Christmas EveWhen I entered our car, a fear hit me like it was a wet blanket, cold as ice. I remember just last year, my grandparents' Christmas Eve, the happiest time of my life. The feeling of love, as if it were everyone's day. But today something was different. Christmas Eve, just a year ago, started at my father's house. It's a big house, but old, the windows leak and if you sat on the living room chair you would almost always need a blanket. The chair was by the window and every time it blew a little wind would blow in, not enough to be a problem, just enough to know it was there. For some reason I still felt warm, maybe not hot heat but heat inside. This is where I grew up; I knew every nook and cranny of the floor. I knew which steps creaked and how difficult it was to push the door shut without slamming. It was around two in the afternoon. My father, sister and I were preparing for the night event at my grandparents. My dad and I would need about an hour to get ready, but my sister Sarah would need at least two. Everyone was frantic, as if a hurricane was coming. My dad was running around in his underwear and only had one sock on and was looking for his hairbrush. Which she didn't need because her hair was as thin as a cheap blush. He actually had to sell his convertible because he was tired of putting sunscreen on his forehead. I called it his five heads. Sarah, my little sister, just 19 years old, spent most of her time in the bathroom, seeming to curl the same strands of hair for hours. She was always cute. I was in my room, dressed in everything but socks. I had to borrow a black pair from my dad, like I always had to do. I tell him I keep losing them but I don't think I've ever owned a pair. When we arrived at my grandparents, before we even opened the door, there was a smell of food like no other. As if we had entered an Italian festival, and in many ways it was.