Breaking Sherry – Part 1

The stairs seemed to be screaming at her.

“Creak, creak!” they yelled.

“Oh be quiet, stairs,” the girl whispered angrily at them. There were only a few steps left to the first floor of the house and she hoped that the stairs wouldn’t wake her parents.

She could hear her father’s musical snore as she crept past her parents’ room so she wasn’t worried about him. It was her mother who was the light sleeper and the stairs were desperately trying to get her attention. The girl moved down to the next step and carefully shifted her weight from one foot to the other. This stair was apparently on her side because it didn’t make a sound. The next one gave a slight moan but was also fairly cooperative. She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped on the last one.

“Creak!” it sang.

She froze and stopped to listen for her mother but heard only silence. Smiling, she quickly stepped to the floor walking as softly as possible past the living room and on toward the kitchen. It was dark downstairs except for the lone light above the kitchen sink.

Her hand fumbled on the wall for the light switch and she found it. The kitchen was bathed in light. It was ok though, because the light from down here wouldn’t make it up the stairs. As long as she was careful and quiet, Sherry was sure she had nothing to worry about.

She walked around the island in the middle of the kitchen and reached under the counter where her mother kept the olive oil, vinegar, and the other cooking bottles. Aha, she thought to herself as she pulled out two bottles. Her mother used the Captain Morgan’s rum only for baking, since neither of her parents drank alcohol. Sherry enjoy mixing the rum with cola. Her silly parents believed drinking was something that should only be done on the most special of occasions and certainly only by discerning adults. If they ever caught her drinking…well, one could only imagine the punishment she would receive. In fact, Sherry was only of the few middle school students in her class who had ever tasted alcohol.

The second bottle Sherry pulled from the nook under the counter was her favorite. They shared the same name after all. If she knew how to make a cocktail with it, she would have. But diluted or not, she still found the taste interesting and had made it a habit to pour this into a plastic cup and sip it in her room.

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