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“Memory… is the diary that we all carry about with us.”

Quote by Oscar Wilde

Day Seventeen: My Favorite Memory

It will be difficult to pinpoint my favorite memory, because there are so many I’m fond of. Birthdays, vacations, sleepovers, there are so many it’s hard to choose just one. One memory does stick out in my mind though.

It was Winterim my junior year of high school (Winterim was the first two weeks of January where instead of having normal classes, we could take specialty classes like child development, theatre, etc. or go on a trip), and I was going to England and Scotland for ten days. My biggest dream was coming true for me. I had longed to go to England ever since I realized Princess Diana lived there. As a child of five I thought if Princess Diana lived there, all princesses lived in England, and since I was a princess, I should live there too.

And now that time had come. I was going to England. I couldn’t believe it. The first six days was spent touring the country, and the last three days we would be in Scotland. That is where this favorite memory takes place.

It was our last night in Scotland. The next morning, we would be flying back home. It was a somber dinner that night; all of us had become so close on the trip, we didn’t want to leave. As we boarded our bus to go back to the hotel, our teachers announced we had one more activity to do before returning home: We were going to a Ceilidh (Pronounced like Kay-lee), which is a tradition Scottish Folk dance.

When we arrived at the dance hall (which was an old converted house), I instantly felt like I had walked into a Jane Austen novel. Those of you who know me well know how I must have felt at this moment. There was a band playing in the front, with instructors there to show the dancers how to do the dances. There were so many people there, most of them locals. A few guys were even wearing kilts.

I was about to go out on the floor when it suddenly dawned on me: I needed a dance partner. This wasn’t your gather-your-girlfriends-up-to-boogie kind of dance, this was a guy-girl-hold-his-shoulder-he-holds-your-waist kind of dance. Panic filled me. I couldn’t talk to boys at that time. I didn’t know what to do. Sensing my apprehension, one of the guys in my group grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out to the dance floor before I had a chance to do anything.

The dances were hard, but we stumbled through it. A few songs in, I had danced enough (and with enough guys) to feel confident and enjoy myself.

And then my Jane Austen moment happened.

I was sitting one of the dances out so I could catch my breath and talk to some of my friends. As the song ended, I saw one of the men not from our school group walk towards where my friends and I were sitting. He was tall, had red hair, flushed cheeks, and a kilt. He looked at me and asked in a wonderful Scottish accent if I cared to dance. Without hesitation or any regard for my other female friends sitting next to me, I agreed. I tripped quite a few times during the dance, and stepped on his feet multiple times. He would just laugh and tell me it was alright.

I only danced one dance with him, but there were only two dances that night where I didn’t have a partner. I felt like Elizabeth Bennet, dancing at Netherfield. Never in my life have I enjoyed myself so much. It was the perfect ending to a perfect trip. Three years later, and I can still remember every detail of that night.


About blweathers

I want to write. About what, I'm not sure. We'll figure that out together.

2 responses »

  1. That’s SO COOL! ❤

  2. Red hair?! Why have I never heard of this before? How very fairy tale indeed!


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