Pop-Pop's Story, Selena Bonner [the giving tree read aloud TXT] 📗

To: Pop-pop

It was the usual Tuesday morning in Millville, New Jersey. It was eighth period, and I was tired because of the past week we had off because of the snow storm. We also had Monday off for President's day. It was hectic in the seventh-grade class, students were handing out carnations every which way. Red for secret admirer, pink for crush and white for friends. After all of the wet carnations went out, I had only three white roses. I packed up easily, as I do every day. Our class was talking diligently, so we were released to our buses after the second bell. I clasped my heavy jacket and my carnations and climbed onto the bus. I took the window seat and Jennifer sat next to me followed by Gabrielle. We joked and chuckled while we waited for the bus to take off. Then I heard my name.
"Selena!" some one called. I peered up from the bus seat and looked to see my mom scanning the bus. I grabbed my book bag that I placed on the ground and clutched my heavy jacket. Gabrielle got up immediatley so I could reach my mom.
"Jennifer, move!" I ordered.
"Oh," Jennifer said, totally out of it. She got up slowly and I moved out of the way. My mom stood right in front of the bus steps. She walked off and I filed out behind her. She explained to me how she couldn't park up front because of the snow, so she parked on the side of the school.
"I thought you would look on the other side," she replied after I complained that she didn't tell me this morning. We progressed into the car and we veered out of the school parking lot. I told her about the roses and who gave them.
"Pop-pop Jim died this morning," she said abruptly. I paused for a moment. I thought about when the summer days went by and we cooked bubba burgers on the grill, he would tell my older brother to press on the burgers, making the burgers dry. I could've smiled, but my face stayed in place.
"What did he die of?" I wondered, into my safe home now.
"He decided he didn't want to be on dialisis anymore, which is when they take out his blood and clean it and put it back in. Plus his organs were starting to shut down." She informed me soberly, "he was seventy-five." I sighed. To think my poor great-grandmother was a widow. She was a small, chubby woman with a head full of faded black hair with gray hairs sticking out. My pop-pop was a very thin, tall man before his death. His hair was white and he had dark circles under his eyes. He was seven-feet tall, atleast, and could barely walk on his own.
If only I could say goodbye to him one last time.

Publication Date: 02-16-2010

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