A Simple Gift

~Chapter Two~

Josh Allenson
Senior English
Ms. Parsons
March 24

Miss Ingersoll

When I’m down, I have a place that I can go. It’s not at my house or in the school. It is a haven that was given to me by my father. It is a home that has made all the other pieces of my life fit together.

I say it is a place, but it is more a person. It is Mildred Ingersoll, Miss Ingersoll to almost everybody. She is my mentor, my guide, my shelter from the storm. She is my friend.

A friend is someone who accepts you for what you are. She doesn’t make demands on you. She doesn’t push you harder than you can go. Her love is unequivocal.

That’s wrong. Miss Ingersoll is my best friend, but she pushes me all the time. She wants me to be the best that I can be. She wants me to be better than I am, and she wants to keep pushing me until I’m there.

And then she’d give me another push, and say that I could be even better.

It sounds like she could drive me nuts, but really she helps keep me sane.

I met Miss Ingersoll when she thought I was my dead father, but I wasn’t. He had died before I was born but I guess I look just like him. I think the thing I like best about Miss Ingersoll is that she liked my father. She thought my father was important. And nobody else had ever told me that.

But now she is my friend. She has made me understand that teachers are just people, like you, Ms. Parsons. And she serves me apple juice. And listens to whatever I tell her. Just as if I am just as important as my father.

--The End--

"Oh, Josh. This is very sweet of you. I’m glad that I’m your friend. And touched that you would write all of this." Miss Ingersoll was sitting at her kitchen table holding Josh’s school essay.

"Parsons gave me a B- on it. Said there was a lot more that I could say." Josh snarled as he spoke.

"Well, there’s not much English teacher in me, but I do think you could have developed some of your ideas more. And your organization is a bit muddled. You’re supposed to write about me, not write like me. You’re not the confused old lady." She let her eyes peruse the essay again.

"Wait a minute. You’re supposed to listen to me and give me support, not criticize me. I’m a poor lost lamb who finds unconditional love when I’m here." He reached for the paper but Miss Ingersoll kept ahold of it.

"Does it say that in here? Then you’re even more confused than I thought you were. No, no. Look at this. ‘She wants to keep pushing me until I’m there.’ So, I’ve got the right. Not only that, but I’m supposed to keep pushing." She put the paper on the table with her hand firmly on top of it. "And not only that, but I’m keeping this. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve been given in a long time."

"Parsons wants me to rewrite it. To work on the organization." He reached again.

"Well, then, I’ll give you two more pieces of advice. First, you’re not as important as your father. No, no. You’re much more important. Your father was a wonderful person and I loved him dearly. But you, you are a piece of work in progress. There is all kinds of refinement, of revising that can be done with you. And that makes you much more important." The essay was still firmly planted under her left hand.

"What’s the other thing?"

"Oh, yes. Always keep a copy of everything you write. You can never tell when some sweet old lady is going to reach out and snatch it and never give it back. I’m going to keep this, rough as it is. I assume you saved a copy on your hard drive." The sweet smile was still there but now her eyes were laughing at him.

Josh left for the garage. He’d be late but had wanted to show Miss Ingersoll what he had written. Maybe he’d hoped that she would say it was good enough as it was, didn’t need a single word changed. But he wasn’t surprised that she’d made suggestions. He could take advice. Her advice. He hurried along the dark streets wonderfully pleased.

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