Freedom. That was all we felt. It was a weekly thing, but those moments crammed into my '96 Buick Regal were some of the best. We always had way too many people packed into the back seat, and the smell of sunscreen was overwhelming. We were excited, to say the least, about our Friday trips to the beach. The music was loud, the windows were down, and Nick's warm hand tickled my knee as I pushed the accelerator onward, with my sun-bleached hair flying in and out of my eyes. However, today felt different. The people were the same, and the car made the same noises, and our skin reflected the sunlight from the moisture of sunblock as it always did. But for some reason, I felt out of place. It wasn't long after we arrived that I knew the reason.
I wrote that in a freewriting session this morning in my English 102 class. I really like it. The strange thing is that I'm not even sure if it's real. I wrote it as if it were a memory and I had pulled it out of my head like any other summer afternoon, but I couldn't tell you if it actually happened or not. Strange. I like it.