Two of Many Memories (My Memoir for English Class) It’s Friday, the last day of Drivers Ed, the beginning of summer
vacation. The bus ride back from Milnor is full of noise; I hear bits and
pieces of people’s summer plans between all the laughter. I am in mid
conversation as my phone buzzes in my pocket. Pulling my phone out, I see
that it’s my mom calling me. I consider ignoring it; after all we’re
almost to town. I decide to answer it anyway. Right away I can tell that
something is wrong, my mom’s voice sounds strained and hoarse. Almost as
if she’s been crying. My stomach drops as she tells me the news. Soon
I’ll learn how precious life is, how sometimes you don’t know the value
of a moment, until it’s just a memory.
My mind races with endless thoughts. Her cancer is back? How? It’s
terminal? What does that mean? Only two years left? No! There’s nothing
that they can do? That’s not possible. That can’t be right. No, it’s not
true I think as I end the call in a daze. My head is spinning with all of
these thoughts. Barely hearing the clueless voices and laughter of my
friends and classmates, I stare out the window. The trees, fields, and
houses were all blurring together as we drive home. Thinking to myself
that I must have just imagined that phone call, it didn’t actually
happen. It couldn’t have happened.
As the school bus arrives at the school I see my mother sitting in our
old white van, her short dark hair framing a pale, tear stained face. A
cigarette was shaking in her left hand, smoke escaping through her thin
lips. Slowly I make my way to the van, taking my time. I know that I
should be running to her, I should be trying to comfort her. Why? Why, am
I taking my time? I ask myself this, already knowing the answer. Seeing
her makes it real. I won’t be able to pretend I just imagined it anymore.
The drive to my grandma’s house is filled with a deep silence. All of us
were consumed in our thoughts. By the time we pull into the driveway I
feel like I’m going to explode. Barely allowing my mom time enough to put
the van in park, I jump out and run across the road into the trees. My
mom yells my name, “Jordan!” but I barely hear her. My vision begins to
blur and the trees start to meld together. Away from everyone and out of
breath, I kick at a fallen tree in frustration, and then I drop to my
knees. As the dry leaves crunch under my weight, everything hits me.
There, on the ground, with only the trees watching me I break down.
Sometime later, my cousin finds me lying on the cold hard ground, staring
at the hidden sky. We walk back to the house in silence. The only sounds
filling the air are the dead branches cracking under our feet; I don’t
even hear a bird singing.
Two years later I lay in bed, listening to music. There’s a soft,
hesitant knock on my door, I almost didn’t hear it. Then I hear my
grandma’s voice quietly, hesitantly saying “Jordan?” Her voice had
cracked slightly. I open my door, unsure of what she would be wanting at
this time of night. Now as I look at her, see the tears running down her
cheeks, the room begins to spin and the air is rushed out of my lungs. I
feel as if I cannot breathe, like someone punched me in the stomach, as
my grandmas pale lips speak the words I have been dreading to hear for so
long. Then I’m running, running down the stairs and stumbling out the
door into the dark night. Soon the summer night is filled with my choked
sobs. Gone, gone she was gone? No, it was too soon. She can’t leave, not
now. It all just seemed like a nightmare, a terrible nightmare. None of
it seemed real. A chill ran through me as I looked up at the moon,
knowing very well it was not a dream.
It has now been almost four years since that bus ride, almost two years
since my mother passed away. Through those experiences, I’ve learned to
not take things for granted. A life can end so quickly, so easily. It has
taught me to cherish the good moments in life. These past four years have
shown me that life is most certainly not easy, but you need to learn to
enjoy the good parts anyways.
schreiner94