One Day in Fifth Grade...
The gloom fits just like another piece of a puzzle, a puzzle that makes up the most anguishing day of my life, even though it starts just like any other.
“The principal is going to talk with this class about something during lunch,” Mrs. Corti, my fifth grade teacher, says in a solemn tone at the very beginning of the school day, as soon as we’re done checking our math homework.
I have a suspicion that I already know. My palms are sweaty and my mind automatically goes to the worst possibility. Normally, it’s just a way to reassure myself that it will never come to that, but the ironic part is that the worst possibility is actually what happened. .
The time between when my teacher made that announcement and lunch is filled with random thoughts popping into my head.
“Do you think it has something to do with Chris?” one of my classmates whispers while we work on a reading assignment.
“Probably,” I mutter under my breath. What else could it be? I think to myself, because he hadn’t been at school for nearly a month.
“What do you think could’ve happened?” they say.
“I don’t know. He probably transferred, or he’s really sick,” I respond. These are my realistic responses, not my worst scenario ones.
Mrs. Corti tells our class to clean up our math game and head to our desks. When it’s finally lunch time, my principal and her entourage come into the classroom and address the class.
“We have some very important news for this class.” It’s so quiet that you can probably hear a pin drop. It’s the most quiet our class has ever been during an announcement because we’re usually really antsy and fidgety.
“This news is concerning one of your classmates, Chris,” my principal who was wearing a black blazer and slacks continued after a long pause, “and we regret to inform you that he has passed away due to an unknown illness.”
Suddenly, even the breathing stops. Everyone just sits still in shock, still processing the information, including me. About two minutes later, my classmates start to realize that Chris is dead, and that he is never coming back to this class. He was a quiet, short, Asian-American boy with a buzzcut who was very compassionate. I glance around the classroom and I see heads resting on desks, people are sobbing, others are crying hard.
I put my head on my desk and sigh. I’m so exhausted. Why did this have to happen? There are billions of people in this world, yet a person I know died. He was only 10, I think to myself. I observe that I have already started using past-tense in my head: not is, was.
I don’t look up as I hear people walking out of the classroom. “I’ll give you guys twenty minutes,” my teacher says.
The day after, we write cards and condolences to Chris’s family. Our teacher specifically wants us to include memories in the cards. The memory I write down is from the first day of fifth grade, when we were playing a game in a group of 4 in the class library and Chris had a big smile on his face and was more talkative than usual. The memory is quite faded, but it’s one of the few memories of Chris I have.
I observe my teacher remove all of Chris’s stuff out of his desk including his workbooks, folders, loose papers, and his pencils.
She must notice her students looking up from writing the cards because she clears her throat and says, “His family might want to see what Chris did during school.”
Mrs. Corti collected all of our cards and put them in a bag with all of his schoolwork. His name tag was removed from the desk, and his desk went into a closet. The only remainder of him was from our state project. Each person picked a state, made a poster, and Mrs. Corti put the posters on the walls.
“Did you know that Chris’s favorite state was Delaware?”my teacher says. Everyone stared at the light blue poster which was labeled “Delaware.”
Mrs. Corti gave us the option not to go to music that day. I don’t think anyone went. We all sat on the floor, trying to read a book, to distract us, but you could see the sad expressions seeping into everyone's faces as soon as they looked up.
I shut my book because I couldn’t handle the emotions. I just sat there in sorrowful contemplation. All of the feelings came rushing to me, tears started forming at the corners of my eyes, and soon they started streaming down my face. I put my head in my arms and let it all out. Why did it have to be Chris? How does the universe operate? Why does it kill good people and leave all the bad ones? I think to myself, while completely being in hysterical grief.
It didn’t hit me right away or even a couple or hours later that no one would ever see Chris ever again. I don’t think I ever got over it, mainly because it was the first and only traumatic experience I've had in my life.
