This phenomenal personal narrative was submitted by an anonymous 7th grader. Have you ever felt the way the writer did?
Sometimes the most simple things turn out to be the best things. Like the time I painted a tile that went on one of the city's mosaics. Or when I learned how to ride my bike. Because in the moment you are blinded by the present--you forget about the future. You have no idea that in two, three, or forty years, you will still have that moment locked away.
In the summer of 2015, my best friend Jessica and I went to Rockport, Texas together. Every day--every second--there was a small highlight leading up to the glowing moment. We took the ferry to Port Aransas before renting beach buggies- buggies are like a little rickety golf cart. None of us could drive, so our parents did. We had never used anything like that before, so we knew it would be a bumpy ride, but none of us expected anything close to the reality. It almost felt like the small car was breaking as it slipped along the rocky sand. We went flying over the beach, going insanely fast. I was locked in tight in my seat in the back, and I looked out at the beach. The salty sand sprayed up, coating me and Jessica in a layer of ocean.
The sky screamed pastel, and just barely filtered the sun through. It was beyond fun to be there, riding through the rocky sand with my best friend, facing backwards towards the beach's far side. Smiles were sewn onto our faces, and nothing could unthread the needle.
I had such a great time that I forgot about now. I forgot about something that I couldn't remember. What the future was back then--is now today. And today I love that night in Rockport, Texas.