Changed For Good

For english I had to write a descriptive essay on an event that has changed my life. I decided to write it on my experience in 2009, when I was in the bus crash in Pocatello, Idaho. This event has forever changed my life and made me into a better person. My love for band and music has increased dramatically and I thank Heather for that. She is an amazing woman, a hero. I'll forever remember that night and her sacrifice and complete love. Thank you, Heather. This is for you.

       My grip tightened around the head rest in front of me as I strained my eyes to look out the front window of the bus. The TV screens flickered off as the bus started shaking from the uneven terrain. Instruments and water jugs were falling from the upper luggage compartments and screams left the mouths of the terrified students. 

My head strikes the ceiling as we hit a bump on the ground. Upon landing, a sharp pain shot through my back. My eyes started to cloud over and I began blinking hard in an effort to stay conscious. The bus began to tip to the side and the world blackened before my body fell and hit the glass window below me.

I excitedly picked up the long silver flute and softly ran my fingers over the fragile keys. I had been waiting for this day for what seemed like months, even though it was only  a few weeks prior that I had attended the Marching Band performance and fell in love with the thought of music. 

I propped myself up and took in my surroundings. Broken glass glimmered underneath the moon light. Dust circulated throughout the bus and made it difficult to see clearly. Shoes and bags were randomly placed. Ahead of me was a girl with two long braids, her head in her hand. Dark red blood trickled down the side of her cheek and mixed with her salty tears.

A few feet behind me, a girl, struggled to get down from her chair, which was now hanging from the ceiling. Glass began crunching underneath from students getting up, scuffling to find their belongings. Students looked around quizzically, the fear reflecting in their eyes. Yet, I watched as some of them put their arms around each other. Tears began to fall as what had happened, finally began to sink in. 

I smiled brightly as I handed in my marching band form and money. I could finally call myself a member of the American Fork high school marching band and couldn’t wait to begin rehearsing. 

Soon, the activity I thought would be so fun, turned into something I began to despise. The heat became unbearable as it slowly burned our backs and legs. My throat screamed for water and my muscles ached. On top of the physical exhaustion, I had multiple pieces of music to memorize for parades and future competitions. 

I found myself complaining every day, sometimes to the point where I’d begin to cry, wondering why I had decided to join such a stressful activity. I was promised a fun and rewarding experience, filled with the making of new friends and valuable lessons I would remember forever.

After what seemed like hours, the assistant band director came to peer inside the emergency window that was usually above our heads. They pulled and pushed and the window finally opened. One by one we each slid out of the bus and walked up a slight hill to where we gathered in groups. 

The tears began to fall as each of us looked back. The thick cloud of dust was slowly subsiding and we could see the bus, fallen on its side. Red and blue flashing lights began to fill the dark sky as the roaring sirens of ambulances and cop cars got closer and closer. 

We put our arms around each other, shivering and scared. We began to sing church hymns in an effort to calm ourselves. Someone in my small circle suggested we say a prayer. We reverently folded our arms and bowed our heads. I listened as the sweet words of gratitude spilled from her mouth. Choking back tears, she prayed for the safety of the rest of the students, that everything would be okay. 

With pillows tucked under our arms and blankets in hand, we excitedly stepped onto the tour bus, prepared with movies and snacks. We had a competition in Pocatello, Idaho—the first one outside of Utah. Not only would we be competing against Utah bands, but also some from Idaho. 

The bus ride was long and uncomfortable, but fun as we sang together and watched movies. As we grew closer, butterflies nervously danced in my stomach. We were the best in the state and western region, but there was always a chance another band would outdo us.

We arrived at the stadium and were hushed to be quiet as we each personally got ready to perform our show. The show was entitled: “The Greatest Generation” and we were invited to dedicate it to someone we knew that was effected by World War 2 or a person close to us. This always made each show feel special and unique to each individual student. 

Wearing the marching band uniform was an honor; the moment you put on the uniform was a time to show respect. I zipped up my thick black, red and white tunic, pulled the gloves to my fingertips, and fit the hat securely to my head. 

We walked in a long line of two towards the large dome we would be performing in. It was our turn. We filled the left side of the field and began to play our warm up. Music filled the space and began bouncing off the walls, creating an echo. We turned and chills ran down my spine as I saw the sea of people sitting in the stands patiently waiting for us to begin. 

The drum majors began conducting and the dome soon became filled with the sounds of beautiful chords and melodies. The crowd clapped and cheered loudly as we marched an outstanding performance. The final note rang through the stadium and a smile spread across my face. 

We silently got onto another bus that would take us to a nearby hospital. Exhausted, I sat down and closed my eyes, thankful this would be over soon. Our band director came onto the bus and stood at the front. We each listened intently as he informed us that no student had been severely hurt. Some students were rushed to the hospital in an ambulance and another had been life flighted. Police said more damage should have been done. 

After he expressed how thankful he was for our safety, he looked around the bus and tears filled his sad grey eyes as the words escaped his quivering mouth; “There has been one death, Heather Christensen.”

We excitedly sat at attention in the stands, waiting for what seemed like hours for them to announce the winners. We had swept the entire competition, taking first place overall. In anticipation, we awaited the moment our drum majors would salute our band so we could break attention and celebrate our victory. 

With our bellies full after a quick dinner, we stepped onto the bus and sat down. The long day was finally catching up as some of us drifted off to a peaceful sleep. 

An hour later, I was abruptly awoken. Our driver had passed out, making our bus travel off course. Heather stood up and grabbed the steering wheel, driving in between a patch of rock and a concrete barrier. Once we hit the ground after the jump, she was ejected from the bus and killed. After tipping, our bus slowly skidded to a stop before falling down into a ditch. Heather had literally saved our lives.

I instantly felt the love my teacher had for each of us as we met in the auditorium Sunday night to pay tribute to Heather and her family. Laughter and tears filled the room as we shared our happy memories of Heather. People brought candles and began to light them, in honor of her. We held each other tightly as we watched the hundreds of candles flicker brightly in the moonlight. 

Our director stood in front of us, tomorrow we had our competition at BYU, and with some students hurt from the accident, we considered dropping out. But as we thought of our beloved teacher, we decided to continue with the performance the next day, marching the show with the holes of the injured students sitting on the side line. Other bands had worn red ribbons on their uniforms in honor of our teacher.

Once we completed the show, a prop in the back of the field turned to display a beautiful picture of Heather, and underneath was the scripture; “Greater love hath no man that this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” After a moment of silence, the audience arose to their feet and applauded.

Walking off the field, we put our arms around each other and began to cry. As we waited for awards to be announced, white doves fluttered over the stadium. We didn’t perform a perfect show, but we had performed a special one. One that would be remembered forever.

I walked off the Dixie State field after performing our show for the last time. We had won every single competition that year, but that didn’t matter so much anymore. I was with the people I loved, doing the thing that I loved: music.