Incident Narrative

Stretching my sore and cramped limbs, I took in my surroundings. Out the window I could see the same sun that I had seen only eight hours ago in Paris, but found it hard to believe. As I ambled through the airport, listening to the buzz of people around me, I was reminded of my departing flight, where everyone had stood around nervously assessing their fellow companions, creating the all to familiar feeling of the first day of school. It was hard to think that there had been a time when I hadn’t shared my every moment with these people. The forty-two of us naturally melted into one, like the pieces of a puzzle coming together to form a picture, as we approached the security checkpoint with as much thought as someone gives to the beating of their heart, knowing it was the last time that we would all be united in the same way. We had grown comfortable with each other, supporting one another like a family in the short time that we had lived together. I had changed so much, become more confident and compassionate, more understanding and aware. Yet, as I walked past the Cinnabon, smelling the sticky, sweet buns, nervousness tingled through my body, surging me with a feeling of unexpectedness. This would be the first time I saw my family after three weeks consisting of phone conversations and e-mails. Would they look different? I would soon be returning to the laziness of summer instead of waking up in a different city each day. These thoughts filled my head with anticipation as I descended down the escalator, watching shoes turn into people bearing balloons and signs, all waiting to welcome us home. As I spotted my mom in the midst of the crowd, I immediately transformed from a student ambassador back into her teenage daughter. As I hugged her, I knew that everything was the same, but that in a funny way, my life would never be the same.