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Living in Squalor!

  I head downstairs, the overwhelming scent of mold permeates throughout the room. Garbage and wet clothes are scattered everywhere and makeshift hammocks adorn the ceiling. A dirty rabbit hutch reeks of urine and feces, and the rotting smell of dead mice or some other mysterious animal buried beneath the filthy ruble burns my nose. As the intense aroma penetrates my eyes, they begin to water incessantly, I don’t think I can handle this. With a trash bag in one hand and plugging my nose with the other, I proceed down into the dingy basement. I  begin wading through the plethora of items in my path, deciding what to keep and what to throw out, I’m disgusted at what I see, my mother would have never let it get like this.  I stand, staring at a massive pile of clothes laying on the damp floor by the washing machine. It feels like just yesterday my mother died and suddenly life went from living in splendor to living in squalor. For me, living in “splendor” didn’t mean living ...
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The Old Wooden Stairs

 I can’t seem to take my eyes off of the old wooden staircase in front of me. I scan across it, examining every inch. From afar the solid wood appears to be flawless but the closer you get the more imperfections you can see. Small nicks and tiny pieces of splintered wood peak out of the boards. As I focus on the rickety old railing and the creaky stairs, my mind starts to disconnect from my body, drifting off into a fantasy land. I can feel myself slipping in and out of consciousness, bouncing between fantasy and reality. Every time I feel my nose burn from the stench of alcohol and cigarettes that billow out of his mouth, or the feeling of his sweat dripping down my cheeks, or the weight of his body pressing against me, my mind withdraws from the convalescent fantasy, reentering the crippling reality that I am faced with. I desperately try and retreat from the disabling position that my mind is now stuck in. Paralyzed by the overwhelming agony I am experiencing, I close my eyes and wait for the torturous event to be over. 

I hear the sound of a rumbling engine, a repeated chug, chug, chug sound, like the car is stationary. With my eyes closed, it’s as if  I’m listening to the soothing sounds at a spa permeating throughout room. Suddenly, I hear the  click of the button on the door handle of a screen door. I feel a weight being lifted off of me and I can feel myself start to breathe again. I open my eyes and my dad looks terrified. He is clutching the railing of the old wooden stairs, slowly tip toeing up every step. He is attempting to leave the room completely unnoticed. He is too late! My sister and her boyfriend look at me laying on the pullout couch in the living room. My dad slept here every night because there weren’t enough bedrooms for him to have his own. She looks at my dad as he is scrambling to get his underwear back on. She says “what the hell is going on?” My dad says “nothing”, she looks at me for confirmation and naturally I agree. 

I can tell by the look on her face, that she knows something isn’t right. I look at her, trying to use facial expressions to let her know that I need her to take me with her, I’m practically begging her with my eyes. Every inch of me is pleading with her, please don’t leave me here. She talks with us for a short while, asking a few prying questions but, she quickly changes the subject and acts as if nothing happened. I feel a sense of failure, my heart sinks. She left, She left without me! 

I will never forget the sound of that rumbling engine or the image of the old wooden staircase, they will stay with me forever a reminder of that dreadful day. The day where she left without me.

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Living in Squalor!

  I head downstairs, the overwhelming scent of mold permeates throughout the room. Garbage and wet clothes are scattered everywhere and makeshift hammocks adorn the ceiling. A dirty rabbit hutch reeks of urine and feces, and the rotting smell of dead mice or some other mysterious animal buried beneath the filthy ruble burns my nose. As the intense aroma penetrates my eyes, they begin to water incessantly, I don’t think I can handle this. With a trash bag in one hand and plugging my nose with the other, I proceed down into the dingy basement. I  begin wading through the plethora of items in my path, deciding what to keep and what to throw out, I’m disgusted at what I see, my mother would have never let it get like this.  I stand, staring at a massive pile of clothes laying on the damp floor by the washing machine. It feels like just yesterday my mother died and suddenly life went from living in splendor to living in squalor. For me, living in “splendor” didn’t mean living ...
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