13

=Exposition/Inciting Incident=

"Mom is busy today, so you get to spend the whole day with me!" my dad said enthusiastically. "What do you want to do today?" I didn't know it then, but that day my mom was at my grandma's helping out with my grandpa who was very sick at the time. My dad was average height, had dark hair, and hazel eyes. He knew this would be a difficult day. He and I were both sitting in the bright family room while my sister was in her room upstairs. Our house didn't not stick out on the block at all, actually, none of them did. It was a white house with blue shutters. The only big difference between the houses was the house color and the shutter color.The houses, up and down the street, all blended together. It was a wonderful day outside with the colorful flowers that smelled as sweet as marshmalllows, and beautiful singing of the birds. There weren't many days like that in March. It was usually rainy, and wet out. "Let's get ice cream and then shopping for presents for me!" I said with high hopes. I was tiny, had very blonde hair and was wearing a Scooby-Doo t-shirt. I was drooling at the thought of my favorite: chocolate chip cookie dough. "Well, Kelly, that sounds like a great idea but let's see what your sister thinks. Sometimes it's best for sad things, which must happen sometime, to happen when you're young just because you don't take it so hard. At the age of six, something happened to my family that I will never forget. My mom dad, and my sister, Emily, would all be changed forever. Every day in our little house in Florham Park, New Jersey, we'd think about what happened that day. They say that when one door closes, another one opens. I didn't see any open door warmly welcoming me in with a cheerful sign or mat. All that I saw was one slamming shut in my face. I felt like I would never get over it for my whole entire life. That pain would always haunt me and never go away, just teasing me because that was such a big event and I was so little. How is a little six year old supposed to deal with that big news? I didn't know the answer, but I knew that I would have to find out. In my opinion, that's what I had to do.

=Rising Action=

"I don't feel good, Daddy," I said in a whining voice. The house practically sighed every time I complained because, well, this wasn't the first complaint it heard from me and it definitely was not the last. "Do you want to go to the hospital snoogums?" my dad said. By then one of the few voices that I could identify was the annoyed one my dad used. He always asked if you wanted to go to the hospital to make you realize how petty your complaint was. Also, he always called my mom, sister, or me 'snoogums'and 'snooggum woogums'. Don't ask me why, I've been trying to figure it out for years. “Well, maybe we shouldn’t go to the hospital, but how about the doctor's?" I asked like my illness was a rip in a pair of jeans that if it didn't get sewed, would just keep getting bigger. I suggested not going to the hospital because the doctor's was much better. You got candy and stickers! "Ok, honey." My dad would always say he'd let you do something because he knew that you might feel guilty and chicken out. Unluckily from him, I didn't reach the guilt age, yet. Unaware that I wasn't backing down, he begged my sister to get in the car, because she was too young to stay home alone. She had long, thick, dark brown hair and matching brown eyes. Emily, five years older than me, didn't reach the guilt age yet either. Unfortunately, she had reached the stubborn age. She acted like the man in '__Green Eggs and Ham'__ who just wouldn't try them no matter what you did. At her age, eleven, sometimes you cry for no good reasons just because you're tired, hungry, or maybe stressed. This was one of those times. She was not going to take one step out of her purple, flower-covered room if her life depended on it. While my dad was convincing my sister to get in the car, I was waiting and thinking that my life might end if I didn't get to the doctor's. Now, I'm in tears, too, my poor dad. He refused to let my sister stay home so he dragged her into the car. I have no idea how he did it, but, before I knew it, I stopped crying and so did Emily. She was silent, but happy. This looked like it was going to be a nice trip. Most kids would think I'm crazy for liking the doctor's. I only liked it because I got delicious lollipops and colorful stickers of my favorite cartoon characters. After my fantasy about cherry-flavored lollipops was over, I remembered something. My mom is still out!! I can't go to the doctor's without my mom! I never had and I never wanted to. It wasn't guilt, but I didn't want to ruin our perfect car ride. I'd have to suck it up and be a big girl. I knew it was going to be hard, but I also knew I could do it. After a couple of fearless minutes in the car, my dad's phone went off and then we made a sudden stop. We stopped right before an entrance into a parking lot for a pharmacy. Did the car break down? Are we stuck? Most importantly, after all that will I still not get to the doctor's?

