My Object

It started out as an “in case of an emergency” type of possession. I was mainly to use it if I needed anything on my way to or from school, which was a fifteen-mile drive. My sixteenth birthday hadn’t come yet, and that’s when I was supposed to get it, but since I drove to school when I was fourteen, I was an exception. My cell phone has been with me through thick and thin, and it is very important to me.

Its age is starting to show. Come January, it will have been two years since my dad brought it home in a square box with a picture of my new Motorola Razr on the side. Its dark grey appearance cannot hide any of its scratches from the countless times I have dropped it. The scratches show up as black and silver outlines emphasizing the edges of my phone. When one looks at the front screen, the first thing brought to attention is the cracked screen; I guess that’s what I get for accidently stepping on it. No matter what it looks like, I am still thankful that is has been faithful to me over the past nearly two years.

My phone reveals a key to my world. When I was younger, it was mainly my lifeline in times of need, but now, it is my tool to keep in touch with friends and family. Now that I am older, it helps me communicate with loved ones who live far away and even nearby. Without my phone, I would be lost.

As the two-year mark approaches, I wonder if my phone will make it much longer. I could get a new phone, but I know that parting with this gray, beat up Razr will be more difficult than I anticipate.