One Simple Saying
Oh no. I was chosen to go an indigent elementary school in Brooklyn. It was a nightmare come true. I had lived in the Bronx when I was in pre K, and according to my memories and media, Brooklyn and Bronx were not much different. I remembered clearly that everyday when I went to preschool, there were some people who would hassle me with spitballs and paper footballs. Because of that grudge, I really didn't want to go. Yet, my conscience urged me and I eventually gave in. After all, it would be a life experience, and I hoped that the children there wouldn't be so insolent.
My English class and I had just finished writing and illustrating vignette books. They were little stories about our lives that represented a significant meaning, like the meanings of our names and such. Several of us would be reading our writings to the children and give them our attention, showing that there are someone out there who cares for them.
While half of me was struggling with this fate, another was struggling with my friend. One scene kept playing again and again in my mind. "Just let it go, Carrie! You are hopeless. I'm never going to work with you again." My friend walked on, leaving me yelling silently after her. It was just a normal teenage debate. It started small, and grew into a huge dilemma, like an insignificant acorn that grew into a shade-giving tree. We were mad at each other because we didn't see everything exactly the same way, because we couldn't agree on one simple thing, because we were obstinate. What would happen to our friendship?
"We are here!" Bus driver's raspy voice broke into my thoughts. Wearily, I stepped down the bus. It was...