A Narrative for Mr. Wise

A Narrative for Mr. Wise (inspired from here)

Dear Grandpa,

          Hi; Ned here.  How are you? I am fine.  I wanted to share the most inspiring thing I observed last week.  As you know, I journal.  In my journal, when mom lets me take walks, I draw sketches of scenery and write descriptions, poetry, and plot ideas.  The other day I was about two blocks from the park and found a large rock, bigger than me, under a tree.

I sat up on the rock thinking I would surely endure something; things happen in nature.  I was guessing I may see a bird fly by; I may have to endure conversation; or maybe traffic would proceed as normal and nothing too exciting would really occur.  Do you want to know what happened?  I got to speak to a police officer.  I was not in trouble; I saw him speaking with a woman across the way and he came and checked on me before he carried on.

“Was that nice lady okay?” I asked him.  I tried to sound intelligent.  I said, “I imagine you guys get called out for the elderly all of the time due to this excruciating heat index commonly over 110° f.”  I was ready to mogate (walk away) if he said it was not okay for me to be on my lovely rock.  Other people had sat there – it was polished.

“The nice old woman across the street is Ms. Feathers,” said the kind officer.

“She has lived there for forty years.  Her children all have jobs out-of-town and her husband died three weeks ago.  She is three months behind on her rent, has been living with no electricity for seven weeks.  It was sad to hear; she knows my grandmother who is ten years older than her and lives in an assisted living facility.  I was called to escort the nice lady to the street due to an eviction notification.  I paid her landlord, and I plan to move Ms. Feathers into where my mother lives if she cannot find work.  She will be able to, though.  I spoke with her.  She did not know about the government programs available for seniors; a buddy of mine can hire her for part-time work at McDonald’s.  I think she can do it; it is not too far from here and she should be fine.  I do not mind helping her out; my grandmother will be happy with me for it.”

“That is very nice of you, sir,” I said.  “I think there is a place in heaven for people like you that can give others a second chance.”  The man said, “I am a blessed man.  I enjoy my job.  Be good when you grow up.”  He then carried on, said he was back to his beat.  I imagine he patrols a few blocks on foot during the evenings.  He saw me with my writing pad.  It was nice of him to explain the story of the lady.  Her house was rather inspiring, too.  I sketched it.  It reminded me of large plantation houses mentioned in history books in the south before the civil war.  Her house has four large columns out front and an old swing; I am sure we can find someone to help her pay and live there, too.  We can ask around for her at her church, maybe.  There is always a way to help others.

I hope she can keep her house.  The government programs added together with something to do for work should at least buy her the time to find something somewhere, even if she has to move.  I was bold; I went and met her.  I asked her if she would like to be a my pen pal, let her know I write as a hobby.  She shared her current address with me, and I found the Classified Ads section of her newspaper for her.  She looked through it and said she may give  a few of the numbers a call, however McDonald’s would probably be a more sound route.  She attends the Presbyterian church on 9th and Rivers St.  Maybe we can go there to check on her, sometime.  I do not think mom would mind.  Do you think there would be any reason not to go?

At any rate, I am glad the old lady did not add to the homeless population.  I hope she does well, that the community gives her some options, somehow.  I know where the soup kitchen is downtown; mom, at times, dislikes it when I go see those people.  At least I eat my vegetables when I do.  I hope all is well with you; I look forward to hearing from you.  I included a brief poem for you and Grandma Wise:

A Noontime Raven,

by Ned

Oh black raven

how are you there?

The sun is up above;

no moon?

The heat is on your back.

Death here soon?

Fly, raven! Fly!

You, too, can

continue to try.

I hope you enjoyed the poem.  I, like many, am a huge E. A. Poe fan.  Ravens usually symbolize death, somehow; I wanted to visualize one during the brightest part of the day to see where it would take me.  I suppose it led to the idea of keeping on.  I can be dedicated to trying to do my best at what I can.  I wrote this letter to you listening to a disco mix.  Well, I am going to do my schoolwork, now; I look forward to seeing you!

Love always,



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