The Night We Left Essay
The front yard is tiny. It only has enough …show more content…
The upstairs of the house is my favorite. At the top of the stairs is the useless air conditioner that has never worked properly. I was forced to take naps on the soft bed in the first room. The next room has green carpet that resembles diarrhea. There used to be a sewing machine and bunk bed in the room until she threw them out. My grandmother’s miniscule office with teal walls hold more bookcases full of paper.
During each visit, the heat of the poorly air-conditioned house clings to me as I step into the door. Decades of my grandmother’s eventful life are in plain sight. Rows of pictures that were taken with an old Polaroid sit on the mantel above the fireplace. I always see the gigantic portrait of a beautiful abstract rose above the ugliest tan couch I have ever seen. Across from the tan couch is another couch that seems like it belongs in a Lego box. Adding to the clutter of the house, there is a dresser in that living room filled with old hair bows and barrettes and teeny-tiny clothes that belonged to …show more content…
The walls are covered with olive green paint. The gas stove has to be the most used item in the house. In the kitchen is a cup full of pencils that have never been used; I tried to use of the erasers and it broke off into my hand. My grandmother cooks every day of the week. Now that she is a little bit older, she cooks quicker meals. The kitchen always has some sort of snacks to hold me over until the food is done. My mother used the stove to straighten my hair with the straightening comb before picture day.
My grandmother’s basement is more than a basement. It is her second closet. The whole basement is full of her clothes that she collected over the years. It amazes me that she still fits into them. It is her laundry room. The deep freezer that never seems to run out of ice cream or meat is in the basement.
Going back upstairs from the basement and out of the back door leads to the backyard. The backyard is filled with spiders and other creepy, crawly things. It also holds most of my toys I used to play with while I was there. My grandmother keeps a garden. Around it is a makeshift fence that was to keep my brothers and me out when we were younger. In the garden she grows little, teeny-tiny strawberries and vegetables. The backyard also has a huge scarlet shed. I only remember going in it twice; I must have been terrified other