Dear Amanda,

*Sniffle. Sniffle.* Her tiny freckled hands slid across her brown, watery eyes. The four foot three red head girl buries her pale face into her tiny hands. The loud obnoxious high pitch voice repeating itself over and over. “It has been stolen!” I look confused and scared at my beautiful older sister. Her blanket has been stolen. Not just stolen by anyone, but by me.

That day feel as it happened yesterday. We were camping at Yogi Bear at campsite number two hundred and one. The freshly blossomed tulips were scattered neatly all around the freshly cut green gas. The white neatly folded baby blanket was sitting on top of a bright shiny blue bench. As I dashed across the wide green field I crept closer and closer to the bright blue clean bench. The cool breeze made the hairs stand straight up on my tan neck without realizing my freezing hands snatched the soft blanket. The warmth of the blanket shocked my cold hands. As I lifted the white blanket to my little nose I could smell the fresh detergent from the washing machine. The smell that reminded me of home. With the blanket in my left hand, I darted to the big white Cherokee camper, while the wind is thrashing my hair all over my face, I stepped into the wide camper. I scurried to the back where the bunk beds were, and stuffed the neatly folded blanket in my pillowcase. That day the blanket became mine.

Memories; the faculty by which the mind stores and remembers information. My blanket holds so many precious memories. I will never forget the time I took my blanket to the beach for the first time. I remember standing along the shelly shoreline. The Florida warm breeze tossed my blonde hair behind my shoulders. I breathed in that salty smell from the deep blue ocean that is in front of my hazel eyes. I felt like I was missing something, but I couldn’t remember what. Then I realized my blanket wasn’t in my hands. Horrified, I immediately darted to my parents in fear that I will never find my blanket. My family is running up and down the tan sandy beach. Until my mother sees a little girl carrying my blanket. I immediately ran up to her telling her it was my mine, and she looked up at me with her bright blue eyes and told me she wanted one exactly like mine. This is a memory that will last a lifetime.

I’m sorry Amanda for taking your blanket. Call me a thief or call me a criminal, but I never meant to hurt you. I couldn’t be more thankful for you letting me keep it. My blanket has been through so much with me. Something so special, that I would go insane without it.