As I glide up the gray cement walk toward the magnificent white building, my heart races with anticipation. My sparkling jet black heels click as I approach this wonderful experience. The air fills with the scent of evergreens and pie, and is so crisp it freezes my throat with each breath. Giant nutcrackers stand tall and proud in scarlet suits and hold towering peppermints on long sticks. The oak doors lie majestically still in front of me. Suddenly they swing open at our approach. A Marine steps out in dress attire and says, “Welcome to the White House.”

Evergreen wreaths grace the doors in the back hallway. I walk slowly; windows line my left. A man gently asks for our coats at the entrance to the movie theater. I try to peek inside, and I see the apple red seats against the maroon and gold of the walls. The projector peeks from behind the black velvet curtain. Lines of coats hang on silver racks. As I walk out, a massive Christmas tree with red glass ornaments towers above me and shines with a gentle light. Slightly beyond the tree lies marble stairs that lead down to the unknown.

At the base of the stairs, we see the line of people waiting to talk to the Commander-in-Chief. It curves around the room in an orderly fashion. I discover we are standing in a library. The books’ spines are faded and I reach for one, hoping that the Secret Service will not attack me. When no one seems to notice, I crack open the spine and a puff of dust rises from inside. It fills my lungs and I cough. Its smell is inviting and begins to calm my nerves.

“Mr. Robert Thomas Pratt Jr., National Security Council, and his niece, Katy Young.” I walk into the unfamiliar room and there are lights everywhere. The heat of the wires lingers in the air. A professional camera and tripod fill my view until I step around it. The walls are cornflower blue with vertical-ridged wallpaper. A picture of our first president hangs above the mantel, which is covered in evergreens and graced with silver and red glass ornaments.

Standing in front of the first George is the man of the hour, George W. Bush, and his wife, Laura. He wears a navy suit with a sky blue shirt and a red tie. He looks like the kind of man who would smell like peppermint oil. His face is warm and his smile fills his face. He almost looks fake because of his makeup. Laura wears an ivory suit with delicate black trim. Her hair is perfect and her maroon lipstick brings out the lack of color in her face. His hand appears wrinkled and looks rough, but when we shake, it feels the exact opposite. Laura’s cheerful laugh and inviting smile calms my every worry. As I glide out of the room, I understand the true meaning of “star struck.”