Whenever I drove past the end of my grandmother's street, I'd always look down it to her house. It gave me a sense of reassurance, seeing her house. I felt that all was right in the world.
One day I went out with some friends to play billiards. As we drove back, we passed my grandmother's street, but I looked up too late and didn't see down it.
For some reason I felt a brief feeling of panic. I wanted to ask my friend to reverse the car so I could look down her street. I wanted to leap out of the car and run back. But I dismissed the thought as silly superstition, and we kept going.
If I'd gone back, I would have see my father's car in the street, and my uncles' and aunts' cars. I would have seen the ambulance in the driveway, and the police car. Maybe I would have seen them carrying her body out of the house on a stretcher.
It's been four years now, and I still miss her.