I came across a paper I wrote for one of my English classes Junior year. We had to do a multi-genre piece, writing about a topic we felt "passionate" about in a variety of different styles. Surprise surprise, I chose to write mine on Block Island, focusing on my experiences during my first summer there. Anyways, I found them interesting to read, especially after having spent so much more time there since I wrote itm, so I thought I'd share some of them with you.
Arrival
As the boat inched closer to land, I finally gazed up from my book and stretched out over the table in front of me to peer out the window. Outside, the sky was gray and thick, but the strip of land that stretched out as if greeting you was plush with green. Frothy blue waves crashed below me, splashing unto the small, deserted beaches bordering the island. I carefully looked behind me to see if anyone was around, to see if I had to conceal my excitement for this fascinating and foreign sight. Realizing I was basically alone, I stretched myself further towards the window, my nose just inches from the glass, my hot breath leaving a hazy gray circle upon it. As the boat slowly moved forward, the knots in my stomach began to change from seasickness to anticipation; visions of the island I had never seen started to form in my head. I tried to look for Sara’s house, the patch of gray on the cliffs I was told about, but the clouds were creeping too low, covering too much. Finally, as we came closer to shore, I could see true land: buildings, then streets, and eventually cars. The several dozen people on the ferry began to file into line as we waited for the cars to pull out from below us. I hoisted my bag up from under the table, my shoulder still sore from the strap pressing into it throughout my long, arduous trip to Rhode Island. Waiting at the top of the stairs, I stood on tip-toes in a desperate attempt to see what lay below; yet, from the glimpse of the dock visible, all I could see were workers clothed in gray and brown, heaving boxes and bags from the shelves, wheeling out cargo and impatiently directing traffic out from the darkness below. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the line before me began to move and I teetered down the stairs, my thin frame squished by the immense luggage that adorned each of my sides. Once outside, I was immediately submersed in the island atmosphere: the sounds of seagulls above me, the smell of salt being pushed through the wind, the chill of the ocean breezes washing unto the shore. I spotted Sara and Mayu almost instantly, despite the distractions my surroundings offered. They hung out the sides of the ’88 Montero, their hands waving in a frantic attempt to gain my attention. I waved back to acknowledge them but moved no farther. Instead I dropped my bags, taking a deep breath. I looked around to survey my new home, smiling, knowing it was exactly where I was meant to be.
