Personal Narrative: Poly

On November 19th, 2016, My family and I were going to Western Michigan University. We were heading off to watch the football and hockey game, my father told me it would take a few hours. Hours went flying by it felt like we were in a race car, we finally arrived hours later. We went straight to the dining area, it smelled like fresh made pasta and many more thrilling smells. As we made our way through the crowd, we found a table to sit at. Afterwards when we found a seat, we went darting off in many directions to look at all the food stations. Few minutes passed by when we all swarm like bees back to the table. We all seated and started eating, we talked about what we got for food.

It is true in life that everything happens for a reason. It is also true to say that sometimes it is all about being in the right place, at the right time. There was never a more prominent example of this than a traumatic summers evening, only a few years ago.

The most important game of the year was coming up and I was ready. Everything was going perfect for me, because I was the starting QB as a freshmen at Englert High School. We were playing Joston High School the number 1 team in the nation since 1960, it was going to be a tough game because they had the number 1 ranked defense, but we had the best offense. The day before the game was just a normal day I went to school and had football practice after school. A couple weeks ago one of the other teams that we had played earlier in the year wanted another game so we decided to play them. They had been the hardest team we had played all year, we had only beat them by a last efforts field goal it hardly went in as it bounced in off the crossbar.

I was ready. This was how we were going to start off the season. Everyone was ready, thinking this was it. We wanted to be the best team on the ice. The coaches came into the room saying, “Let’s go, boys. Let’s start the season off on fire . . . big win today!”

As I took those few daunting steps from the elevator doors to through the white frosted doors of the Ear, Throat, Nose Surgical Ward, I thought to myself It’s time to grow up Emma! I remember stepping into a room about the size of a small classroom and going straight into a gross brownish-puke lumpy chair and sitting down on my everso shaking hands to conceal from both my mom and dad who stood up at the big front desk talking to middle age woman sitting behind it. I was only able to see the top half of her face, which reminded me of Wilson from Home Improvement. When they were done my parents came to sit down with me. My mom on my right and my dad next to her. After what felt like hours of waiting...and waiting...and waiting, a middle aged

Many years have gone by with much contemplation about what I wanted to do when I grew up. Due to my age, that vision has looked like many different professions. I started out with dreams of having an Army career starting at the age of 18, to have that quickly change when my new husband and I found we were expecting our first child. When our commanding officer found out, he spoke to us and explained that both of us could be sent to war at the same time. Rather than deciding which family member to give custody of our child to in that situation, I decided to depart from the Army and start my new journey as “mom”.

I started playing volleyball in 3rd grade. My dad wanted me to play because my sister also played. It was my first day being a 3rd grader and my dad told me I should get into volleyball. From there I wasn’t sure if I wanted to play. I watched my sister play every game and it looked like it was hard so I didn’t think I could do it.

It was a hot sweltering Saturday in August, August twenty-seventh to be exact. I remember waking up that morning with my stomach in knots we were to play the Hot Springs Bison. Sure, I played JV last year and practiced all summer with the first team but now all the hot god awful gut ranching two a day practices were about to pay off.

I felt the tears push against my eyelids, threatening to spill onto my cheeks. The deep breaths that were supposed to calm me down were not working in the slightest and I wanted nothing more than to hide under something, anything, and avoid all responsibility for a while. Through blurred vision, I could barely make out the shocked faces of my friends. This was not supposed to happen here, in the middle of physics class. This was the kind of thing that a person should save for being safely hidden behind closed doors. I glanced down at the four little words on my phone and lost it. The floodgates opened. Hot tears turned my face into a network of rivers and lakes. The saltwater filled the dark bags under my eyes and turned them into oceans. Rivulets

I was not an intentionally bigoted twelve-year-old. I was raised in an affluent suburban community where the vast majority of people are white. The 100% white private nursery school which I attended was chosen by my parents largely due to its proximity to our home. My public elementary school was about 70% white as it was populated with students who resided nearby. Finally, the private middle school which I attended, located almost an hour from my home, provided me with exposure to the most diverse student body of my youth as it was comprised of about 65% Caucasian children. What each of these formative academic experiences shared in common was both that their student bodies were disproportionately Caucasian, as well as that their senior administrators

I go to the woods to calm down ,take a break from the drama. My dad used to take me to this special spot where these rocks split and you can stem to the top of them and sit down. For some reason the view and the feel is so peaceful. There's a dip in the rock perfect size for my body. I'll kick back and look up at the sky and sometimes, it’s rare though i’ll listen to music and sometimes fall asleep and when I wake up i'm refreshed and calm. Sometimes i'll stay there after i'm calm and just chill and sometimes if a friend comes over well sometimes go over there and we'll play around on the rocks and talk and after a little bit of hanging out we will go back inside and play my PS4 for a little bit and after the gaming we are still bored we

1,764 miles, 26 hours, 1560 minutes from home. My feet may have left the frigid snow in Minnesota ten years ago, for a sandier terrain in Florida, however, my heart has yet to travel. Growing up in Minnesota till I was six years old provided me with the comfort of growing up alongside family and friends, who’s families have known each other for generations. This comfort in my surroundings was shifted to a new sense of ignorance when I moved to South Florida. I was greeted by a new reality of diversity. My peers no longer resembled me, with their light skin, blonde hair and blue eyes. They were replaced with a medley of skin tones, eye colors, and accents. To be greeted in a grocery store with a “buenos días”, rather than a “good morning” was a complete eye opener to my family and I.

It was a peaceful day in a crummy condo. My brother and I were sitting in his room. I had AP Social Studies homework and he had 7th grade English. He was in the middle of asking me a question when a gust of wind came through the closed window. I kind of, how do I put this, a noise. A very dim, subtle noise. A ZING, SWOOSH, SHUUWAH noise. And out popped two people. A man and a woman. They looked at us in a passive, easygoing way, and the women said to us in a soft, calm voice, “We are your parents. And want to take you home”.

Racing at night going One-hundred and forty miles an hour on US-27 holding the lead, Shift six gear, speed topped out at two-hundred miles per hour passing by cars smoothly. I chanted I am immortal, I am a god! while I pushed my sports bike to its limit. Suddenly a black car approaches. WHAM! I get Rammed from behind and lose control of my bike slamming into a Semi-truck up ahead. Lights out. When I peeked my eyes, I saw 4 humans around me. Thump after thumb I believe I was in an ambulance rushing down the turnpike. I looked around and the first words that came to my head are “Rick this is just a dream”. This is the story of how I escaped from an illegal laboratory that clones and modifies humans.

I hailed a cab around 10:30pm in the Murray Hill area. I was headed towards times square for a drink and maybe some trade if I was in the mood. Traffic getting over there was dreadful, even for New York. I finally got to the front of the Tonic Bar & Restaurant and walked inside. It was a familiar scene, the new faces of tourists all around, perfect for me to make some quick and easy cash. A guy approached me. He’s maybe 6’1”, dark hair, brown eyes, nice body, didn’t smile much but I’m used to that. He offered to buy me a drink so I ordered a martini. Dry. We got to talking and he seemed alright. I’ve seen his type before. Business man, divorced, no children. It got later as we talked some more and one martini turned into 5 or 6, I don’t remember