February 14, 2013
By cydsacks PLATINUM, New York, New York
cydsacks PLATINUM, New York, New York
20 articles 29 photos 0 comments

When I was five my family and I went to Florida as we always did in July. A beautiful, warm and sunny day awaited me from outside the hotel doors of the Hilton Hotel we always stay at. I still remember it. There was the marble walkway leading from the elevators to the main lobby area at the front of the hotel. Walking down, we would pass the gift shop on the left with its rack of picturesque postcards and t shirts. Then there were the doors on the right that I had no idea where they led. Further down was the sitting area where the sound from the elevator music mixed with the sound from the TV. A softly playing news report spoke of a tornado at Pine Lake and a scientist speaking of a solar flare that was larger and more intense.
The sweet smell of the bouquet of flowers at the check in desk tickled my nose. The tempting sight of the sleek, elegant black piano whose slender white keys my fingers wished to dance across. I felt my little hand be enveloped by a bigger one as I was led out of the lobby through the automatic doors. I marveled at their ability to know when I wanted to go through without me even touching them. The rack of brochures laid to my left. There were rows upon glorious rows of brochures for the taking detailing things from shows to amusement parks. I always stopped and took one, two or three even maybe four of the most colorful and pretty ones. When the second set of automatic doors opened, the refreshing blow of the A.C was replaced with the sun on my face.
The hot parking lot burned my tiny feet even through my flip flops. We walked to the car. A process that could have taken a lot shorter if it hadn't been for me going to pick up leaves. Leaves I knew would be dead, a sad, shriveled and brittle brown, before we even landed back at JFK. Yet, I still insisted on keeping and collecting them. I always squatted next to the banana slugs that scattered the walkway. I was enthralled by the tiny and slimy trails they left upon returning slowly to the safe confines of the bush. The little geckos, a perfect example of the saying “they are more afraid of you than you are of it”, were a rarity to see. The quick and nimble creatures darting and avoiding human contact were an excitement. They could make any walk slower. For the hope and possible satisfaction of seeing one made any child’s eye a bit brighter.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.


MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!