As a few friends and I walked through the empty halls of Abbot Middle School, our faces frowned. Wonderful memories flowed through our heads, but we realized this school did not belong to us anymore.

Our teachers were not sitting at their desks, marking tests and quizzes. Their rooms were completely empty of any signs of our eighth grade class.

In the distance, we thought we heard a familiar voice.

"Mrs. Leyland?" I called. "Is that you?" I choked upon seeing the unfamiliar face of an elementary school teacher.

"Sorry," I finished, "I thought you were someone else."

The worst part of our visit was when we peered into our favorite room, Mr St. Cyr's #1 class, and noticed another teacher hanging up the ABCs for first grade. "Are you kids looking for someone?" she inquired.

"Where's Mr. St. Cyr?" we asked. "Has he left?"

"He's moving into Blanchard, but he'll be back tomorrow for some of his supplies."

I glanced down where she had pointed out a few boxes of his belongings. Mr. St. Cyr's basketball hoop where we used to take shots and win points, a Mickey Mouse hat and some of the articles and posters from his desk and walls lay still in his box.

As I watched the new teacher decorate his room, I felt a pull in my insides not wanting to let go of our school. A flashback came of the first day in his classroom, staring in wonder at all the effort he had put into the appearance of his eighth grade class.

"Can we leave a note?" I asked.

"I don't see why not," she replied.

All five of us wrote messages to him on the two blackboards and whiteboard.

"He must have been a well-liked teacher," the woman stated.

"He sure was," we all chimed in together.

Leaving the room in sadness, we visited the others. Our hearts sank low passing the rooms of Dr. Whitton, Mrs. Hung, Mrs Skiff, Mrs. Palmer, and Mr. Doucette. I'll never forget any of them!

Our last visit was to the gymnasium where just the night before, we had stood proudly in our flowered dresses and sharp suits, graduating from Abbot.

Kate and I walked solemnly up the steps to the podium where we reread our poem we had performed last night.

Looking out over the emptiness of the building brought some of us to tears, for we knew we would not have the opportunity to turn back the precious time.

Remembering the graduation dance the night before, when we had all come together as a class, the pressure of high school grew as questions filled our minds. Would we all stay as close as we were that night?

On the last day of school, when we saluted our teachers good-bye, and rode off to a party on the hay truck, we hadn't realized how much Abbot meant to us.

It was time to leave, and this time it would be forever, for summer had come and Westford Academy was on the way!

Still, to this day, I pass Abbot Middle with a choked up feeling inside, for the inscription no longer reads Abbot Middle School. It is now known as Abbot Elementary. I think that I speak for the feelings of the Cass of '92 that Abbot will always be our school because our wonderful teachers made our middle school experience the most important years of our lives! Thanks! n