Grade 12 Creative Writing Portfolio

          For nearly sixteen dragging hours, I endured rickety, vomit-worthy turbulence, the complete loss of feeling in my rear end, and my mother’s repeated claims that when we stepped off of the plane, I would realize it was all worth it. But when the plane’s wheels rolled lazily to a halt at the terminal and I was finally able to release the cramp in my legs, I peeked out the window and came to a conclusion of anything but that.

         Undoubtedly, Alaska holds a reputation as one of the most beautiful locations in the world. However, after four consecutive nights of picking through diner food, all seemingly stained with the wafting, rancid scent of the infamous reindeer burger, and bearing hours at a time cooped up inside a dirt-cheap hotel lacking all forms of entertainment, I failed to see what was so special about it. I couldn't understand why anyone would willingly spend their life in a meager town such as Fairbanks with miserable, teeth-chattering temperatures, whiplashing winds, and not an ounce of excitement. If I'd known we'd be visiting such a pathetic, barren place, I would've stayed home in bed.

        On the night before my departure home, my brother proposed that we go on a drive, that he had something to show me before I left. So, into the front seat I trekked and curled, entangled in the grip of a wool blanket. I slouched carelessly against the inside of the passenger door, my knees reaching for my chin and my cheek supported by the fist of my fingers. The wasteland of Fairbanks trailed behind us as we weaved and coasted, and eventually signaled left to merge onto the Steese Highway. One moment, my eyelids struggled to compete with drowsiness, the next, I found my spine erect, and myself face-to-face with a path of never-ending tar directing me straight forth into the Alaskan horizon. It was amidst such a view I truly witnessed the tender moment of embrace shared between the open sky and the Earth's crust.

       For the first time in four days, my big eighth-grade head full of grievances deflated, as my voice silently escaped over my lips to fog up the window. My nose squished up against the cold, glass panel and my eyes darted around to swallow as much of the image of dusk as possible. I gazed up, struck with amazement, at the deep purple array of space and stars above me, the outline of the vast rugged landscape highlighted by the soft luminescence of the moon in the distance. Way out here, the sky appeared different than it did back home in Boston, where the stars’ innocence was drowned out by the clutter of harsh city lights and the ignorance of its people. I’d definitely seen the sky, but until this very moment, I'd hadn't ever actually seen it.

      For what felt like hours we journeyed forward over the unpaved gravel considered highway with miles of peaceful silence traveled between sightings of other vehicles. Though it was open road with nothing stopping us, we refrained from speeding, wanting to avoid the conclusion of our trip by all means possible. My eyes continued to map the changing landscape, when suddenly, the sky was illuminated by a magnetic midnight. Protons and electrons performed a light display for me, effortlessly dancing and twirling through the layers of the atmosphere, bouncing off of each other. At that same moment, I observed a questionable old pick-up resting on the curb of the pavement, accompanied by two Alaskan natives planted outside. Though a view of a such familiarity to them, even they, too, gawked romantically at the show. It all seemed to make sense now. I understood.