Vacuuming

Vacuuming is like a dance. Precise, constant movement to reach every inch of the floor. Consistent motion is a thing of beauty. Push…pull, push…pull. The carpet tickled the bottom of Meg’s feet and the whir of vacuum cleaner encased her eardrums.

She pushed the bumper of the vacuum cleaner into the last corner and tapped the button to turn off the motor with her toe. Ever since she’d taken up the job of a housekeeper, she’d been to some pretty interesting houses. But this house, by far, was most interesting.

If houses could talk, this one would. It would tell Meg its stories of old: how it withheld rain, wind, thieves, and ornery children. Its Victorian style gave the house a certain old mystique.

Pictures lined the wooden shelf on the clean white wall beside her. Most were black and white photos, some were sepia. Though the photos were framed, the edges were jagged and the corners looked sticky, as if they sat in a photo album for decades. She wondered what prompted Ms. Tyers to take them out and frame them. The old woman seemed secretive. Meg didn’t see her very much since she was usually gone by the time Meg got there to clean her home. Though the idea didn’t settle well with Meg’s curious mind, some mysteries may never be uncovered.