Personal Narrative Essay: Looking Back In A Home

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Pages: 10
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Sherre Abraham U.S History p.3

Looking back, I didn’t quite get it. But in a way I do. Anyway, it would change my life. But in a way, nothing changed at all. It was both very strange, and the sort of thing that could happen to anyone. Here in Hawkinsville. I just arrived at the train station just north of Arvondale. I clutched at the gray messenger back that hung across my chest and backed towards one of the cold cement posts that held the station up. The place was crowded and dark underground and the people pushed and shoved their way through the crowds of business men and ladies wearing long dresses and faux furs. If you bumped into someone, there was not even a need to say sorry, as they would continue walking past you almost like they had somewhere to be with no intention of casually apologizing to you. I leaned against the post and breathed a heavily sigh. I wanted to go home. In both elementary and middle school, I stayed home from class trips. Here I am, a 15 year old boy on his first trip to Hawkinsville, West Virginia, never having left my hometown, and at a loss in this small city. I was used to working on my father’s plantation on our farm and I was really close to all my neighbors. The houses in Gaunt’s Ford, Georgia were all spread apart equally with each of our families having plenty of land to grow and harvest crops. Even so, the neighbors always came to visit us and we always visited them, bringing gifts from our plantations and having get-togethers for the kids. That’s me, Ernest Bennet. To be frank, I’m a little dumbstruck. In April, I’ll be starting school in West Hawkinsville which I hear is a small city with plenty of shops and clothing stores, all cheap. A friend of mine since elementary school invited me. My parents wanted me to go to a school that’s closer to my home back in Gaunt’s Ford, but I’d always longed to go to Hawkinsville. “Ernest!” A tall, blond boy stood next to me smiling. I didn’t recognize him at first as he was much taller then I remembered. “Lawrence?” I said a bit confused by his sudden appearance. He laughed. “Do I detect a question mark? Here’s the answer. Pick one of the following!” He twirled his finger in a circular motion as he said this, peppy as ever. “One! Lawrence Hughes! Two! Lawrence Hughes! Three! Lawrence Hughes!” He gave a chuckle at this. “Ah! Lawrence! It’s really you!” I was happy to see him, though his jokes were always lousy. I remembered the best way to avoid them was to just ignore them. “I spent three years coming up with that, and you just ignore it?” He punched my shoulder and laughed. “Ah, I’ve missed you!” This is my best friend, Lawrence Hughes. I haven’t seen him since he moved away in elementary school, but aside from appearances nothing’s changed. His jokes are terrible and he talks a lot of bunk, but he’s a good guy. We wrote letters to each other all the time, so I hadn’t ever realized how far apart we were or how long it had been. But seeing him for the first time in four years really shows me how we’ve been living apart. But inside he hasn’t changed at all, especially the way his jokes are real bad. When we got out of the stairway that took us outside, it was about six o’clock and dark out. “Amazing…” I gasped at the busyness of the people and at how everyone had somewhere to go, unlike my hometown. A whole world I’ve only heard about on the radio and in books lies before me. A man sitting on a cracked wooden bench was playing Country Roads by John Denver on his guitar as people would throw their tips into his glass jar filled with old coins and dollar bills. “This place is berries! It’s more amazing then Long Falls!” I said with amazement as the man with the guitar stood up to collect his tip jar and finish for the night. Lawrence laughed. “Then I’ll take you to go see Coal City sometime. Or, if you like crowds,
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