My grandma was one of the most influential people in my life. She was beautiful and radiated class. Ever since I was younger, she had been sick. I never could truly grasp what was wrong with her since I was so young. In every happy memory of my childhood she was there. I still can’t think of anyone who could affect me more to this day.
The day I lost her was just like any other ordinary day. My sixth grade year had just begun, and I was thrilled with being a new student at the local middle school. I didn’t have many worries at that age and everything seemed to be going well. One of the few negative things that I had experienced by this point in my life was illness. Not personally, but just members in my family had been in and out of the hospital. I had always considered myself lucky.
The bell rang for the end of the day as I walked out of my class and headed for my locker. Gossip rang through my ears as I made my way through the cliques that only middle school can create. Blocking the entrance of the school were the jocks and the cheerleaders as I tried to push through unnoticed. Once I finally made my way out of the doors, I had to find my bus.
The bus rides to and from school are some of my favorite memories from middle school. My entire neighborhood was on the same route, which included all of my best friends from elementary school. This was always a relief being able to see a familiar face to start and end your day. As soon as I found bus 112, I walked on and said hello to Mike, our friendly, yet creepy, bus driver. As I made my way to the back of the bus I spotted my best friend, Jill. I waved hello and made myself comfortable for the fifteen-minute ride. I was excited to hear about her eventful day, which usually consisted of a lot of giggling and not much valuable information.
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