My house

by

My house, if we gave you directions to get there, we’d tell you to stop in front of the house with the yellow walls and green garage doors. There are three windows that have a small balcony in front of the largest one. Ivy, or my mom would call it bougainvillea, grows up the balcony and around the three windows. To the left of the garage doors and balcony, there are steps that lead to a porch, which leads to a front door. MY front door. The steps are wide and brick until they transform into narrow wood ones. The wood, once glossy, now is worn down and scratched up. The front door is made of the same wood as the steps, only still glossy and pretty. Not weathered like the steps because of the porch's roof above it.
Then if you close your eyes, here’s what you’d smell. It would smell crisp near the steps, but near the garage, the ivy would clog your nose with its pleasant scent. The air, it wouldn’t be cold or hot, but the sun would warm your skin altogether being my favorite weather in the world. You would hear the gentle breeze and then the loud thudding rap music from the apartment building two houses down.
Then if you were me, you would march up the brick steps and then the wood ones right up to the glossy front door where you would take out your keys. Your keys, two on a key chain that is a pink pointe shoe. You would take out the one with the deep ridges in it like little mountains. You would put it in the lock and open the door. You would slam it shut (otherwise it doesn’t close) and yell “I’m home”. If you were me, that is.