Personal Narrative: Uncle Chris

It’s always late when Uncle Chris thinks I’m sleeping, asleep in a bed that will never consider mine. I have my ear pressed against the bathroom door, listening to him swish the liquid of the bottle around. I know Uncle Chris has a problem I know he’s struggling. I know he has an addiction to alcohol, not matter what brave face he puts on, not matter how much he hides it. I may be only thirteen, but I’m a lot smarter than he thinks. I hear the movement of the bottle swishing and the cabinet opening. I make quick and quiet movements and retreat to “my” room. When I hear Uncle Chris’ door close, I wait a few minutes until I hear the telltale snores. I get back up and make my way to the bathroom, nervously turning the light on and opening the

In my parent’s will they stated, Uncle Chris would be my guardian. I will never forget the look surprise on Aunt Nicole’s face when the lawyer read the will, and I will never forget the fighting and screaming that ensued. In reality, all I cared about was getting my mom and dad back. I just wanted things to go back to normal. My mom stood at five feet tall, short spunky hair with eyes as blue as the clearest ocean. My father had unruly blonde curly hair and hazel eyes that sometimes turned a greenish color. I loved seeing them together; it was like watching a fairytale movie. I loved them more than anything though. Uncle Chris relents to letting me attend dance lessons. My dance teacher Ms. Rose becomes my best friend in the short few classes I’ve taken; she has become my own living diary. I tell her all about my mother and father and the happy memories of Uncle Chris, and I don’t mention his problem. Every Wednesday night, Uncle Chris is late picking me up from dance class; the studio is closed, but Ms. Rose stays and waits with me. Uncle Chris says he’s working late, but again, I know more than he thinks. He spends his Wednesday nights at group therapy for his