  Write about where rivers join. “What are you so proud of?” Cynthia yelled and I know that things were not going to go the way that they were supposed to. “All I said is that I am glad that I am white. You talk about how proud you are of being black all the time. You always put down me for my white traits. There are good things about white people.” She snarled at me and rolled her eyes and I thought about going home. Yet it took so long to get to Eden that I had no ambition to just turn around and go home. The two hour hike through a forest of trees so lush that the sun just barely go through to iluminate their path. The hike wasn’t bad, it was the swim to get to Eden. Cynthia was not an expert swimmer and the currents of two rivers coming together challenged her novice skills. I swam next to her making sure that she didn’t drift off course and the currents didn’t take her to lower Oregon. The swim took another thirty minutes to get to Eden. They called the little island in the middle of the meeting of the Sampson and the Milton rivers Eden because the biblical one was surrounded by rivers also.
We were supposed to have lunch and sit out in the sun and possibly get into extra curricular activities if you know what I mean. Things began spectacular when we got to the island. I was admiring Cynthia in her bathing suit, feeling the sunshine felt like God smiling down on me. She had recovered from the swim and had Lois Lane eyes for helping get through the rough currents to the shores of Eden.
I didn’t know if things could get any better than this. “It is good to be white!” I declared. Cynthia shot up in disagreement. “What did you just say?” I knew things were going down hill. She looked at me like I was wearing a white pillow case on my head. I was not any kind of particular kind of white American. I was not Irish, Italian or Polish. I was not any other kind of American. I guess I could trace my people back to the colonists. 
