Death is something that can happen at any moment. It is something that is not planned. It just happens. Death can be very scary to think about. No matter how much preparation is done, there is still an element of surprise and horror that comes with it.

It is the last day of spring break and my dad and I are driving back from my grandparents' house in Williamston, South Carolina.
This town is tiny, so small if you blink you miss it. It is a nice warm day for April; great weather to roll the windows down and enjoy the fresh breeze. I just started violin lessons. I am excited I can play the violin since I am in fourth grade.

Only the fourth and fifth graders are allowed to. It is fun to play the violin, and I am thankful, I have my violin with me so my grandparents could listen to me play. I am not supposed to bring it out of town, but I don't care. Seeing my grandparents' faces light up as I play is a sight I want to see forever. Anyway, it isn't like the music teacher will find out I took it out of town.

I am beginning to get hungry as we approach Columbia, so Daddy and I stop to eat at Cracker Barrell for lunch. I decide to eat fried shrimp with French fries while Daddy wants country fried steak with mashed potatoes and mac-n-cheese. We stay long enough to eat our meal then get back on the road.

We only drive a couple of miles when my Dad's phone rings.

"She did what?" Daddy yells, "I have to call you back." He hangs up the phone and dials a number.
I can hear the phone ring as he waits for an answer.

"Hey Daddy," I overhear my sister say.

He yells back, "What were you thinking driving without your license? You are in so much trouble young lady." I can hear Nikki replying, but I can't make out what she is saying. "I do not care if your mom tells you to take the car to run an errand, you don't do it. I have to go; we will continue this conversation later." He hangs up the phone. Then he looks at the rear-view mirrors at something and then; we are pulling over on the side of the road.

"Pookie, I have to tighten something in the back of the truck. Stay in here and keep your seatbelt on, okay?" Pookie has been my nickname since birth.

We have furniture in the back of his truck that belongs to Great Grandpa. I don't like the idea of him pulling over to the side of I-26. It is a busy interstate, but I trust he knows what he is doing. I debate on resting my eyes a bit. There is this large microwave in the middle of the truck seat. I could just rest my head on this since we have a long drive ahead of us. I then glance down and see my password journal my grandparents got me for Christmas last year and decide I will try to write instead.