Turmoil
Jake Thompson shivered as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. His hat was pulled low over his ears, and his shoulders hunched up in a vain attempt to retain some heat around his head. His entire skinny six-foot-five, fifteen-year old frame shook. He glanced at the others. Had his mother noticed? Why did no one else seem to be feeling this raw, damp cold as they waited for the speeches to begin? Jake grimaced. His pre-trip research had lied. The Netherlands did have snow in December. He should have listened to his cousin Bert who had warned him to dress warmly. He shuffled his feet inside his borrowed galoshes . . . again.
“What am I doing here?” he muttered to himself, not for the first time.
He knew why he was in the Netherlands, but why here? In a cemetery. . . on Christmas Eve. . . listening to a bunch of speeches he couldn’t understand . . . with people he hardly knew?
It was all Opa Pieter’s fault.
Jake Thompson shivered as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. His hat was pulled low over his ears, and his shoulders hunched up in a vain attempt to retain some heat around his head. His entire skinny six-foot-five, fifteen-year old frame shook. He glanced at the others. Had his mother noticed? Why did no one else seem to be feeling this raw, damp cold as they waited for the speeches to begin? Jake grimaced. His pre-trip research had lied. The Netherlands did have snow in December. He should have listened to his cousin Bert who had warned him to dress warmly. He shuffled his feet inside his borrowed galoshes . . . again.
“What am I doing here?” he muttered to himself, not for the first time.
He knew why he was in the Netherlands, but why here? In a cemetery. . . on Christmas Eve. . . listening to a bunch of speeches he couldn’t understand . . . with people he hardly knew?
It was all Opa Pieter’s fault.
