Oreo
By
Grade 4
I love Oreos. “Woof!” Sorry, that’s my dog. He loves Oreos too. In fact this story starts with a package of Oreos. A package my mother sent me to the store to buy on the last day of school. To celebrate, she was going to make my favorite dessert—Oreo Whipped Cream Pie. I took my blue bike out of our dilapidated garage. I pedaled quickly, my bike wheels creaking as they went round. When I got to the store, I found only one package of Oreos on the shelf. Looked like lots of other people were making Oreo Whipped Cream Pie to celebrate summer.
At dinner that night we talked about many things. As we ate the pie, my mother said in a tone that scared me, “Honey, we have something to tell you.” I tensed up, wondering if it was good or bad. My knees knocked and my heart beat like a bass drum, so hard, I was sure everyone could hear it.
“We are going to the beach for the summer,” my mom said. Suddenly I felt relived; the tension flowed out of me. For years I had begged to go on a beach vacation. Now we finally were!
Two long, stretched out weeks later, I packed my suitcase into the trunk of our car. It barely fit. My mom had packed literally e3verything but the kitchen sink. She even packed a mini fridge. Which seemed kind of silly since the hotel we were staying at had a fridge, according to the website. But my mom likes to be prepared.
I could not help but wonder how something as heavy as a multi-ton hunk of metal could even get off the ground, and fly to Florida with all our stuff on it.
As we waited
fro the plane, some old lady in a link frilly dress had brought a yip-yappy
I had the jitters. This was only my second time on an airplane, and my first had been when I was two months old. I didn’t tell anyone though. I was too old to be afraid. If I told my parents, they would tell their friends, who would probably tell their kids not to talk about airplanes around me, and then I would get teased. So I just kept my mouth shut. Because I the kind of person that keeps their thoughts to themselves. Since I was two, I have had a talent for hiding my thoughts.
When we got on
the plane and the flight attendant explained the safety rules, I suddenly felt
much better. Lots of people were
making sure I was safe. And I had
lots of things to look forward.
I pressed the orange flight attendants button above me. I wanted a pillow. When she brought it, my head sank into it, and my eyes, to heavy to keep open, closed. I dreamed of beautiful blue skies, seagulls and the ocean. It was a dream, but it would come true.
The plane
landed with a bump. It jolted me
awake. We climbed into a taxi and
headed off to the Plaza Hotel. I
stared at the palm trees, wondered how their strangely patterned trunks got that
way. When we arrived at the hotel,
my jaw dropped. I had imagined a
high rise made of glass, metal and concrete, like the one I stayed at in
It was very modern. Everything, even the sink, was mirrored glass. You could see yourself in a thousand different places. My bedroom was spectacular. My bed was soft and fluffy, almost like a cloud. Even better, there was a huge picture window across from my bed with a perfect view of the beach, with its gleaming white sand and turquoise water. The waves crashed against battered rocks. I felt like I had to go out there, at that very moment.
I begged my parents to let me go to the beach, to search for treasure, but they said no. It was time for dinner. A walk on the beach would have to wait. Dad grilled hamburgers on the grill on the balcony. Mom served them on the (big surprise) mirrored plates.
The next morning, bright and early I was in my parent’s room. I asked them if I could go tot eh beach. Still groggy from night, they sleepily answered, “oh guh suh.” I assumed that meant, Sure, go” so I pulled on my wind breaker and walked quickly down the stairs. I sped to a brisk jog while going over the wood plank bridge that separated the hotel from the beach. The bridge ended with some steep steps. I stepped lightly onto the sand. I decided immediately to take off my shoes and go barefoot. I mean what kid can’t resist the warm sensation of the sand between your toes? I couldn’t. That’s for sure.
I walked slowly for two reasons. Number one: I was looking for pretty shells, driftwood and beach glass, treasure. Number two: I did not want to step on anything sharp or rough like a horseshoe crab, crab’s shell or a piece of coral.
We spent the day kayaking the coast. My mother only went along because my father promised her a new pair of shoes if she tired it. I did not like boats or any other kind of watercraft, so I was happy when we got back to land and headed home for dinner. All I really wanted to do was go to bed so I could wake up early again and check the beach for treasure. Tomorrow morning’s walk would not bring just shells. That next morning I would find something that would change my life. I fell asleep listening to the birds calling good-night to each other.
I forgot to set my alarm and didn’t wake up until 8:30. Hopefully, I thought, too many treasure hunters wouldn’t be out already. When I got to the kitchen, the smell of my mother’s French toast wafted to my nose. “Good morning sleepy head.” I scarfed down my French toast, barely savoring it, grabbed my windbreaker and headed to the beach.
