I sat alone in the forest and gave a gentle cry as the tears barely hit my gritty orange shirt. A preconceived game of hide-and-seek lasted forever as everyone gave up on finding me–no one cared. I criss crossed my stubby legs and looked into the ever growing roots of a tree covered by my size 7 vans. I heard movement from behind me and turned to meet the legs of a 6 foot giant with orange-red hair, cut up jeans, and gentle face. He found me. Shocked at his precedence, I just stared. He broke the forest’s silence with, “you’re Zion right?” I mustered my strength to whisper a “yeah.” He gave me a half-pitying smile and helped me up. He said “My name’s Chris.”
The following short-story was adapted from an assignment in First-Year Composition at Arizona State University under Dr. Valerie Finn.
I joined the sea of five-foot-eleven goofy footed quazi-swimmers marching towards the commanding general known as the swimming instructor. The midafternoon sun began to hide in the shadow of the swimming instructor as he rose and began to call off names. I froze on the cold connecting concrete and forget my name. I thought “who am I again?” He called out, “Zion Basque! Number 127.” I remembered that I am number 127. I circled to the end of the army submerging one by one into the icy artificial ocean. The wind howled and a stomach morphed shiver ran up my spine and spun out in my shoulders. I heard the clock lose a second and instantly the line cut in half, leaving clones to take the place of the now emptied lanes. I, nearly shaking, approached my lane as the instructor called, “number 127 begin.”
I think it goes without saying that it has been an eventful year (both academically and annually). As a student, our years are often broken into segments of 9 months—those which are summer and those which are not. Basically, school is a long series of summer and not summer. Regardless of the layout, I think a quick trip down memory lane is required—at least so I know I did not sit at my computer the whole year.
This year began at a blistering heat of 115 degrees, also known as the “Tempe Norm.” Heat bounced off the slow melting concrete and waved past my ever so slightly churning stomach. The heat did not stop me from climbing the historic A Mountain and making my literal mark on ASU. As a near fetus perceived Freshmen, I once again peered into my new city of a home. It was hot and crowded, but I loved it.