“Let me tell you, Jane, life zooms by quicker than you can ever imagine,” my grandpa stressed.  
         

Ever since I was young, I’ve been told that life is a bullet train; one day you’re ten, but the next day, you wake up, and you’re fifty.  People also tell me to turn my life into a Gobstopper, savoring it, but I never grasped upon what this meant.  That was until my grandparents took me to to California, and I really got to know the meaning.
         

Through the screaming of people and wailing of babies, my grandparents and I managed to forcefully shove ourselves, weaving in and out of people's way, trying to reach the terminal gate.  We plopped down on the not-so-comfortable chairs that the airport offers, breathing heavily as if we had just finished a marathon.  While I was completely exhausted, my grandparents continued to grin cheerfully, their smiles rubber-cemented to their mouths. 
         

Moments later, we were called up by a friendly woman with an undetectable accent who then lead us onto the plane.  In the buckle of a seat belt, we landed in Los Angeles, the city of dreams.  I was practically screaming with excitement, nearly bursting like the overstuffed duffles we managed to haul around the airport.  Walking outside to the taxi pleasantly waiting for us, we put our sunglasses on; the sun was a flashlight in search of finding that item you once dropped and never found.  As I turned to my grandparents, I thanked them ad nauseam for taking me to such a special place.  Smiling at me with their “cool shades” as they called them, they assured me this trip was going to be remembered.
        

Dressed like quirky tourists, my grandparents and I strutted down the sparkling streets of L.A. like it was our job.  We visited almost every store on Third Street Promenade until my grandparents needed their daily nap to recharge.  For the next few days, this was pretty much our pattern- we explored, toured, and feasted each day.
         

“I could get used to this for a while,” I said, chuckling along with my grandparents and listening to their humor, which I honestly don’t understand but laugh anyway because their smiles are the most priceless things in my life.  
       

 On around day three of this cycle, I began noticing something different with my grandpa.  Usually, he is able to relax for a short period of time each day and speed right back up afterward.  His eyes gradually drooped like a sad dog’s ears, and his body was the toy in the “CAUTION.  FRAGILE.” box.  It was then when an explosion of negative thoughts slapped me about what could unfortunately happen to him, and sirens were silently blaring inside of my mind.  I claimed to be tired, so my grandpa was able to remove himself from activities without having even more guilt weigh him down.
       

 After our usual rest, my stomach rumbled a great deal, signifying it was dinner time.  Unsurprisingly, as if they slept for a decade, my grandparents were wide-awake.  “Phewf!” I sighed in my head in great relief.  What I didn’t realize was that my grandpa was unlike his usual self.  Instead, he was this three-dimensional copy that was wiped of personality entirely.  I hoped, he’d perk back up as soon as the delightful Japanese food waiting for us hits his stomach; he’s probably hungry and worn out from the hard-core shopping we’ve done.  Wouldn’t all men surrounded by two women, determined to buy that gorgeous jacket seen in the store’s window, feel this way?
         

Many courses were served, each somehow more delicious than the previous one.  I peered at my grandma to share my joyful smile, but she was too busy worrying about my grandpa to eat; I could taste the bitterness of the wasabi and the fear behind her bloodshot eyes from staying up all night, endlessly thinking about my grandpa’s health.  Before I could spit the words out of my mouth, questioning my grandma’s lifeless looks, my grandpa became sickly pale, and his bright face became dull. 
         

Trying not to knock over the food-piled tables, my grandparents and I carefully, but rapidly walked at a rather fast pace.  I whacked the two giant doors open, allowing my grandparents to exit the restaurant quickly, pushing past the waiters, waitresses, and guards found next to the door.  I desperately wanted to vanish from this frantic scene, but it wasn’t an option.
         

My grandma took the wheel of the miniscule rental car, going miles over the speed limit to reach the nearest hospital.  I repeatedly attempted to relax her while my grandpa was a peach, sitting there with his genuine smile hiding behind his flustered cheeks.  Within no time, since we drove almost double the speed limit, we reached the UCLA hospital and expected my grandpa to be instantly dragged into the back rooms.  After a few hours of waiting and complaining, my grandpa was finally accepted in the back and examined; my grandma and I were in constant panic. 
         

Hours passed, enough for us to see the sunrise, but my grandpa ended up being fine, his irregular heartbeat was to blame.  This incident brought me to realize that I need to enjoy every second with my grandparents and everyone, in general, while they are still present alongside me.  Therefore, no matter what it takes, I will always be the caution tape for these “FRAGILE” boxes, protecting them and keeping them everlasting, just like the Gobstoppers.