Those black leather shoes, sized ten, was the very first thing she saw as she stepped into the apartment. There they were, standing, pointing at the door, ready to go. Marty's shoes. His good business shoes, shoes he had worn to meetings, walked on in foreign lands on important trips his company sent him. They were not the last pair of shoes he wore. They were still standing waiting, for the next time they were to be put on, to conquer new places, help seal new deals. Seeing them was shocking to her. They way they were causally yet neatly arranged by the door, quite apart from the rest of the shoes, all anonymous, but this pair, this pair stood out. The way they made her feel as if any moment now, Marty was going walk into the hallway, coffee mug in hand, ready to slip into these black leather shoes. Marty and his nitpicky ways, he probably shined his shoes every other day. They were well-worn, one could tell by the folds and creases of the leather, along the toe line, but they were well-kept from the way the leather shone with a kind of quiet pride. She stepped over the shoes and walked into the cool, grey apartment. Everything was neat. Marty had always been very well-organized. His apartment showed this clearly, there were no general mess, only an unwashed coffee cup, a plate with toast crumbs on the sides and a tea spoon in the sink. His breakfast. He would have returned to wash them, after his morning jog. He was never one to leave a mess for visitors to stumble upon, not even his own sister. But there the dishes were sitting quite innocently and dumbly in the sink, reflecting the coolness of the apartment with a kind of detached carelessness.

Her eyes followed the neat lines of the apartment, everything felt so smooth and liquid, it was as if she stepped out of clumsy world into the tasteful contours of Marty's choosing. Marty had always been the tasteful one, even now, she felt a kind of envy for his sense of aesthetics,--clean, simple and intellectual. The apartment was not beautiful or welcoming, in fact, it was not even comfortable, but it was..stimulating, yes that's the word. It was the kind of rooms, magazines featured, the kind that real people did not live in. That was the way she felt, she had been sent into this catalogue apartment to pick out unreal things and to catagorize their importance. She bumbled into Marty's apartment with three cheap cardboard boxes and faced with the immensity of her task. She had not known Marty well, ever since he moved out on his own. Little brother Marty who used to sing lullabys with her at night. Little brother Marty.

She had gotten a call a week ago, as she was having lunch with Selena, she was complaining about her new manager, then the phone rang, She saw that it was an unknown number and ignored it. She had thought that it was an advertisement, or people asking for donations. But the phone rang again. She picked it up. There was an unfamiliar voice at the other end of the line.

" Am I speaking to Miss Anna?"
"Yes."
"This is regarding your brother. I don't know how best to break this news to you, but your brother had an accident."
"Who is this?" She had wanted to laugh. A bad joke.
"My name is Tim and I am the manager from your brother's apartment building. There was an accident."
"Look, this is not funny. Who ever you are leave me alone." She could feel herself getting angry.
"This is not a joke." She was surprise to hear anger in the other person's voice.
There was a long pause, then he continued. "Your brother, fell down some stairs. He broke his neck."
"Oh my God. Is he ok?" she could feel a chill creep up her stomach into her chest.
" He broke his neck." The voice repeated. "I'm sorry."
she didn't remember how the conversation ended. She didn't know if it was the guy who hung up or herself, but she remembered Selena repeating the same question over and over again asking her what had happened and if she was ok.

So, here she was. Standing with three cardboard cartons to clean out the apartment. She was given the mission to clean up what remained of her brother. His things, the things that used to be Marty's, that used to mean something to him. Things he treasured, things he took for granted, things he didn't know he had. Things she was to decide if they were of value or were simply trash to be gotten rid off. Things that had belonged to her estranged brother. She didn't know where to start. She touched the walls, her fingertips lingered on the suede sofa, the coffee table, the paintings on the wall, the potted plants. She decided to do the only thing which seemed right. She picked up the dirty coffee cup, grabbed a sponge and started to wash the dishes in the sink. It felt good and right. Marty wouldn't have liked her to touch his things, but it was the way she showed that she still respected him for how he made a space for himself in the world that was completely his own. Perhaps, no one else would see this spot he made for himself, with things he picked, arranged in a way he liked, but she took everything in for his sake.

At first, she had felt such anger. At the fact that Marty had died in such a ridiculous way. People didn't die form falling down stairs, they broke a leg, or had to have a cast around their limbs for months. Then she had felt anger at the fact that Marty and her had not made effort to stay close throughout the years. And finally at the apartment manager's request that she go over to Boston to clear out the apartment. She had wanted to know why they couldn't just have someone donate everything to charity, but he had told her that they did not want to be liable to accusations that Marty's property had been unrightfully given away or taken, she had to physically take care of donating his things. All they wanted was for the apartment to be cleared out by the end of the month. She had grown to hate that voice on the other line over the past week. The manager had been wise not to show his face when she arrived. For even though all the interactions they had was over the phone he must have felt her animosity for him. Firstly because he broke the bad news of Marty's death to her as a part of his job, and secondly because he made Marty's death seem like an inconvenience. He always had that professional and efficient way of talking to her.

Even now, she could feel some of that anger throbbing beneath her fingers as she rinsed the cup. She was distracted from her thoughts by what seemed like flickering lights. It was a mosquito hawk flying. It made the cool light streaming into the kitchen waver as it flew lightly around the window. It twirled in its airy ballet. It was thudding lightly on the window. Tapping the glass to try to get through to the other side. She watched it. Then she turned off the water. She opened the window, watched it disappear into the brightness outside. It was spring, the sunlight touched everything. Half of her face was lit up by the golden light. Everything shone with a kind of internal radiance. She stood watching for a long time.