=Climax=

RING! My dad's loud, high-pitched ring tone went off. Before his phone had the chance to ring again, my dad flipped open his sleek, shiny, super-new phone and said hello. I could only hear little mumbling, but I could tell that the person on the other line sounded down in the dumps. My dad hung up. He turned around. "Girls, that was your mom on the phone, I have something very important to tell you," my dad sadly and solemnly said in a whisper. "Did you get presents for us?" I asked unaware that something horrible was about to be said. "No, Kelly, this is very serious," my dad answered back, "Papa has died." Papa was my grandfather on my mom's side. I was thinking of asking my dad if we could keep going on our way to the doctor's but when I saw the soft, wet, and strong tears fill my sister's eyes. I bet the best detective couldn't find one ounce of sadness on my face. I didn't even think of memories with him. I just wasn't sad, not because I didn't love him, but because I didn't know what death was. I didn't know that death was like a child dropping a toy down a disgusting, unforgiving sewer. I didn't know that I would never see him again. I didn't know that I would never talk to him again. I didn't know what death was. My dad told us that we're going to start driving to our church, now to silently pray. I don't know how my dad held so strong while he led us into the little room that was painted a hideous shade of tan and that had the door that connected to the main part of the church where mass was held. My dad started the trend, taking Rosary beads and going through the door. My sister and I followed. We grabbed Rosary beads and started praying in the main part, also. Rosary beads help you keep count of how many times you say a certain prayer. I did it just like I do in church every Sunday, when everyone puts their heads down and prays, I just lower my head and think about cartoons. The church was so empty and quiet, that you could whisper, and there would be an echo. When we were done, we silently marched into the car. My sister was bawling her eyes out. Emily ran out of the car and into her room. She wouldn't stop saying "How could this happen to him?" and "Why him?" She wasn't even on her bed, she was on the ground. My dad was trying to help her while the door was shut on my face and I wasn't allowed in. Her room was private. I really wanted to cheer my sister up, but I couldn't. I just wanted to play this new board game I got with her. I didn't want her to be sad. I wanted her to be like me. Eventually, she stopped crying and we drove to my grandpa's and grandma's house, which is about forty minutes away, and hugged all of my relatives until I was numb. I saw my mom and talked to her about what had happened. I didn't enjoy our conversation. We all said goodbye to Papa. Somehow, seeing him there made me go into silent tears. I remember how I used to sit on his lap reading the newspaper and how he used to pick me up like he was all muscle. I loved him so much. Every time I stopped crying and then looked at my frail, grandma, I would start again. It was so hard. But, I knew that all of us would get through it.

=Falling Action=

Apparently, just like the saying goes, time heals all. That was very lucky for us because I don't know how we'd live our lives with that horrible day haunting us for the rest of our lives. The day of Papa's funeral was a calm, surprisingly beautiful day. The sun was shining just like it does in the movies. This neighborhood was flooding with plants. The red roses, purple violets, pink tulips, and blue hydrangeas were surrounding us. I'm guessing the inhabitants of this neighborhood liked to garden. It was nice to know that a gloomy day wouldn't be annoying us while we were mourning. We were at my grandma's house a week or two after Papa's death. We were all preparing for the funeral. The women put on make-up and jewelry while the men waited. Everyone looked beautiful in their dark, respectful clothes. The church was very close to the house, so we got to walk and as a little kid, I was very excited about that. Sometimes it's fun to not always use a car to get where you want. Click! Thud! Click! Thud! The sounds of the feet on the sidewalk changed. The woman made a 'Click!' noise with their heels, while the men made a 'Thud!' noise with their shiny, jet-black, leather loafers. "Kelly," my mom said, "Slow down, now!" Her voice was hushed, but powerful and made me stop in my tracks to wait for the rest of the group. She acted like it was illicit to run ahead of everyone, which is what I relished doing. "Sorry, Mom," I said also in a hushed voice, copying her. We got to the church way ahead of everyone else, just like we planned to. I arrived with aunt, uncle, grandma, dad, mom, and sister. The food and flowers were placed on the buffet table in a very pretty way, almost too pretty for a funeral. The church was completely empty and as far as I could see there were pews, in a depressing shade of brown. The only person I saw was the organist who was practicing. I didn't like the squeaky sound of the organ then, and I don't like it now. There were several levels to the church, but we were on the second, overlooking the first level where the funeral was to be held. The guests started to pour in. More and more people approached my grandmother, mom, aunt, and uncle to say how sorry they were. Then, the ceremony began. The priest went up and said what he had to say, nothing really personal about my grandfather. Then, family members and friends started going on the altar and reminiscing about their wonderful memories about my grandpa. Their speeches were much better than the priest's. Maybe he just wasn't supposed to say anything personal, but that's not how I looked at it when I was younger. I thought he was just being inconsiderate. After it was over, I kept repeating everything that people said in my head. It was so touching to me how much people cared about Papa. Their speeches came from the heart. They knew so much about him. They spent so much time with him. When the people started talking about how they knew him for decades, it made me so sad that I only knew him for six years and in those six years, I didn't learn anything that these people learned. I scoured my brain for any memory as great or detailed as the speakers'. Unfortunately, I didn't have any luck. I envied them for so long, almost being mad at them for knowing him better than I did. I just couldn't get my mind around that fact that you can't change the past.

=Resolution=

"Wake up, honey," my mom said sweetly, trying to wake me up as pleasantly as possible. I groaned. Today, I had to go back to school. It was now Monday, two days past the funeral. Holy moley, I thought to myself, I can't believe it's Monday already. This was a new addition to my six-year-old vocabulary, which I learned from TV, and I loved repeating it. "No!" I said, "Come back later." Even through my tired eyes, I could see the look my mom was giving me. I gave up; I'd have to get up sometime, anyway. I got up, got dressed, brushed my teeth and hair, ate, and I ready for school. It was a day like any other. It didn't feel like my grandfather died a week or two ago, and I was very glad about that. It was a rainy day, the opposite of the day when 'it' happened. The rain drops made loud dripping noises on the window sill, and when we were on the road to school, the windshield was going back and forth so fast; it just looked like a blur to me. The rain was falling so hard; it was like someone was throwing rain drops down at everyone. The weather kind of matched how I was feeling that day. I felt foggy, like I didn't know how I felt, if that makes any sense. It may not have felt like my grandpa died, but that doesn't mean that I wasn't thinking about it. In this experience, I learned what death is and how painful it is, but how much easier it is when your family is there. Even though I was young, I stilled learned a valuable lesson. Sometimes, death happens and you have to learn how to deal with it. I don't think I could have dealt with it so well if it weren't for my family. I love them so much, and every day I think about how lucky I am to have them.