Final draft to this nonfiction story

When I was a child, my isolated locality school closed was shut down and I had to stroll for a nearly a kilometer to get to a better school in the city. I traversed various busy streets and crime-filled regions to get to the school, though I had no idea how cruel and unkind human beings could be. I was still naïve (Jackson, 2008). I would walk to school in the company of my fellow classmates from my neighborhood. Along the way to school, there was a grey colonial household which had a small backyard and it looked like it had been converted into various apartments. I had never noticed how ragged the house was until one day an old lady hailed to us with a surprisingly sweet voice and a deep smile.

“Look up at that tree!” she said, “can you see any Cedar Waxwings?” I had no knowledge about Cedar Waxwings till the lady pointed out to me the birds in her backyard. We would often try to spot the lady gardening her backyard every evening as we left school. Her lawn was always beautifully tended to and had large bright flowers. She had owned the property for a very long time and was always happy to welcome us and teach us about the various birds and nature.

We stopped sighting her after some months. Her once beautiful backyard started deteriorating and the greyness of the big home seemed like it was taking over the mood. One day, we decided to knock on her big door but we never got an answer. This was going to be my first encounter with death, though I did not realize this at the time, and it was also the death of my juvenile innocence (Chatman, 1980). A new family soon settled at the property during the summer. The family had three children who were nearly my age, so we got along quite well and they would invite me to play with them in the big house. I became very curious about the strange rooms and dilapidated interior of this home that was once owned by that sweet old lady pal. The house emitted raggedness and loneliness that the lady had never shown to us.

My friends and I experienced and saw many cruelties of life on this side of the busy street as we attended the city school; road accidents, crime, death, and disjointed families. No one actively involved themselves to help in such cases. I wish I had learned the name of the elderly lady who used to teach me about gardening and Cedar Waxwings (Mar, Oatley, Hirsh, Paz, & Peterson, 2006). My brief interaction with her had influenced my life in a big way. When I come across a beautiful bird, she often crosses my mind. When I go through hard times, I recall her charm and dignity. She had transformed an acidic city property into a blossoming and warm place. She made the old house beautiful by simply being there. The dramas of the distressed individuals in the busy street have fogged away, but I still mourn for her death.

References Chatman, S. (1980). Story and discourse: Narrative structure in fiction and film. Cornell University Press. Jackson, J. (2008). Language. Identity and Study Abroad,, London: Equinox. Mar, R. A., Oatley, K., Hirsh, J., Paz, J. d., & Peterson, J. (2006). Bookworms versus nerds: Exposure to fiction versus non-fiction, divergent associations with social ability, and the simulation of fictional social worlds. Journal of research in personality, 694-712.