After examining what the ocean had left behind and finding coral, conch shells and driftwood, I saw what looked like a brown and white old dishrag lying by the rocks. I went to investigate and found it was no dishrag, it was a dog. Dirty, bedraggled and matted, it hardly resembled a dog at all. It whimpered when it saw me. Its sad eyes pleaded for help. I couldn’t resist them. I had to find a way to help him. Then and there I made up my mind to save this poor dog.
I found a hole in the rocks and put him in there with a towel covering the hole and serving as a bed for him.
That night, I lay in bed with thoughts whirling around in my head like a mass of swirling bees. I would get the beginning of an idea, then the middle of a completely different idea, then the tail end of an idea that would not even work. I tried to tell my brain to calm down. I had all night to plan this. I took it one idea at a time, saying to myself, “No…maybe…perhaps...YES!” I would save my breakfast and give it tot eh dog. I could give him a bath in the hotel pool during the lifeguards lunch hour. All I would have to do is find the maid’s key to the pool door. I would get up early, get to the beach before anyone else. I looked at the clock besides my bed. I gasped. I had planned and schemed until one a.m.!
The next morning I got up at seven, grabbed a waffle and wrapped it in a napkin and headed to the beach. I found the rock I’d hidden him in, lifted the towel. He was sound asleep. But as soon as I took the napkin out of my pocket, he got up real quick and started barking with all his might.
Just then, a beach patroller walked by and asked what in the blazes I was doing. “Uh, just playing dog with my friend,” I said timidly.
“Alright, well, don’t go disturbing the residents, okay?”
“Yes sir.” I replied. When the beach patroller was past, I offered him the food. I told him he better keep his mouth shut or someone might find out he was here! When more shell hunters started coming, I left his side so as not to raise any suspicions.
That afternoon, whether I liked it or not, I would have to give him a bath. I sped up to get to the hotel, then started hunting for some sort of storage room. I decided to search the basement because that was where the janitor’s closet was in our school. The only reason I knew this was because our fifth grade teacher was slightly odd and thought school was all about friendships, so all she did was send students down to give her “love notes” to the janitor. When I had stepped gingerly down the stairs, so as not to make too much noise, and when I opened the basement door, I started straining to make out the words on the doors plaques in the musty hallway. Boiler…mechanics…steam tunnel….janitor/maid closet!
I had found it! I tiptoes in, being careful not to make any noise. I was a cameleouse, as blended in as a chameleon and as quiet as a mouse. I found a small padlocked cupboard in the right corner of the lamp lit room. It was beside a desk with an open drawer. I jiggled the padlock. Locked. I just happened to glance over on the desk. A saw something flash. I went over to the desk and picked up a key. I brought it to the padlock, pushed it in and it worked. The small door creaked open.
Inside were hundreds of keys to all the different rooms in the whole hotel. They were in alphabetical order. P,P,P there was pool, in the P section. I grabbed it and raced upstairs. Now, how to hide a dog, I thought. Then I saw a grocery bag. Perfect. I raced down the beautiful beach, and found the dog chewing on my towel. It didn’t matter. All that matter was saving this poor dog. I put him in the sack and ran tot eh elevators. I pressed “roof”, because that was where the pool was.
The lifeguard was leaving so I hid behind a locker. I put the dog under one of the shower faucets and turned the knob. I grabbed some shampoo and slathered in onto him. But before I could rinse him, he shook. He got water and soap all over me. Just then I heard a “click”. The lifeguard was coming back. I made a mad dash for the elevator. Just as the elevator closed, I caught a glimpse of the lifeguard entering. I pressed “lobby”. I tried to make it look like I’d just been to one of the shops in the lobby, except for the suds on my face. When I stepped out of the elevator, the bellhop gave me an odd look. It is a bit unusual to see an eleven year old come out of an elevator with a bulging grocery bag and a face that looked like Santa Claus.
I race up the stairs to hide the dog before my parents got home from their bike ride. At dinner that night, I cautiously asked my parents, “Uh, say, what would happen if a dog followed me home?”
“Honey, what are you up to?” My mother asked.
“Well, I saw this dog and it was so sad and I had to..”
“Whoa. Slow down,” my father said. After a discussion behind closed doors, during which I tried every technique I could think of to listen in on them, but to no avail. After a few minutes that seemed liked hours, my parents came out.
“Honey, we’ve considered all aspects of this situation and we’ve decided that you can keep the dog.”
“Yahoo!” I shouted. And to this day, when people ask why I named a brown dog Oreo, I tell them this story.