Running Head: My Old Home
My Old Home
Rukiya McKee
October 25, 2014
My Old Home
In my childhood, I lived with my grandparents because my parents were working in another city. I love my grandparents' apartment. The apartment is on the second floor of an old brick building which have been built up for several decades. Compared to my friend's home, this apartment was shabby. But for me, it is one of the most precious treasures. I have not been there for a long time, so I decide to go there.
That building is located about 100 meters near the road, with sweet olive trees in the yard. In the summer, every family rests under these trees, intoxicated by the fresh fragrance of the sweet olives. I saunter into the yard and sit on a bench, remembering that I used to sit here and to pillow my head on my grandmother's leg to gaze at the stars on clear nights.
Across the yard and up the steps, I cannot help but miss the days when I was still a little girl running into home, giggling and thumping upstairs. I turn the key and enter my home, breathing the damp air of this old apartment. I walk to the end of the corridor, in the parlor, a sunbeam slants through the cracked glass windows. My thrift grandmother is still sitting in her armchair sewing a button of the coat with glasses. She lifts her head and smiles, the deep wrinkles squeezed from the mouth to forehead in her face.
On the left hand of the parlor is the study room. Four masterpieces of China, historical novels and some magazines lie in the bookcase with glass doors. Some cartoon stickers adorn the glass doors, reminding me that grandpa...