Sense-of-Place

I am perched in the car anxiously, inhaling the sweet, salty air of the sea. I stare out my window, feeling my mind swirl violently with thoughts of what was soon to come. The sun thrashes on the ocean’s gentle papery surface, and the water glistens as three birds merrily fly over. The waves lap coolly on the surrounding sand. The car comes to a sudden halt and I leap out, not looking back. The sun sits in a cloudless blue sky and blazes with a glowing smile. I am in such a rush I don’t put sunscreen on. My feet sprint over the scorching sand. I maneuver over the mounds so I won’t stumble and fall, and soon I am plunging head first into the Atlantic Ocean. The water is freezing, but when I am swimming, I am unstoppable. Nothing can remove me from the ocean, and nothing can take the thrill away from me. A wall of water approaches me, and I puff out my chest. I brace for the impact and soon I am tumbling in multiple back flips underwater. My buzzed blond head is exposed to the tangy salt water and I feel completely refreshed. My feet sprint over the scorching sand I go back to the water’s surface and see my younger brother, John, slowly sinking into the water. I wave at him and he shivers and gives me a frown as I hear his teeth clatter. He hates being immersed in cold water as most five-year-olds do, but nonetheless he loves to swim here. He slithers up beside me. I can’t recall how long we swam; all I know is that the stars were breaking through the thick texture of the night sky by the time we were done. My mom hollers for John and me and tells us that it’s time to go and I unwillingly depart from the place that felt like a second home. I gather myself in the car, nestled in a towel. As we drive away from the beach, my feeling of invincibility weakens, and soon I am just a regular person again. Nicky Cannon, 12Dallas, Texas Isaiah Garrod, 12Frederick, Colorado

I am perched in the car anxiously, inhaling the sweet, salty air of the sea. I stare out my window, feeling my mind swirl violently with thoughts of what was soon to come. The sun thrashes on the ocean’s gentle papery surface, and the water glistens as three birds merrily fly over. The waves lap coolly on the surrounding sand. The car comes to a sudden halt and I leap out, not looking back. The sun sits in a cloudless blue sky and blazes with a glowing smile. I am in such a rush I don’t put sunscreen on. My feet sprint over the scorching sand. I maneuver over the mounds so I won’t stumble and fall, and soon I am plunging head first into the Atlantic Ocean. The water is freezing, but when I am swimming, I am unstoppable. Nothing can remove me from the ocean, and nothing can take the thrill away from me. A wall of water approaches me, and I puff out my chest. I brace for the impact and soon I am tumbling in multiple back flips underwater. My buzzed blond head is exposed to the tangy salt water and I feel completely refreshed. My feet sprint over the scorching sand I go back to the water’s surface and see my younger brother, John, slowly sinking into the water. I wave at him and he shivers and gives me a frown as I hear his teeth clatter. He hates being immersed in cold water as most five-year-olds do, but nonetheless he loves to swim here. He slithers up beside me. I can’t recall how long we swam; all I know is that the stars were breaking through the thick texture of the night sky by the time we were done. My mom hollers for John and me and tells us that it’s time to go and I unwillingly depart from the place that felt like a second home. I gather myself in the car, nestled in a towel. As we drive away from the beach, my feeling of invincibility weakens, and soon I am just a regular person again. Nicky Cannon, 12Dallas, Texas Isaiah Garrod, 12Frederick, Colorado

