6. Narrative essay

 6. Narrative essay

A narrative essay tells a story. 

Main parts: 

A thesis that sets up the action in the introduction

Transition sentences that connect events and help the reader follow the story

A conclusion that ends the story action and provides a moral, predictions, or revelation. 

Frustration at the Airport

I had never been more anxious in my life. I had just spent the last three endless hours trying to get to the airport so that I could travel home. Now as I watched the bus driver set my luggage on the airport sidewalk, I realized that my frustration had only just begun. 

This is my first visit to the international terminal of the airport, and nothing was familiar. I could not make sense of any of the signs. Where was the check.in counter? Where should I take my luggage? I had no idea where the immigration line was. I began to panic. What time was it? Where was my plane? I had to find help because I could not be late!

I tried to ask a passing businessman for help, but my words all came out wrong. He just scowled and walked away. What had happened? I had been in this country for a whole semester, and I could not even remember how to ask for directions. This was awful! Another bus arrived at the termina, and the passengers came out carrying all sorts of luggage. Here was my chance! I could follow them to the right place, and I would not have to say a word. }

I dragged my enormous suitcase behind me and followed the group. We finally reached the elevators. Oh, no! They all fit in it, but there was not enough room for me. I watched in despair as the elevator door closed. I had no idea what to do next. I got on the elevators when it returned and gazed at all the buttons. Which one could it be? I pressed button 3. The elevator slowly climbed up to the third floor and jerked to a stop. A high, squawking noise announced the opening of the doors, and I looked around timidly. 

Tears formed in my eyes as I saw the deserted lobby and realized that I would miss my plane. Just then an elderly airport employee shuffled around the corner. He saw that I was lost and asked if he could help. He gave me his handkerchief to dry my eyes as I related my predicament. He smiled kindly, and led me down a long hallway. We walked up some stairs, turned a corner, and at last, there was customs! He led me past all the lines of people and pushed my luggage to the inspection counter. 

When I turned to thank him for all his help, he was gone. I will never know that kind man’s name, but I will always remember his unexpected courtesy. He helped me when I needed it the most. I can only hope that one day I will be able to do the same for another traveler who is suffering through a terrible journey. 

July 13, 2013

The house was quiet. Of course it was, for everyone was napping on the steamy summer day. Normally I would hear my little brother screaming and playing and my older sister chatting on their cell phones, but on that day, everything was still. I recall that the temperature that day was 52 degrees Celsius outside, which was hot even for us who live in the desert. The only sound I heard was the air conditioning struggling to keep the rooms cool. I was bored and tried to think of something to do. Then the doorbell rang, and my life changed forever. 

Because I was the only one awake, I went to the door and answered the bell. There he was –a delivery man holding out an envelope sealed in plastic. “Sing please”, he requested. The afternoon sun hurt my eyes, and I squinted to find the X that required my signature. I thanked the man and stepped back into the cool confines of my living room. Slowly I walked to the soda and plopped down. The letter was addressed to me. I was a fresh school graduate, and this was the first time that an official letter had my name on it and not my father’s. 

So many questions were racing around in my head that I did not hear my mother come down the stairs. “What’s that?” she asked. I turned and saw her lovely smile. She has always supported me in my dreams, especially my dream of studying engineering and becoming one of the few female engineers in my small community. My mouth was so dry that I could barely answer her. I explained about the exam results and how I was afraid to open the letter. She looked at me with that special “mother look” and gave me a small nod, basically telling me that everything was going to be alright. With her push, I opened the letter and explored the contents. 

I read the first line over and over again. “We invite you to join our university’s engineering program with a full scholarship.” I had done it! Not only was I accepted to the university, but my exam scores were so high that I was going to receive a full scholarship. With the letter still in my hand, I jumped off the sofa and ran to show my mother. She screamed with delight and hugged me tightly. 

The noise made was enough to wake up everyone in the house. Within minutes my father, brothers, and sisters surrounded me in the living room and congratulated me on my accomplishment. That day, July 13, 2013, was the day that changed my life. It was the day that proved to me that if I worked hard enough at something, I would get rewarded. 

Learning to drive

I could not believe it. Driving laws in Ontario allowed teenagers to get their licenses at the age of sixteen! As my sixteenth birthday approached, I beamed with excitement and anticipation. What I did not know at the time was this: the driving lessons that I learned in our old sedan would stay with me for the rest of my life. 

My father, who adored driving, was the obvious choice to be my driving instructor. The first lesson took place in the driveway. White I sat in the passenger seat, he explained the devices in the car. I was particularly frightened by the gear shift, which was sticking out of the floorboard. However, my father patiently lectured on the different floor pedals, the turn signals, and my favorite, the car horn. 

For the next lesson, I sat in the driver’s seat. At that time, it felt more like a throne than anything else. My father asked me to turn on the car, and then he guided me into reverse. As I let up on the clutch and pressed the gas, I felt the car starting to move backwards. I was controlling this vehicle! Slowly and carefully, I backed out of the driveway and into the residential street. After a few moments of confusion, I had the car sputtering forward in first gear. 

Two weeks of lessons passed, and I was beginning to get bored with the scenery, which never changed. My father had me drive around the same block again and again. I was passing the same landmarks–the neighbors' house, the dead tree down the street, and the kids who were playing in the empty lot on the corner. When I could stand it no more, I asked to move to a street that had more action. “Tomorrow. I think you are ready”, my father replied, his eyes twinkling with pride. 

My emotions were in overdrive the next day. I was finally on a busy street at night. I shift from first gear to second gear with no problem. Then came third gear. When I reached the speed that I wanted I put the car into fourth. I was flying in the old sedan! My father’s concerned voice broke my spell. He said calmly “Honey, there's a red light ahead”. All the information that I had learned in the previous weeks leaked out of my brain. I did not know how to react. I blared the horn and flew through the intersection, which by pure lock was empty. 

That night my father was somber. I was in tears. How lucky we had been not to have been hit by another car. I waited for him to reprimand me, but he did not. I was aware of the severity of my moving violation. It is now thirty years later, and I haven forgotten that day. In fact, if I accidentally drive through a red light now, I remembered the emotions of a sixteen-year-old and the wisdom of a loving father who taught her to drive.