Childhood Narrative

Running

Cody was at it again, his small, thin fragile white fingers held my long brown hair, his other hand the scissors. My mind raced trying to come up with something to do, how do I handle it this time? I was wondering when the most amazing, brilliant noise registered through my ears and into my brain

The bell, my spirits lifted as I gathered my things and waved goodbye to Mrs. Sandoval, the oldest person alive to date, at least that's what I thought when I counted the wrinkles on her neck. I almost expected her to gobble, gobble, her resemblence to a turkey was uncanny.

Walking home was my favorite part of the day, more than recess, more than lunch, more than anything else. I felt exceptionally grown up walking home, I was only in first grade above all. I walked passed the classrooms, and then started walking trhough the basketball courts. I looked up at the towering courts as the heat from the sun in combination with the asphalt made me feel like I was walking on a skillet.

And then I saw them, thier dirty brown faces looking up at me from down the street. Their hands gripped the handle bars as their feet moved in rotation towards me. At that point in time, I wish I could sprout wings, like a root would out of a seed

Of course, that was impossible and I can only freeze, my feet cemented at the same spot. Relunctantly, I convinced my fet to move forward, left, right, left, right they had stopped coming near me. I was content at that, a smile of triumph came over me as we neared each other. I saw them smirk as my smile in triumph, turned into a wince of defeat

"Hola chiquita a donde vas?" the one on the bike spoke

The words he has said to me, were familiar, I was fluent in spanish but this had sounded foreign and alien. I did not reply.

"no hablas espanol?"

I nodded in response. This was not a friendly hello, I thought to myself as my feet gathered speed and walked towards, my home, my sanctuary. They blocked me off demanding to know where I was heading to. Slow, rolling tears were burning shame onto my face and touched the corner of my lip.

I yelled back, "I', going to tell my mom!!, LET ME GO!"

They laughed loudly in my face, their breath smelling of conquer. I ran, faster than I thought humanly possible for a girl my age, to my mom who I had hoped would be home. Home, cooking my favorite meal or watching the afternoon novela.

I never looked back, as the sweat and teachers trickled in unison down my back and my black shoes made a pitter patter noise on the pavement. I was out of breath and kept tripping, but I didn't care; anything to avoid seeing those filthy boys again.

It was in front of me, my house. I reached for the doorknob, and pulled and tugged till it opened. My mom saw my distressed face and reached out to me. She pulled me close to her as she ran her hands through my knoted hair as I sobbed and tried to explain my situation.