It was like the desert was breathing and singing a silent but glorious song! The crunch of the pickup truck’s wheels and the sound of the girl’s breathing were all that could be heard as the rusty vehicle huffed to a dusty stop in front of the low sprawling wood-and-stucco house with a very rusty farm windmill attached on the side. The door to the driver’s seat slammed, but Alicia was staring out at the miles of foreboding sand dunes, broken only by some very distant grayish-brown hills, harsh against the bright sunlight, and did not move to join him. She was rooted to the frayed vinyl seat, the words of her last conversation with her mom running through her head again and again, as if trying to impart some hidden meaning which she had not yet grasped, an answer to why she had been sent here, banished to this isolated place for the whole summer vacation. She knew the answer, it was simple: her mother had just gotten a job offer, which required her to teach a summer session art history course for exchange students at the university in Siena, in Italy. She could not take Alicia with her (although she’d begged to go along), so she had sent her daughter to her grandparents’. It really was quite straightforward, Alicia reflected, but she couldn’t help feeling a touch of resentment towards her mother; why did she have to send her to a place so far away from everywhere that there was not even any Internet connection, let alone any other people, let alone anyone her own age? This was not Alicia’s idea of any way to spend a summer vacation. Alicia had been looking forward to hanging out with her friends, and taking that watercolor class she’d longed for, not sweltering with two old people on what now was staring her in the face: a decrepit homestead in the middle of a desert. “It’ll be even better than what we were planning before,” her mother had said, “I promise.” “Hey, Alicia, you coming?” The gnarly voice shocked her out of her daydream and she got out of the cab of the truck into the glaring light. Her grandpa was waiting for her with her luggage—two suitcases and a backpack. He handed her the backpack and took the suitcases, carrying them over the hot gravel as if they weighed nothing. She studied him as they walked; he was thin and tall, with a tanned weather-lined face, and still some wisps of gray hair on his scalp. Everything about him was tough and leathery as old hide. A bit like a cactus, Alicia thought, and had to stifle a giggle. As she took a few steps, the screen door of the house banged open. A short, wrinkled white-haired figure in a beige apron and faded denim dress came quickly limping out, like one of those desert hens who roosted in the cactuses and strutted about on the sand clucking. Her grandmother rushed to her, wrapping her in a tight hug, smelling very very faintly of old-lady perfume, exclaiming with happiness at seeing her… the usual greetings after a long time spent without seeing someone, Alicia thought, but it had all happened too fast, her mind was still processing the previous day, unable to cope with the present. “So, Alicia, how do you like your new home?” her grandmother indicated the house with a proud gesture, which would have been used more to indicate a grand palace, even a fancy car, but never this… Stung with bitterness at the words “new home,” Alicia stared at it critically. It was a typical decaying ranch house for the area, maybe a bit bigger than normal, with a sagging porch supported by cracked wooden beams. Looking around, Alicia decided that everything here was dry and cracked; the earth, the house, her grandparents… She winced as she tried to smile… even her lips. Now was the time to stop musing and put on her actor’s face. Alicia had always thought of herself as a good actress, now was the time to use this talent. She noticed, just in time, three brand new pots of marigolds in the shade under a window which clearly someone had very recently organized. They were already a little wilted. She rallied around to hug her grandmother. “Oh my gosh, it’s awesome! It’s so big, I can’t wait to see the inside!” Lying, she excused herself for doing that, it was better than making other people feel bad. But her words, even to herself, sounded like she was overdoing it. Her grandmother smiled, she looked a little bit relieved, but quizzical, and Alicia realized that she must have been worried about what her granddaughter would think of her house. See, it’s a good thing I lied, she told herself. “So, Alicia, how do you like your new home?” “Well now, you come along right this way, and I’ll show you your room. I’m sure your grandpa will manage with the suitcases,” and she led Alicia over the wooden porch and through the screen door. It was dim inside and Alicia’s eyes had trouble adjusting after the glare of the desert outdoors. The inside of the house enveloped her with the musty smell of really old furniture. They were walking rapidly down a narrow hallway, her grandmother giving her a tour of the house. They passed the living room, the dining room and an incredibly archaic kitchen to the back of the house, stopping in front of the last door in the hallway. Her grandmother flung it open with a grand sweep of her arm. “And this is your room! It used to be your mother’s.” The door creaked as it swung open to reveal a tiny uncarpeted room, with faded yellow walls and nothing except a bed with a thin white bedspread, a wardrobe, a small wooden desk and an old wooden chair. No evidence of her mother having grown up