It was during the afternoon when she had come out to rollerblade. I strapped on my rollerblades and went outside to join her. I liked her. She was my childhood crush. We were rollerblading around the cul-de-sac where we lived. I would go down these “ramps,” which were actually the driveways of our neighbors. She would join me. I hope I didn’t annoy my neighbors when we’d blade down their driveways, but perhaps we did. I sometimes saw their window blinds move as if they were checking to see that we weren’t vandals. I rolled down this slopier ramp and tripped on a crack in the sidewalk. I don’t remember what happened afterwards. I woke up in my living room sofa and I cried and screamed in pain immediately. I had broken my right arm. I was told that Mr. Lawnee, our African-American neighbor who had lived two houses away, had saw me on the ground in front of his house and carried me to the place where I was when I woke up. That was kind of him. I never did say thank you. I kept crying and screaming in excruciating pain until I fell asleep, at which point I didn’t feel anymore pain, and so I slept. I would get a cast the next day, which I had all my friends sign, including the girl who I had a crush on and rollerbladed with me.
My usage of voice in telling about this incident was used with the audience in mind–my classmates, specifically readers who I interacted with for the past few weeks but don’t really know on a personal level. I tried telling the story with this in mind, creating a voice that was both formal and casual. In terms of footing and positioning, I created a close physical space and familiar social standing, so as to include the reader in closely observing what I had experienced.