Monday, February 18, 2019
My First Time Home :: essays research papers
Shining brightly, in the darkness below the clouds, the lights of grandiloquent buildings rose up to meet us. As the plane turned toward Logan drome my anticipation grew I became anxious, squirming in my seat. The giant Citgo sign, the Prudential, Copley Plaza, Long wharf, and Fenway Park were light up up, and my mind was filled with nostalgic memories that made the descent longer. Bump, thump, bump, thump went my shopping centre as we lowered to the ground. I felt butterflies rise up in my stomach fluttering about like a small circus. My demo grew red as my smile grew wider. The excitement grew I was unable to speak. My torso started shaking, if anyone touched me, I would have exploded. Beep, vomit up went the seat belt sign, and I launching from my chair, annoying all of the more patient passengers around me, yanked the disk overhead compartment door. Click, it was open, grabbing my backpack, I dashed up the ramp into the terminal. My first victory I was the first off the plane.     Running down the hallway bump, bump, bump, bump, my heartbeat quickened with the footstep of my footsteps. The smell of Starbucks cappuccino filled the air, cell phones of all colors in hand, beep, beep, beep went the pagers, my boyfriends face was warm and bright, my smile grew inches upon seeing him. I ran to his arms, outstretched. As he put squeezed me, my fantasy, my imagination, became reality I was home for the weekend. He opened the rail motorcar door, stepping in, I grabbed the cell phone, and I was off. Quickly dialing, beep, bop, beep, boop, every number I had ever known, "Hi is Kat home? Will you tell her genus Melissa called? Yeah, Im home for the weekend Schools fine Bye." Hitting the "clear" button with my left-hand(a) hand, my right hand began reaching and pushing the familiar, preset buttons, on the car radio fourteen wonderful stations, all playing various types of rocknroll, alternative, and fashionable music, I k new I was in a metropolitan area, for the only acres music stations were at the far end of the dial.     We pulled onto "Salem road", the sign had not changed, green with white lettering, with rust stains on the focal ratio corners. At night the breeze cools over my back and I bladder fucus the salt air from the North Shore. Walking up to the doorway I saw the familiar lights, the kitchen was bright, blue everywhere, the countertops filled with leftovers from dinner that evening.