Keep On Rolling

2021 7th & 8th Grade Prose Honorable Mention

My feet are planted on the pads of my Segway and my hands are glued to its rubbery handles, but I’m
flying. Passersby snap photos of me, and excited children gasp in Polish as I speed past, feeling the wind
on my face. The smell of nicotine from the pedestrians’ cigarettes fills my nose, but it lasts only for a
second as it dissipates into the crisp afternoon air. Our Segway tour of Warsaw is drawing to a close, and
our guide has allowed us to roll around Pilsudski Plaza to make the most of our last few minutes on
wheels.

“How about one more lap?” my mother asks, rolling past me.

I smile and follow her, the sound of my wheels grinding on the concrete tiles. “It’s rare that it’s just the
two of us,” I think. But my mom invited me to join her on her work trip as a sort of coming-of-age
graduation present, so we are each other’s travel companions for the week.

The Pilsudski plaza is a mostly empty, gray-tiled space, sprinkled with a few large monuments. My
mother and I swerve to get to an ebony black staircase leading to the sky. Neither of us can make
anything of it, so she looks it up on her phone. “It commemorates a plane crash that killed many Polish
people. The sculpture represents the collapsible staircase that people use to board a plane,” she says. I
notice the flowers spread around the base of the monument, and I feel a knot in my stomach imagining
the lives that were lost.

“Let’s check the other end of the plaza,” my mother says, and I agree with a sense of relief. We roll to
the next monument, a bit faster than necessary, and I think back to the time when I was little, and my
mom pushed my kiddie car while I pretended to drive it.

We lived in Arizona at the time. I remember the towering saguaros and the vast blue sky turning to red
at sunset. My mom would push my car around the neighborhood at the edge of the desert. She was
always careful to give the jumping cholla cactuses a wide berth, pointing to the jackrabbits we scared as
we passed. I feel sad for a moment that I no longer get to enjoy kiddie car rides with my mom, but her
voice brings me back to the present.

“Would you stand next to those mannequins while I take your picture?” she asks, heading to the Tomb
of the Unknown Soldier. I follow her gaze and see two life-size action figures in combat gear flanking a
marble coffin. I approach them, still on my Segway, and almost fall off when I see one of the dolls blink.
They’re actual people!

“Mamá, mira, they’re real!” I say. My mom laughs when she realizes her mistake, but the soldiers
remain perfectly stone-faced. She takes my picture quickly while the troopers stare ahead with cold,
harsh glares.

Having my mother to myself for what seems like the first time in years feels momentous. I can finally
get a word in edgewise without being interrupted by my brother or my sister. I want to savor every
moment, not just because our trip is ending soon, but also because I know that this stage of my life will
conclude shortly, too. Sometimes I can’t wait for what comes next, but other times I dread the change.
Can’t we just take a breath and cruise along?

We loop around the plaza a few more times, rolling side by side and admiring the architecture around
us. Then I zoom ahead on my own one last time, taking it all in. Finally, our guide calls us back to the
center of the plaza and retrieves our Segways. The tour is over now, and climbing down from my Segway
after rolling for three hours feels like learning to walk again. We start the trek back to our hotel room,
completely exhausted but happy about our adventure together.

Things will continue to change as I get older, but I know that my mom and I will keep on rolling.