H is for Help: A to Z Writing Challenge

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The moderate snow fall which came after Thanksgiving break served as a signal for winter and the upcoming Christmas break. It would also bring an opportunity to deal with this issue of faith, which grandpa’s question raised, that would not go away.

Walking quickly to the coffee shop on a Tuesday afternoon I took a slightly different route for reasons which became clearer to me later. I was ready for a larger crowd at the shop since finals week was a week away and it was preceded by the week known as “scramble week” in which everyone was scrambling to get final papers, projects, and labs done.

Walking down March Street, which I had done the day of  my encounter with Greg, I remember quickly passing an older woman who stood on her short stone walk between her house and the sidewalk which I was covering both with a fast pace and spilling tears. I remember that her house was a magnificent red stone home which stood out from the others.

It was, I think, the same stone house, before which I now stood. Slightly Tudor in style, its magnificence awed me.

“Help, young lady?”

The yard was, as much as I could tell, well kept.

“Help, young lady?”

I would love to see the inside of it. Then I noticed the front door was partially open.

“Help, young lady?”

“Mr Lundi? I am in the midst of an emergency. I found a woman on March street who had fallen. I am headed to the hospital with her. Yes, the ambulance is here. Thank you. I will make up the hours.”

As I walked to the ambulance, I saw him, I think. Same bright colored running shoes. Same thin frame and wonderful black hair.

“Greg!” I shouted. “Is that you?”

A flashing smile.

“Ma’am, we ready to go.”

 

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