My father whispers “Eric…” whenever I wake up in the early morning for school. But when I fail to wake up, my mom speaks louder so I jump up from the bed. After the shower, I am ready to eat a ‘balanced’ breakfast.
“Eric, what do you want for breakfast?”
I open the crowded freezer, Lean Pockets or Lean Pockets. After breakfast, I go to school.
Upon arrival to school, I am slammed with “What’s up Eric!” when I spot my friends. Without them, I would be lost like a tourist in the Brazilian jungle. In my eight classes however, I dream about tricks at the skatepark.
The bell rings after fourth period and it’s lunch time. As I walk into the crowded cafeteria, fresh-out-the-oven pizza, warm mozzarella sticks, and cheesy nachos dance in my nose. I hear my name called through the conversations of the cafeteria, and it guides me like a light through a dark tunnel to the spot to sit. When the bell rings to leave school, we skaters gather at our lockers and agree on a plan: Delafield skatepark at five pm.
I get home and my mom asks, “So Eric how was your day at school?” Most of the time, I respond, sarcastically, “Good.” Then I am off to the skatepark. Skateparks are like battlefields; gun-fire, grenades, and barbwires are there to throw you off. Cruising along in the skatepark, I spot a rock but it’s too late to maneuver past it… I run over it and SCREEEECH! My wheels lock up; I am hurdled off my skateboard and fall on my knees. Everyone asks, “Eric, are you okay?” I get up, dust myself off and nod my head. Later, I leave the skatepark and head for home to complete my homework. The soreness in my body can only be measured in miles. After I finish my homework, it’s time to sleep out my soreness and prepare for the next day.