It was the summer of my youth when I first saw her. We had just transferred to the new neighborhood and kids were always calling me pipsqueak throwing pebbles at me. I was thin as a reed when I was 10. One time, they made a bet on who could make me fall down first as I walked home from school. Of course, tiny rocks couldn’t actually make me fall. With their persistence, I found myself barraged by more pebbles (some were hardly just pebbles) which led me to walk faster than I should. Ultimately, I had to break into a run with several kids following me. It was in a backyard that they stopped dead on their tracks. They stared at an old lady hunched on an old desk writing feverishly on a pad. “One more sound and your mothers will never see you again, ” she spoke without looking up.

The kids bolted out the streets without looking back. I couldn’t move from exhaustion. I just leaned on an old oak trying to catch my breath. My knees finally gave way and I slid down slowly, the sturdy trunk of the old tree supporting my minuscule weight. I closed my eyes wondering why there wasn’t enough air going in my lungs. The old lady’s husky voice broke my reverie. “If you pee on my tree, I will cut off your wiener.”

I forced myself to stand up and move. As I dragged myself out of the backyard, I looked back and saw the old woman still writing. Streaks of white and gold glistened as the afternoon sun shone on her unkempt hair. The round frames of her glasses were at the tip of her nose, almost ready to fall off. It was odd that while she wrote, she kept nudging her chair to the right. She was sitting on a wobbly chair that seemed as old as she was and it was squeaking with every move as if ready to break into pieces any moment. As if feeling my eyes on her, she looked up and stern blue eyes stared straight into mine. I ran out as fast as my shaky legs could take me.

To be continued . . .