Our new home is huge, I thought to myself, my sandals clicking on the wooden floor, my eyes roaming across the various rooms and hallways. It was an old house, made entirely of wood, from the floor to the walls to the ceilings. We just moved in recently, and all the furnitures and belongings of the previous owners still filled the rooms.
There was a door next to my bathroom; I turned the doorknob, the door was heavy and the knob felt old and squeaky, and I realized it was my brother's room. Old stereos and posters, a slightly bigger bed than mine (that must've been the deciding factor who got the room, I thought to myself), and an overall guyish feel in it. I walked out of the room, and was outside the house.
It was a sunny day; I felt completely carefree and light, secure and loved. It was a Sunday, and my whole family and I were hanging around before heading off to church. My whole family was in the house. It was a cozy, warm new old house. Then I remembered - I was supposed to play piano for service today. I freaked. I fretted. I ran to my parents; my dad's bespectacled eyes popped up from behind the newspapers, asked if I'd practised my piano - I shook my head regretfully. A disappointed look descended upon his face. My mom chided me gently, told me to get back to my room to prepare for church.
I went back outside; there was a red wooden ramp raised high from the ground to the second floor, one that led straight to my bedroom. I stepped on the wooden planks cautiously as they creaked and groaned, my hands grazing lightly on the rough wooden railings painted with a chinese red. My room is so awesome, I thought giddily to myself.
I changed into a red and blue striped shirt with collars and a jeans skirt. I liked the sandals I had on - they were red and blue too, with only a simple, delicate ring around my ankles. The childish glee of wearing everything that matches washed deliciously over me. I hugged myself; then decided to head downstairs to practise on my piano.
On my way to the stairs, I found many remainders from our previous owners. Half-heartedly I took a note of all the things that might still be good enough to sell on eBay - a miniature organ, old speakers, even older stereos...
I slid down the stairs on the descending railings; the heels of my sandals clinked noisily on the rusty railings, causing my family to turn and look at me. My dad was still reading the newspaper at the dining table with his specs hung low on his nose, my brother was sitting comfortably in the most comfy seat in the house (naturally) - the huge round cushioned chair shaped like a womb - and my mom was behind the kitchen counter, doing something I could not quite make out. In my mind, my sister was out somewhere, and we were waiting for her return.
The moment I landed on the floor, my brother announced my arrival with the finesse of a seasoned air-hostess, in his typical goofball voice. I threw a mock exasperated look at him, but a giggle escaped from my lips, and I got up.
It was still cold and gloomy when I woke up; only an hour and half had passed since I curled up in my thick purple covers, my eyelids heavy with drowsiness, awaiting my sister's return from class.
