My First Time Home :: essays research papers

Shining brightly, in the darkness below the clouds, the lights of tall buildings rose up to meet us. As the plane turned toward Logan airport my anticipation grew; I became anxious, squirming in my seat. The giant Citgo sign, the Prudential, Copley Plaza, Long wharf, and Fenway Park were lit up, and my mind was filled with nostalgic memories that made the descent longer. Bump, thump, bump, thump went my heart as we lowered to the ground. I felt butterflies rise up in my stomach fluttering about like a small circus. My face grew red as my smile grew wider. The excitement grew; I was unable to speak. My body started shaking, if anyone touched me, I would have exploded. Beep, beep went the seat belt sign, and I launching from my chair, annoying all of the more patient passengers around me, yanked the 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 pace 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 boyfriend's 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 car 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 Melissa called? Yeah, I'm home for the weekend! School's fine! Bye." Hitting the "clear" button with my left hand, my right hand began reaching and pushing the familiar, preset buttons, on the car radio; fourteen wonderful stations, all playing various types of rock'n'roll, alternative, and popular music, I knew I was in a metropolitan area, for the only cou ntry music stations were at the far end of the dial. We pulled onto "Salem Street", the sign had not changed, green with white lettering, with rust stains on the upper corners. At night the breeze cools over my back and I relish 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.