I woke up at 7:30 a.m. and almost forgot that it was the day I had to go away. I didn’t want to because I was only six or seven years old at the time. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop it now, so I rolled out of bed and started getting ready for school. This was my last day as a third grader, my last day at Fairview Elementary with my childhood friends, and my last day in Ohio with everything I knew. I slipped into the outfit my mom had laid out for me: a pair of worn blue-jean shorts and a softball t-shirt. My sister, who would’ve been only eleven or twelve at the time, had already rolled out of bed and had probably been in the kitchen eating breakfast. The bedroom was bare and left little to no traces of the two young girls who grew up there.

I took my time making my way to the kitchen, peering into my little brother, Noah’s,  room, with his firey-colored Cars themed bed that had the lump of a child on it. Being only two at the time, he didn’t wake up with us. I lingered by the closet opening in the hall where the computer and computer desk used to sit, but it was left dark and lonely. I finally ventured into the living room and gazed out the large window. This had always been my favorite spot in the house. It stuck out, so we could sit on the windowsill. Mom usually yelled at us for that. I would still sit there though, and I’d look out over the mass of green yard and let the summer sun wash me in warmth.

I shut my eyes and imagined the scent fresh cut grass and chlorine from the pool, along with freshly cut wood and the sound of my dog barking. A teardrop rolled down my cheek, and I opened my eyes. Everything I sensed was only a faint memory, something I’d been afraid I would soon forget. I wiped away the wet streak and continued my way only to stop at the entrance of the kitchen and turned around when I heard the sound of laughter. I remebered a Girl Scout troop of eight little girls who giggled and laughed under bright pink blankets as it grew later in the night with my parents continuously begging us to go to bed. A knot worked its way up my throat now, so I turned and headed to the kitchen. Being the “tomboy” in the family, I didn’t cry over the little things.

I grabbed a Poptart and chowed it down before going to the bathroom, right off the kitchen. My mom pulled back the top two parts of my then sunkissed hair and twisted them, as she had done for almost every school day. I put on my glasses and plum-colored twinkle toes and went to the end of the driveway to wait on the bus. I looked back at the big black shepard that had worn a dirt ring around her tree. She had come out of her kennel early today to say goodbye, as though she had known it was our last day.

I saw the bus at the railroad tracks and figured I had enough time to run and kiss the sweet dog. The bus was waiting for me when I ran back, and all my friends were waiting for me with gentle eyes. The school day flew by, and I couldn’t hold down the knot anymore. I began sobbing when my best friend, Sydney, came to me and cried, “Please don’t go I’m going to miss you too much.” Within moments, my whole class was crying. These were the friends whom I grew up with, whom I rolled in the rough dirt playing football at recess. I thought of the times we became frustrated for not knowing cursive, and the times passing notes back and forth on patchy construction paper during science, and never knowing nor caring what would come next. I looked around, and my vision blurred with tears, but I swear to this day that when I looked at the Apache mascot painted on the wall, he was crying too.

When we arrived home, the moving truck was already loaded. “C’mon, kids. We don’t have anymore daylight to waste,” my dad shouted as we hopped off the bus. I looked back and saw my bus pals waving out the window, their faces still damp with tears. Trevor, Riley, Sydney, and Cassidey waved out the window of the bus for the last time as the bus began to pull off. I ran to my dog and buried my face in her neck to finish my crying. Her course fur collected my tears, but I could still taste the salty bitterness of my own waterworks. Her slimy tongue ran across my cheek gently one last time as my parents called my name. I knew the neighbors would take care of her for so long but not forever.

I ran to the back yard one last time to take everything in and breathe the fresh grass and feel the warm sun. I wearily made my way back to the vehicles, and I climbed into my mom’s car as though it were the biggest climb I would ever make, which was ironic considering the mountains awaited us. My sister crawled into the passenger seat and my mom in the driver’s. My dad and brother were already in the moving truck.

As we pulled out, I drifted off. With my mom’s and sister’s windows down, the warm summer washed itself over me. I watched the trees fly by, but in the trees I watched our memories, as though the window of the SUV was a theater screen, and it ended when I finally closed my eyes and said my last goodbye.