The Twelve Year Old

She comes out every morning in a silly, orange and pink, housecoat. I think she’s had it forever. It looks like she can hardly make it down the two steps to the walk-way. That’s where the paper lands, once it leaves the older boy’s hand. He rides by very fast, I don’t know how he gets it in the same spot every day. I’ve seen him around, other places–“Oh! Here she comes,” I whisper to myself, feeling some sort of weird excitement.

I sit on the front steps of a neighbour’s house, in the morning before school. I walk their little boy to school, and they pay me. At the same time every morning, I see the old lady’s door open slowly. Everything is slow about her. She is old, I guess that’s why. I don’t want to get like that, all wrinkled. Mom and Dad are getting wrinkled too, they are so old. It took her fifteen minutes, according to my beautiful new watch, payed for with my babysitting money, to get her paper and go back in the house.

I heard my parents talking about her a while ago, something about her getting kicked out. Mr. Pauley died three months ago, and the house looks like it’s going to fall apart any day. I think it had something to do with her not having any money left. I remember Mr. Pauley, he used to be the one to come out and get the paper, but he would stand outside with his face up to the sky. I think he was a bit looney. That’s sad that he’s gone now. He said hi to me once, and asked me how I was. He seemed okay.

I didn’t know that she had kids, who were all grown up now. I’ve never seen them visit her. I don’t think I like them very much. I’m pretty sure that I would visit my mom, if she was alone like that. I wonder if that’s one of her kids. Why are the police coming. I watch intently, a little on edge, at the scene play out in front of me. The police were taking Mrs. Pauley out of her house. It looked like she was pulling back, but they didn’t let her go. She still had her housecoat on. “She’s in her housecoat,” I shouted as I ran across the street. “She’s in her housecoat. Where are you taking her? She needs to get dressed.”

Mrs. Pauley sat in the back of the police car and stared out the window. It looked like she was crying. No one spoke to me. I watched the car as it pulled away. Jimmy called to me from his front steps.

As always comments are welcomed and encouraged!

Writing 101

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