Week 7 -- Prompt

The First Person

I was five years old and had a three year old brother. Across the dirt road and up a short driveway was another house. The house was a little smaller than ours and had a one car garage beside it. The lawn was well kept by the old man who lived there with his wife. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were their names. We were never allowed to call them by their first names. To this day I can't remember their first names. Any way it didn't matter. As it didn't nor doesn't change the kind people that they were. Around the house were small fields of blueberries which he owned and took care of.

My brother and I would go visit. He didn't seem to mind. His wife would bring us out cookies or something. We thought that we were pretty special. Of course at five years old I had a lot of questions. What are you doing? Why are you doing that? How come? Sometimes he would  laugh and give some silly answer. But it didn't matter he would always seem to answer them. I don't remember him ever saying go home, I am busy. He would always take the time.

He was kind of partial to his blueberries though. We could pick them if we just stayed along side the driveway, but as kids you know the best ones were in the middle. On occasion he would catch us, where we weren't supposed to be. He would give us the devil, but not in a mean way. I remember him having an old hand crank wintering machine. We weren't supposed to bother or play with it. But me being me had to check it out. Well needless to say I got my thumb caught in it and ended up losing my thumb nail. Something I will never forget because to this day that thumbnail isn't normal. Yes, another jawing I did get. But again, he wasn't mean about it. "See what happens when you play with things you are not supposed to." he said. "Now do you understand why I didn't want you to play with that?"

One of the things I remember most is he would pick on me a little. He always liked to call me Debbie. Back then at five years old, I didn't want to be called Debbie. I would tell him, "That's not my name, my name is Deborah." He would laugh. I know that he did it just to see how I would react, cause he liked to see me get mad. Mrs. Curtis would say, "Mr. Curtis, stop picking on that little girl." Off home I would go mumbling to myself. 

They were a nice elderly couple. I think back to that time and smile. I still can picture Mr. Curtis, fairly tall, thin and always neatly dressed even when out working around the yard and stuff. Mrs. Curtis with her white hair always neat and in place. The kind smiles on their faces when they would see us coming up the driveway. They were always so good to my brother and I.