Racism In High School-Personal Narrative

The summer rays beating down on the sun dried grass, the faint ring of the tune of an ice cream truck is fading as it gets farther and farther away from our car. Mom and Dad are playing the license plate game in the front seat while I pull my white beaten up earbuds out of my pocket. As I am skipping through my playlist, I hear a quick scream that is soon cut off by a crash then everything fades. That is a day I will never forget, I can still remember every detail, being carried away by the paramedics, covered in glass shards and debris from the crash. A car had spun out of control and and sent us tumbling off the the long backroad into a nearby ditch. The driver of the other car had survived with some broken bones and cuts. Unfortunately I

I honestly have no clue how he can keep on a smile because I tear up everytime I hear their names, and I can’t even think about what I’m going to do when I go back to school. When I was little I couldn’t wait to be a “big kid” a strong, confident, senior at Lockland High School in Cincinnati, Ohio.That wasn’t the reality of it at all, I was scared, the judging, the pity, I dreaded going back to that horrid place. Days go by quickly, wake up, eat, counseling, sleep and it

I grab the clothes and walk to the small white tiled bathroom. As I’m changing I hear a deep soothing voice speaking to the doctors, my brother knocks on the door and calmly asks if I’m ready to go “home”. Although it’s where I’ll be living I’m not sure that it’s home. I walk outside, a cool breath of air skims across my skin, the yellow and red leaves of Autumn falling from the trees. The half hour ride to the house is fairly silent, the broken radio making the occasional subtle static. I look out the dirt coated window, street signs passing briefly by the car, “Welcome to Cincinnati”. “JUst a few more minutes now.” Logan says, breaking the silence between us. It’s weird to be on my own metaphorically, no nurse button, no lunch at twelve everyday. I had been in the hospital so long I had forgotten what it feels like to be in the “real world” for a change, and do things for myself. We begin to pull into the cracked, washed out concrete driveway. I step out of the car medications in hand and head inside. Most of the house’s interior is painted a sky blue color with pictures lining the wall, family