Beach-Personal Narrative

Memoir #1 It was late afternoon, around four or five o’clock, when my sister, Ashley, my cousin, Abby, and I began packing up to head back to our beach house from the beach. The air was still warm and the sun was still luminous in the sky. Every year my family has rented the same exact beach house in Bethany Beach, Delaware. It is a fairly large house directly across the street from the beach; the most treacherous part of the walk being the mountainous dunes. However, the seven-minute arduous journey was worth it considering we got to sit on the beach all day long. Abby was twelve years old, Ashley was eleven, and I was nine, yet we all looked older than our ages claimed. After an exhausting day in the sun Ashley, Abby and I decided

I turned around to see my shovels scattered down the sandy path. “Wait up!” I cried. I bent down picking up the shovels as fast as possible. I felt the anger rush to my head. Why wouldn’t they just wait up? I went to grab the second shovel when I saw a man in front of me. He had leathery tan skin which was covered by his black bathing suit bottoms and gray tank top. He wore a red baseball hat that covered his graying hair.
“Here you go, Sweetheart,” He smiled and handed me the shovels. His voice was deep and his eyes were the color of mud.
“Thank you,” I replied in a cautious voice. I took the shovels from his oddly tight grasp. I felt a lump in my throat.
“Did you drop a red shovel?” He asked.
I turned my head. Ashley and Abby were out of sight. I felt the anger begin to bubble in my head. I lost focus in what was going on in front of me. I stared blankly at the man, I had forgotten what he said.
“Uh… Yes,” I answered

Jules was not like all my other friends because she was autistic and rarely spoke, but I loved her. Jules would only talk, eat, sit and walk with me and no one else. I liked Jules because she was a beautifully kind person and I could sit with her quietly without having to say much. Our friendship was uncomplicated. In fourth grade, I got a letter from Jule’s mom asking me to come over for a playdate. I eagerly gave it to my mom and begged her to go. She devastatingly told me, or so I thought, that I was too busy to fit in with Jule’s schedule. I was crushed and felt guilty because I had not been able to see Jules a lot in school anymore. I had always had this looming feeling of regret for not going because Jules was a great friend to me and we both understood each