Personal Narrative

I was no more than eleven the first time I’d taken a drag from a cigarette. I remember it like it was yesterday. My younger cousin Patrick was with me, he and I were playing the with Emerson boys who lived down the street. The nine-year-old twin brothers lived in one of the smallest houses on my block. Somehow, their parents had managed to cram four boys, Mrs. Emerson’s parents and themselves into a cramped three-bedroom ranch style home. I remember always being impressed at how immaculate Mrs. Emerson kept her home with her four boys running amok, especially because she worked all the time. Their father was an intermittent shadow, sometimes he was there, but, he seemed to spend most of his time in my father’s garage. Cody and Randall’s grandparents …show more content…
Randall’s oldest brother, Stephen, walked into the room and sat down. He was seventeen-years-old, he played the drums in a rock band and he drove a restored Mustang convertible. That kid was my idol!
“Go get me a lighter, brat." Stephen barked in Randall’s general direction.
I remember thinking to myself that my father would have a heart attack if he found me smoking, especially in the house. Clearly, Mrs. Emerson wasn’t home from work just yet.
“No way Stevie. You know what Mom said about smoking in the house.” Randall replied. He didn’t even look up from his card collection.
“I – I will, ” I stuttered, trying to impress the older boy.
“It’s in the glove compartment of my car, kid. Stephen said, a satisfied smile on his face.
I nodded and sprinted out the door. Stephen’s car was parked on the side of the drive. I stopped to admire it. It was candy apple red with shining chrome accents. I carefully opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat, opening the glove compartment with the utmost care. Though, since my father and Mr. Emerson were likely drinking beer in our garage, I tried to be quick so as not to draw attention to what I was doing. I grabbed the lighter, closed the latch and ran back into the