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

Inside the Nightstand We live together now, my boyfriend and I. It’s still new to both of us. 41 North State Street- that’s us. The quiet apartment lined by two rows of cement drive, an oak tree, and his step-mother’s opinion that we are â€Å"too young to be living together seriously.† We share our bedroom, square in shape, with the bed pressed tightly to the far wall, curtains embracing the narrow sides of the mattress. It’s ours- the bed, the room, the oak tree, and the way my toothpaste sticks to the sides of the white sink. The toothpaste doesn’t bother me, but it’s something I’m working on. We’re still getting use to all this. Sharing a bathroom is what we’re 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 between the sheets, my bare back feeling warm against the patch of sun-stricken cotton. Beside the bed is the nightstand. My face shines innocently in a picture of myself taken with my father at age four. His dark bushy hair and matching 80’s 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 close frame of the picture cuts off anything below our necks, hiding her belly that has recently 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 stack 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 remember how I used some of my graduation money from high school to buy this wallet.