A Promise Is A Promise :: Personal Narrative Death Friendships Papers

A Promise Is A Promise The room was ridiculously cold and my skin was damp against the sheets. No matter how extreme the temperature, I am addicted to the calming lull of the air conditioner as I sleep. It’s what they call my â€Å"white noise.† The afternoon sun was playing peek-a-boo with the clouds as its rays snuck in through the blinds. The muscles in my neck and shoulders were throbbing. I was still trying to get used to my awkward dorm room bed. A muffled voice traveled through the paper-thin brick wall and the sound of familiar music took center stage in my dreams. At first, I was pissed off because my new neighbor was interrupting my precious nap, but I soon realized that I had a special attachment to the song she was singing. It instantly reminded me of an old friend. As I drifted back to sleep, I began to dream about a childhood memory. I remember feeling as if the day was never going to end. Even now as an adult, my concentration still seems to plummet as the weekend approaches. At that time in my life, the degree of patience I could sustain had only been maturing for ten short years. I made that particular school day even more unnecessarily dramatic than usual since I knew it wasn’t just an average Friday. Instead of going to my house after school as usual, I was going home with my best friend. After hours of literally twiddling my thumbs (like I said, I was a dramatic child), we were finally standing outside at the parent pick-up location with the other eager elementary students. My book bag was light on my back, which meant there was no homework in store for me tonight. All I had to look forward to was a sleepover filled with PG-13 movies, a nauseating amount of Reese’s Pieces and Mountain Dew, and prank phone calls to random boys who were also in Mrs. Webb’s fifth grade class. I loved prank phone calls. As I bent down to tie my shoelace, a slippery raindrop slithered down my lightly freckled cheek. Before I had the chance to look up at the silver sky, the clouds exploded like champagne flowing over the edge of a bottle. Renee grabbed my hand, and we darted off as fast as our little legs could run. As I hopped into the middle of the backseat, the scent of the brand new car continued to saturate my already moist pores. A Promise Is A Promise :: Personal Narrative Death Friendships Papers A Promise Is A Promise The room was ridiculously cold and my skin was damp against the sheets. No matter how extreme the temperature, I am addicted to the calming lull of the air conditioner as I sleep. It’s what they call my â€Å"white noise.† The afternoon sun was playing peek-a-boo with the clouds as its rays snuck in through the blinds. The muscles in my neck and shoulders were throbbing. I was still trying to get used to my awkward dorm room bed. A muffled voice traveled through the paper-thin brick wall and the sound of familiar music took center stage in my dreams. At first, I was pissed off because my new neighbor was interrupting my precious nap, but I soon realized that I had a special attachment to the song she was singing. It instantly reminded me of an old friend. As I drifted back to sleep, I began to dream about a childhood memory. I remember feeling as if the day was never going to end. Even now as an adult, my concentration still seems to plummet as the weekend approaches. At that time in my life, the degree of patience I could sustain had only been maturing for ten short years. I made that particular school day even more unnecessarily dramatic than usual since I knew it wasn’t just an average Friday. Instead of going to my house after school as usual, I was going home with my best friend. After hours of literally twiddling my thumbs (like I said, I was a dramatic child), we were finally standing outside at the parent pick-up location with the other eager elementary students. My book bag was light on my back, which meant there was no homework in store for me tonight. All I had to look forward to was a sleepover filled with PG-13 movies, a nauseating amount of Reese’s Pieces and Mountain Dew, and prank phone calls to random boys who were also in Mrs. Webb’s fifth grade class. I loved prank phone calls. As I bent down to tie my shoelace, a slippery raindrop slithered down my lightly freckled cheek. Before I had the chance to look up at the silver sky, the clouds exploded like champagne flowing over the edge of a bottle. Renee grabbed my hand, and we darted off as fast as our little legs could run. As I hopped into the middle of the backseat, the scent of the brand new car continued to saturate my already moist pores.