I Remember...

I remember the scent. A mixture of windex, Yankee Candles, Tide, Soap -- obsessively clean mother.

I remember the scent of overcooked mystery stew as it wafts with the almost-forgotten hint of Jack Daniel and Weed.

I remember the crimson red walls from which hung paintings -- obsessively perfectionist architect brother. 

I remember the childlike crayon box colors that contradicted with wishful innocence and realistic experience

I remember the sound of shrieks and giggles as she lay helpless on California Shag as a brother's fingers tickle -- obsessively annoying brother.

I remember the muffled voices saying 'Good and you?' and sometimes a 'Thanks' beneath the downtrodden eyes who lack a reason to sparkle.