Essay About Family: Inside the Nightstand :: Personal Narrative essay about my family

Inside the Nightstand We live to nabher now, my boyfriend and I. Its cool it new to both of us. 41 North State Street- thats us. The heartsease apartment lined by two rows of cement drive, an oak tree, and his step-mothers opinion that we are too young to be living together seriously. We share our bedroom, square in shape, with the bed pressed tightly to the far-off wall, curtains embracing the narrow sides of the mattress. Its ours- the bed, the room, the oak tree, and the way my toothpaste sticks to the sides of the white sink. The toothpaste doesnt bother me, but its something Im working on. Were still getting use to all this. Sharing a sewer is what were working on at the moment. Home alone I find myself organizing- shiny silverware drawers, old, half-bent novels, rows of mismatched socks. My mother calls and tells me I must get out more. I opt instead for making the bed in our square shaped room, but not before casting myself amid the sheets, my bare back feeling warm against the patch of sun-stricken cotton. Beside the bed is the nightstand. My brass shines innocently in a picture of myself taken with my father at age four. His dark bushy hair and matching 80s mustache contrast with the pale frame of my body sitting on the counter beside him. Near that is the picture of my best friend Erin and me. We were in Paris. The secretive frame of the picture cuts off anything below our necks, hiding her belly that has late become home to a tiny son- due to arrive early January. Inside the nightstand many things sit quiet an old red wallet, a shirt with a broken left strap, a journal, and a quid of pictures from my 21st birthday party. I open the wallet to see if, by chance, I was smart enough to leave myself some backup cash. The slots inside lay empty, bent over from years of wear and tear. I phone how I used some of my graduation money from high rail to buy this wallet.