like you do when you’re walking and see a dollar on the ground). I quickly pushed some books off onto the floor and bent down after them, but I reached instead for the bracelet and slipped it into the pocket of my sweater. Slowly I stood up. I looked around the room . . . no eyes on me . . . and I walked out with what I have of gramma.