Chapter I The Young Journalist

“Yes, yes young lady, I know of such a man. Would you want me to tell you of him?” I asked.“Oh please, tell me where I can find him! I must know because I am interested in interviewing that soldier. I am currently working for this New York newspaper and this might be my chance to land the job. I am only doing on the job training and I am in need of landing employment. So, can you help me?”I felt sorry for her because she looked so green. I could tell that she had very little skills in what she was doing. I had never done an interview with anyone because I was reluctant to dig into my past. However, there was something about her that made me want to help. I didn’t have the guts to tell her who I was, but as I gazed into her eyes something came over me. It was not a romantic attraction for affection; I was too old and handicapped. It was something else about her eyes as though I knew her from somewhere.She squirmed for about fifteen minutes as her patience ran away from her. The young lady was hoping I would volunteer some information without her asking, but when she sensed that none was fore coming she screamed at me. “Can you just hurry up and tell me where I can find him and I’ll take it from there? Here, here’s a twenty dollar bill for you!”I didn’t take her money; as a matter of fact I threw it down on the ground and wheeled myself off to the cardboard shelter I was using for my home. I didn’t bother to turn around because I knew that if she wanted information and perhaps a story, then she would follow me into my domain. This beautiful young lady had no tack, and I knew that she didn’t think much about me or the place I was living in. I was just as stubborn as she was and it would take a lot of convincing on her part to get what she was hoping to get from me.“Okay, okay, please forgive me and my manners. I’m sorry, but I just don’t know where to start. I should be more sensitive with my feelings and I guest we got started on the wrong foot. Let me make it up to you, please!I knew then that she was truly speaking with her heart. Maybe not at first, but her voice had such compassion in her new tone and I felt something inside of me that I hadn’t felt in over twenty years. I let her come in under the shade of the palm leaves that lined the ceiling of my house. I motioned to her to sit on the sofa cushion that rested atop the wooden log on the ground.She looked around and saw some pictures of me in my uniform that was hanging on the cardboard walls and I could sense that she was surprised at what she was looking at. When she turned around to face me she stood up and embraced my fragile body. She then kissed my forehead as tears ran down her cheeks. It was then that I started telling my story.

Chapter I The Young Journalist

oscarelizondo

Harlingen, United States

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