Personal Narrative-Racism

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“It was Wednesday, April 3rd, 2002. I remember waving to my dad as I left the house at 8:30 to walk up the bus stop. For some reason I was actually excited to go to school that day, so I probably had a party in one of my classes planned for that day” I pause as I realize that people don’t necessarily care about the exact details of that day, but I do so I continue, “as I was nearing the end of the road, I saw a van turn the corner. I had seen this van around my neighborhood several times before that, so I didn’t think that much of it.” “Miss. Fletcher, could you repeat the age when the incident occurred?” the questioner man asked. “I’m sorry Mr. Whitman, I always ramble a lot and I don’t exactly know how deal with all of this police stuff. …show more content…
You all know that I gave birth to a child when I was 13. And you also know that it was not my choice, and therefore I would rather not talk about it to a room full of strangers that I’ve never met before. I’ve seen tv shows with people like you in them and you are supposed to be smart. You don’t need any more details than that so if you don’t mind, I’d like to see my mother now. Since as you also know I haven’t seen her in 14 years, so some damned privacy would be nice.”
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Sure maybe I was being overdramatic, but they were truly pissing me off. When I was with Bill and Mary, they never let me swear. Whenever I did I would be punished, so it wasn’t a normal thing for me to say even a simple word like ‘damned’. After I left the room, I went to see my mother. I had forgotten what she had looked like during all of those years. She doesn’t look as happy as I remember her being, but in the movies everyone always turns out okay in the end anyways. “Kayla, please cooperate with the police. They are just trying to help you.” I don’t remember my mother being this …show more content…
She agrees that we will continue questioning tomorrow while I rest. Some people just don’t get the whole “kidnapping can traumatize children” thing.
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This is truly the first time I am able to be home, before I was staying in the hospital to make sure that I was healthy since I haven’t been to the doctor in 14 years. As we pull into my apparent “home”, I notice that everything is different. New house, new color, new curtains, new car. Life seems to have moved on since I was taken. I wouldn’t be surprised if they forgot all about me while I was gone. I walk into the house and my father and daughter are there waiting for me. I should be happy but I’m so emotionally drained that I just wish my family goodnight and head down the hallway where my bedroom is, which is apparently the last door on the right. I open the door and see that all of my sheets and decorations and everything is in all different shades of blue. I had forgotten that my favorite color was
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