My Old Pink Backpack

Posted on May 16, 2019 by 20frumientoe

And the Summer Was Over narrative essay

Every morning wearing my fleece, blue coat and my old, pink backpack I would run onto the playground and laugh with my friends until the bell rang. The fresh morning air filled us with energy as we jumped rope and ran back and forth across the playground. The same faces I saw every morning for as far back as I could remember surrounded me. When the big bell rang above the school, we all walked single file though the blue doorway and down the halls to our classroom. The walls were colorful and covered in words we were learning. My teachers were always waiting with a smile in the doorway. All the backpacks piled onto hooks, each one I could match to one of my classmates. I sat, quietly fascinated in my work and the people around me. At lunchtime I would carry my pink lunch box to the cafeteria and grab a milk on the way. At the same table every day, my friends and I would sit laughing and telling stories. Then we would parade outside. I met up with the girls in my neighborhood, and we compared our days so far. When the big bell rang for the second time each day, again we formed a line flooding back into the school. In the afternoon we read to each other and worked independently; meanwhile, we watched the clock closely as the hands slowly crawled toward three o’clock. Finally the intercom filled with the friendly voice we all knew and loved. She called for all walkers and pick ups to go down to the main office. I jumped up with my fleece coat and my pink backpack and made my way at a fast and exciting pace, just less than a run, to the end of the hallway where my mom was standing, waiting to greet me.

One hot and sunny afternoon, the birds were singing loudly and the trees had large green leaves flying in the breeze. Instead of reading and working by ourselves, we did a scavenger hunt as a class. It was the day we found out what team we would be on next year at the big middle school. After seven years of excitement together, we were being separated and mixed with hundreds of other kids. Everyone opened their Easter eggs and inside was a slip of paper. From a quick glimpse we all knew what teams we were on. Chaos broke out as everyone compared their teams. Quietly I asked a few of my closest friends, the slip of paper inside their eggs all said the same thing, Katahdin, mine said Sugarloaf. I was suddenly scared, even more than before. Next year would be very different, I didn’t want to leave.

Inside everyone was cleaning out their desks and cubbies, paper was all over the floor. Backpacks were exploding as they tried to contain the past year. Floating around the classroom were the leftover balloons from the celebration earlier that week. They bobbed from the hands of energetic children, but not me, I was distracted. This wasn’t like every other last day of school. At the end of this summer, I wouldn’t be coming back. That day when the intercom came on everyone but me paraded out of the room with a colorful balloon trailing them. They were all excited to take on the next chapters of their lives. I wasn’t sure. Once I left the classroom, everything around me would be unfamiliar. The same happy faces would no longer surround me every morning. It was time to leave, time to take the next step. As much as I wanted to stay in the same place I had been for seven years, I walked out of the classroom and down the halls carrying my pink backpack.

When the large green leaves started to turn orange I walked across a new and unfamiliar campus. I got lost a few times. I interacted with new people. I had a lot more homework and stayed up later. I learned about things I never knew existed. I am no longer the little girl who wears the blue fleece coat and the bright pink backpack to school every morning. Now my backpack is a shade of blue, it is filled with notebooks exploding with information, books discussing difficult topics, and AP essays half written.

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