Start from Scratch

Grade 9 Language and Literature students were given the opportunity to engage in the creative process by writing a personal narrative. Using insight , imagination and sensitivity, they were asked to demonstrate how storytelling can impact an audience. This submission is by Savanna Yaremchuk. Clip, clop, clip, clop, my mom always wear heels. Is it because she wants to look taller, or is it like dressing up, for your feet? I look down at my feet, which now seem plain. Black school shoes, navy socks. I shuffle through the wet leaves on the pavement. My feet are a kids size 10. That is a normal size foot in Canada for a kid. But maybe here, in Buenos Aires Argentina, kids’ feet are bigger. I don’t want to be the only kid in first grade with small feet. We round the corner and I almost trip over my too small feet in surprise: Asociacion Escuelas Lincoln. The school looks menacing in this dreary weather. Tall gates loom over the sidewalk, a guard posted at every corner. I just came here yesterday; why does it seem so much scarier? I glance at my mom but she hums to the tune of a song that I am too young to know. I look back at the school and suddenly we are at the gates. I gaze up at the guard sitting in a small cement hut sheltered from the weather. He grunts, “Nombres?” I don’t know what he said. How will I survive here, in a country so far from home? I squeeze my mom’s hand tighter and hold back my tears. The gates clank open after my mom shows the guard a card from her purse, where I know the mints are kept. The thought of the mints cheer me up. Some things don’t change. As we walk through the campus I remember just how big it is. “Twenty-two acres”, my mom says, “and” she continues, “nine hundred students, three tennis courts, a track ring, two basketball courts, lots of playgrounds for you and even a swimming pool. Isn’t that awesome Savanna?”I nod, yes but inside the terror from before comes back. I don’t know how big twenty-two acres are but is seems giant to me.We arrive at my classroom and I turn to my mom to say goodbye. She crouches down and looks down into my eyes. I look away from her pretty black high heels as she hugs me, “Six years old.” She sighs. She hugs me again and walks away, a few inches taller that she normally is. I grip the straps on my pink backpack and take a shaky breath. I step in. No one looks at me. I hear Spanish all around me and realize I am tearing up. I blink my eyes quickly and walk away from the gaping entrance to find a place to sit. I plop my backpack down next to the desk. I put my hands on the chair and push my hands on the chair and push my hands into it. I almost slip off but manage to successfully get my bum in the chair. I interlace my fingers together and swing my feet which don’t touch the floor. I look a few desks over and see a boy with his feet firmly on the ground. I knew it! Kids’ feet were bigger here. I cross my feet together to try and hide mine. I glance around the yellow classroom and see a girl walking into the class. Her eyes are wide and her hands grip the backpack. I look at her feet. They are small! They are even smaller than mine! She looks at me and I grin.