I felt so bad that Mrs. Pauley has to leave the neighborhood. It’s very sad at least for me. I’m sitting on my porch watching her sons pack all of her things, Mrs Pauley is sitting in her son’s car, she looks sad too. I don’t remember her sons much because they are so much older than me, but I remember Mr. and Mrs. Pauley. I don’t make friends easy, I like older people more, I guess because my parents are older, anyway instead of playing with the other kids I would go across the street and visit Mr. and Mrs Pauley. They would ask me if I would rather play with kids my age. I would say “No,” they would not press the issue, like mom and pa do. Play with kids your age, you’re much too young to hang with older people, don’t you think you would have more fun going outside playing and on and on and on. I said to my dad;
“Don’t you think if I thought playing with kids my own age, I would be outside playing?”
Let me say that wasn’t very smart of me. It landed me in my room for a month, I could not go anywhere but school, I could not do anything, not listen to the radio of any kind, listen or watch television, my father made sure he dotted all i’s and crossed all t’s when it comes to giving me directions, he says I’m too smart for my own good.
That month of punishment, was truly punishment, being away from the Pauley’s, I made sure I did not talk back to dad anymore, he sure knew how to hit a girl when she’s down. When Mr. Pauley died, I don’t know who cried harder, Mrs. Pauley she so funny she said, “Now who was married to John, his name was John Pauley, was it you or me, you cried more than I did. I happened to be the only kid at the funeral and the re-pass. I did my best to comfort Mrs. Pauley, well she did her best to comfort me, instead of me comforting and cheering her up, I mean she did lose a husband, she was cheering and comforting me. Anyway we got through and from then on in I was over her house everyday. Right after doing my homework, I flew out the door headed right over to Mrs. Pauley house. Now my best friend, my only friend, was leaving. What am I going to do now. I lost two friends, forever, this is the worst day of my entire life.
I could not go by without saying good-bye to Mrs. Pauley, so I walked across the street, to her son’s car. Tears were in my eyes, I saw Mrs. Pauley head hanging down.
“I’m going to really, really, really miss you Mrs. Pauley.”
She smiled, sort of.
“I’m going to miss you too sweetie, I was hoping to see you before taking off, I have something I would like for you to have.”
She reached down toward her feet and brings up this beautiful music box I had been admiring for so long. The one with grand piano and the pretty ballerina doll dancing across a stage once you open the lid. I don’t know the music, classical I think, but the ballerina doll is so pretty, I could watch and listen to the music all day, for me this is so therapeutic, better than any bike ride.
“Thank you” I started to cry very hard. She started to pat my hand.
“Oh now, don’t go on crying.” “You stop being mean and start being friendly, you will make friends.” “We have memories and you will always be in my heart.”
*sniffling “Will I see you again?”
“Our paths will cross sometime in the far distant future and we will once again share joyful times, you, me and Mr. Pauley.”
We held onto each other hand, until her son finished packing the car. He smiled at me, I smiled back, I backed away from the car and watched the car rode away down the long lonely street. I held tight onto the music box gifted to me by Mrs. Pauley and slowly walked back to my porch.
This is writing 101 assignment day eighteen involves responding to the following prompt honing point of view: The neighbourhood has seen better days, but Mrs. Pauley has lived there since before anyone can remember. She raised a family of six boys, who’ve all grown up and moved away. Since Mr. Pauley died three months ago, she’d had no income. She’s fallen behind in the rent. The landlord, accompanied by the police, have come to evict Mrs. Pauley from the house she’s lived in for forty years.
Today’s prompt: write this story in first person, told by the twelve-year-old sitting on the stoop across the street.
Craft a story from the perspective of a twelve-year-old observing it all. For your twist, focus on specific character qualities, drawing from elements we’ve worked on in this course, like voice and dialogue.