<span>I watched as she slid across the floor. She looked like a seal sliding from the tub to the radiator. The entire journey was about 10 feet, but it felt like it took around 10 minutes for her to make that slide. Head first she bonked into the radiator, still wet and slightly covered by soap, shampoo and the shower curtain trailing her like some cape. Map woman. Europe and Africa covering her more delicate bits as she slid. I stood there, unsure how to react. Should I pick her up? Do I laugh? Do I just sit there and try to calculate what exactly happen. I smiled while I wait for her reaction, which is a mixture of tears, laughter, and sheer embarrassment. I finally get the ability to laugh to the ridiculousness of her and this moment, sliding like a seal into the radiator. It was the most graceful thing I've ever seen her do.</span>
<span>"I remember when my cousin and I would play at the park everyday. It was as if the park was our home. We felt more at home at the park than at home. Home life was rough like sandpaper for us."</span>
Answer: In this story (published in 1941), celebrated poet, novelist, and playwright Langston Hughes (1902–67) describes such an incident in the life of a talented and proud American high school student, Nancy Lee Johnson, whose family had moved from the Deep South to the North so that she might have better opportunities.
Explanation:
