Narrative Essay: Will It Really Be Okay?
The waves crash against the shore as he sits beside me on the sand, our feet touching ever so slightly. I hug my knees to my chest and force myself to keep looking at the sea, a blur of endless blue to my watering eyes. My heart is a rock, sinking into the ocean of my chest and he knows this.
“It’ll be okay.” The words fall from his lips, soft and wary. An unsaid question hangs in the air between us and I start to trace patterns on the sand with my finger. I can hear him sigh.
Will it really be okay?
The sun is low in the bright orange sky, hues of red and yellow blending like on a ripe mango that I would climb the trees of my neighbour’s backyard to pluck as kept watch. I’d always been the more rebellious and adventurous one between us. On warm summer afternoons, when the …show more content…
Ma made dinner for you too.”
I keep looking at the horizon, wondering what it means to be a friend. I think about the rock in my chest, if I can even stand at this point.
“She saved mangoes for after dinner too. They’re really ripe this time.”
Something breaks inside of me. I bury my face into my knees and I cry. My voice is loud, a wailing mess. A tornado of emotions whizzes inside me and I can’t breathe. I can only cry, even when Sahil’s arm wraps around my back and he pulls me into his chest. I cry harder, soaking his shirt and neither of us move until my voice is hoarse, only hiccups escaping my lips. He strokes my back and then slowly makes me face him. I look away because my face is stained with tear marks. He rises, holds out a hand and I weakly take it.
Sahil moves away a few weeks later. When his first letter arrives, my dad hands it to me in excitement, asking that I open it and read it aloud. I shoot him an affronted look and run to the beach. I don’t stop until I’m there and then I sit down on the sand, breathless, panting. I rip open the envelope.
The first thing Sahil tells me is that the mangoes there are nothing like the ones here.
The sky is
“It’ll be okay.” The words fall from his lips, soft and wary. An unsaid question hangs in the air between us and I start to trace patterns on the sand with my finger. I can hear him sigh.
Will it really be okay?
The sun is low in the bright orange sky, hues of red and yellow blending like on a ripe mango that I would climb the trees of my neighbour’s backyard to pluck as kept watch. I’d always been the more rebellious and adventurous one between us. On warm summer afternoons, when the …show more content…
Ma made dinner for you too.”
I keep looking at the horizon, wondering what it means to be a friend. I think about the rock in my chest, if I can even stand at this point.
“She saved mangoes for after dinner too. They’re really ripe this time.”
Something breaks inside of me. I bury my face into my knees and I cry. My voice is loud, a wailing mess. A tornado of emotions whizzes inside me and I can’t breathe. I can only cry, even when Sahil’s arm wraps around my back and he pulls me into his chest. I cry harder, soaking his shirt and neither of us move until my voice is hoarse, only hiccups escaping my lips. He strokes my back and then slowly makes me face him. I look away because my face is stained with tear marks. He rises, holds out a hand and I weakly take it.
Sahil moves away a few weeks later. When his first letter arrives, my dad hands it to me in excitement, asking that I open it and read it aloud. I shoot him an affronted look and run to the beach. I don’t stop until I’m there and then I sit down on the sand, breathless, panting. I rip open the envelope.
The first thing Sahil tells me is that the mangoes there are nothing like the ones here.
The sky is