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Rated: E · Non-fiction · Personal · #914365
The story of one of my trips-----revised.
         I felt the wind throw itself across my face and smelt the fresh Maine air. All I could think about was that we were going to be late. My family and I were traveling back to Canada---our old home and native land---for my uncle's memorial service. Other than the areas doing construction work, it was an absolutely beautiful summer day. Only one thing really ruined it for me........ we were going to be late.

         After driving for two days straight from Texas, we were drawing closer to the USA/Canadian border. From there it was still a ways away. You would think that after travelling all my life I would be used to it, but no. It was still as rough as ever. The thought of the memorial service didn't help. Like any eleven-year old, cramped cars were not my favorite place to be in, but I had loved my uncle and it was worth it.

Then it happened


         We had finally crossed the border! Without my even noticing it, we had switched countries. I looked out at the familiar scenery: the shops, the signs, the Tim Hortons (*smile). When I pulled my attention back to the car, I noticed the time. Only a few hours 'til the service and we were no where near the church. We were definitely going to be late (and it was all my mother's fault. Let's just say, don't take the "short cut"). At least not through the back roads of Alabama on a Sunday when a oil transport truck has turned on its side. Traffic just isn't the best then.

         After awhile my dad pulled up to my nana and papa's house. There we changed and went back into the car to continue on what seemed to be a neverending journey. What was only an hour or so trip seemed to be like the trip back home.

         Then it happened.........again. (No we didn't cross the border again.)

         Just when I thought that we'd never arrive, our green Ford Taurus pulled up to the church. I started to walk in when I took one last glace at the clock and guess what? We were late.
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