I walk through the hallway with my peers, surrounded by the off-white cinder blocks, heading from Mr. Bowne’s room to the memorial gazebo.

I pass through the blue doors to the breezeway: the sunshine that September day blinds me. I continue to the white gazebo, passing the evergreens, the hostas, and the faded mulch that boarded the walkway. The warmth of the sunshine heats up the non-shaded places. The fifteen-foot tall gazebo casts a large shadow.

I rest on the bench and immediately feel the uncomfortably short distance between the bench and the back, which forces me to sit more upright.

I begin to take note of sensory attractions that sparked my senses. Sounding as if a herd of hundreds of bumble bees fifty feet away from me, the air conditioning unit creates a constant buzzing noise. On top of the rumbling box of metal that was so oddly sticking out of the side of the building, I hear my classmates asking Mr. Bowne for clarifications. What could or could not qualify as one of the senses?

Breathing in the cool fresh air, a rush of clarity pulses through my body, relaxing me, allowing me to stay calm. I notice nature around me. I can taste the air cool on my tongue: that priceless taste of the outdoors. I sense an even cooler sensation in my mouth, thanks to my ever fading in flavor mint gum that I have been chewing for about twenty minutes.

Inside the memorial Gazebo, there are plaques of the names of those before us at Eastern who have passed. Mr. Bowne enters and starts to read the names and explain the background behind each of the names of his former teachers and friends: Ms. Moyer . . . Mr. Goode . . . Mr. Fuller . . .

I can feel their presence in his heart, and then feel the drop in my heart as he reads the name “Bruce Jackson.” That forces me to think of my friend who passed away two years ago, Kara.

Hearing the announcement that we are to report back to the classroom, I rise from my seat and begin to walk to the door, once again feeling the beaming sun on my skin.