Semi-fiction creative, comedic account of event at the airport, of a Japanese immigrant

Essay by shihantsHigh School, 10th gradeA+, October 2004

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The watch read 8:17. 46 minutes. Not bad at all. Just a tad slower than my best time. Must be the new break system, I thought quietly to my self.

I looked at the overcast sky as I carefully clicked the lock in place on my three-hundred dollar bicycle. It looked like it was going to rain. I sighed and removed the lock I have securely snapped on place from the bike and started walking it with me inside. Can't afford to have it rusted. My wife would kill me.

Just as I predicted. It started raining almost immediately after I settled myself in the office. I went out to try to see how bad the rain was going to be. It was a light shower. The cold water felt good against my skin, heated up from the exercise. The sensation felt oddly familiar. Yes, I remember-it was this way that day too.

More than 20 years ago. I've gotten old.

I was walking through the Portland International Airport with my wife. Almost everyone was white. And they all spoke English. I felt a little anxiety, but luckily I had some experience with English. Of course, the anxiety might have been from the plane ride. I hated airplanes. Those pilots need to learn how to land those things so that it doesn't jerk down every 15 seconds.

"So uh, Hideto?" My wife asked.

Here it comes-my muscles tensed slightly as I predicted the outcome of the conversation we were about to have. "Yes? What is it?"

"What now?"

"Um, a friend of mine is supposed to pick us up. We're going to stay at his house until we find our own."

"You have a friend here?"

"Remember, it's not the first time I've been here. This is where I came...