As I step in between the two white pillars that stand on both sides of the side entrance to my house, I open the glass door and immediately smell the welcoming aroma of nicotine. My light colored golden retriever hurries to the door to welcome me by wagging his tail and chasing after me with one of the brown shoes that I had just left at the door. I walk through the back hall, which is covered in black wall paper with red strawberries, to go into the white and green kitchen. As I walk in I set my keys down on the smooth, cool white countertop. I look to my left to see my mother in her pajamas, which consist of a navy blue David Letterman t-shirt and blue athletic shorts, sitting with her red rollers in her hair. Next to her mirror and make-up bag is her pack of Merits and her 20 oz. Caffeine Free Pepsi. She is busy talking on the phone to my father, as well as taking a long drag of her cigarette. Of course, as usual, the small black kitchen TV is on in the corner, to her favorite soap opera, The Young and the Restless. I glance past her to the sunroom where on our multi-colored plaid couch lays my 24 year old sister reading her life-altering New York Times Best Seller romance novel. She frantically reaches for her cell phone as it rings for the 56th time of the day hoping that it is Mr. Right. The disappointment is clear when she sees on the caller ID of her silver Erickson phone that it is simply Melissa, our 6"12"" blonde bombshell of a neighbor looking to go to the nearest dark tavern for a cold frosty one. Minutes later the front doorbell rings and I race across the hardwood floor, almost falling, to see that it is Melissa here to pick my sister up. As I open the door the stench of alcohol reaches my nostrils and I am not surprised. Although its only 1:15 in the afternoon, she is already drunk. I feel her rough, callused skin against my shoulder as she reaches to me for support. I walk into the kitchen to grab my books and head up the green-carpeted stairs towards my bedroom.
