This is my specificity writing. I wrote about a hockey player before his first professional hockey game. He is nervous, and the team captain helps him calm down.
*****
I
was more nervous than I had ever been. I wanted to make sure everything was
perfect, so I left the gym early to prepare my equipment. I could faintly hear
the music in the background, electronic music we like to work out to. We always
blared the bass and I could almost feel it rattling the walls. The sweat
dripped off the tips of my hair and onto the gray material of my skates. The
skate sharpener roared as I welded my blade. My palms were sweaty; it was hard
to get a grip on my skate. Sparks flew off the sharpener as I prepared my
skates to cut into the surface of NHL ice for the first time. That night, I had
my first game as a San Francisco Seal.
I
finished sharpening my skates. I ran my fingernail across the long silver
blade. The metal was still hot, like a pan out of the oven, and it was sharp
enough to create small white shavings from my nail. It was perfect. I rubbed
the shavings off and I set my skates on the table. I was about to start cutting
my sticks when there was a knock on the door.
A
voice called out my name. “Brandon?” I turned around to see that the voice
belonged to James Lee, the captain of our team. His hair glistened with sweat
as he held a bottle of red Gatorade in his hand. “I brought this for you.” He
tossed me the bottle.
I
caught it and twisted off the bright orange lid and took a sip. The sweet,
artificial cherry flavor filled my mouth as I swallowed. “Thanks,” I told him
as I set the bottle down next to my skates and went back to cut my sticks.
He
walked over and sat down next to me. He smelled like hard work, and by hard
work, I mean sweat. “You’re normally much more talkative in practice. You
nervous for tonight?” he asked as he picked up one of my sticks.
“Yeah,
I mean, weren’t you nervous before your first game?” I picked up one of my
sticks and felt the slick coating over the wood. I ran my finger over the
curved blade, where it was slightly rough.
“Yeah,
of course I was nervous,” he answered as he stood up, setting my stick back on
the table. “But I started a tradition. Or, more of a superstition, I guess you
would call it.” He walked over to the small kitchen in the room. He opened the
refrigerator and pulled out two jars. “I always make a peanut butter and jelly
sandwich before a game.”
I
let out a laugh as I began cutting my sticks. The saw made a crisp sound as it
sliced through the wood. I picked up the roll of tape to start taping my stick.
James
dropped two piece of bread in the toaster. It clicked as he pushed the lever
down. “You have to find something that becomes routine, you know? It takes my
mind off the nerves,” he mentioned as he walked around the room. The bread
popped out of the toaster like popcorn and he went back to make the sandwich.
The knife scrapped the peanut butter jar and made a noise like fingers on a
chalkboard. He smeared the brown paste onto the bread and then piled the red
jelly on top.
While
he did that, I began taping my stick. I wrapped the white tape around the butt
of the stick, making a knob. The tape was frayed and stringy, small threads
came off the edges. I twisted the tape to make a thin rope and I wound it
around the shaft. I then taped it back up, covering the rope, and had a nice
handle on my stick.
I
was so focused on making my tape perfect that I didn’t notice James standing in
front of me. I jumped back as I noticed him. He held out a white Styrofoam
plate with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on it. The bread was browned from
being toasted, like the edges of a lightly roasted marshmallow.
“Here,
maybe you can start your own tradition,” he said with a smile as I took the plate
from him. “You’re gonna do great tonight.” He slapped my back as he left the
room and went back to the gym.
I
picked up the sandwich and the crispy bread made a crunching sound as I took a
bite. The sweet jelly tasted like fresh-picked strawberries. The creamy peanut
butter went perfectly with the toasted bread and the jelly. I ate the whole
sandwich within a matter of minutes. It was delicious.
I
appreciated James doing that for me. Everyone was being so friendly and
welcoming to me here, and it made me feel like I belong. Everyone was confident
in me and knew I would do well. I felt at home.
I
went back to taping my stick and began taping the blade. I heard footsteps
outside the room again, and I looked up to see James standing in the doorway,
holding something that looked like a yellow clump of fabric.
“Thought
you might want to see this,” he said as he threw whatever he was holding at me
with a grin.
I
caught it and held it up in front of me. A patch with our team logo, a brown
seal, was on the front. I turned it around, and in maroon letters was my last
name, Dupuis. The number ‘18’ was below it, my lucky number. I couldn’t help
but smile. I took my eyes off the jersey and thanked James, but when I looked
up, he already went back to the gym.
I held the jersey and
felt the golden material between my fingers. I ran my fingers over each letter
of my name, feeling the threads that held them to the yellow fabric beneath
them. It was hard to believe that this was mine; it had my name on it. This
yellow jersey represented everything I had ever dreamed of. I couldn’t wait to
wear it with pride as I represented my team, the San Francisco Seals.
*****
I think this writing shows specificity well because I described all five senses. I helped the reader visualize the scene, and make them feel like they are there. The reader is able to experience the scene, not just read it. I didn't just tell the reader what was happening, I showed them. My writing is a good example of specificity because I think I descibed things well enough that the reader could experience what was happening.
