A Love Story

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A Love Story

Copyright © July 4, 2016 Douglas W Jerving.
All Rights Reserved.

I had seen her around the neighborhood a few times. She was a quiet young girl. It was 2013, I think. I was out sitting on the porch watching fireworks with my wife. The neighborhood was incendiary that fourth of July. It sounded like the blitzkrieg bombing of London, circa 1943.

Then there she was again, in the alley; that same little lady. The look in her eyes was one of sheer terror, and her movements were erratic. She had no idea what kind of hellish apocalypse was happening round about her. She fled one way and then the next, vainly attempting to escape and find a safe haven. This poor lost young woman had no place to go, no home of her own, and no loved ones to whom she could flee. I witnessed her desperation before she disappeared again into that horrifying night.

After that night, when I would see her in the alley, wandering aimlessly, and homeless, I would speak to her. She feared me at first, but eventually would receive the scraps of food I offered her, and listen to my encouragements. At first my wife did not even realize that I was courting this young lady's love.

She began visiting me at my porch during the day, and I would feed her and coax her love, until she finally allowed me to touch her, at first with much trepidation, but soon enough she gave herself to me, allowing me to gently stroke her hair, and speak quietly with her. I was finally gaining this gentle woman's trust.

My wife soon realized what was going on. I had a love affair with this dear girl, and although she never thought such a thing could happen, she knew instinctively that the girl and I needed each other. She began to know the sweet hurt little lady herself, and to encourage our daily liaisons. She knew that little person was no threat to our home, and saw that I treated her as a beloved daughter, not an interloper.

By late autumn the quiet little woman was asking about our home. She entered it a few times to investigate, but soon fled back to her homelessness, to the alley, to the streets. But she always returned the next day to speak with us, and to eat a morsel, which by this time of year was increasingly harder to find.

Neither my wife nor I were sure we wanted to let her live with us, but every day she pressed her needs upon us, and we felt we had become her foster parents. There was no place to go for her. The nights were getting very cold. And we had by November grown to deeply love her and we desperately wanted to see that she was sheltered. We opened the door again to her, and she came in. This time she chose to stay.

She chose us as her own parents. We chose her as our daughter. Our little adopted daughter whom we named Gracie. Her full name is Gracie Slick, because God's grace brought her to us, and because she was so slick in convincing us to love her.

Now Gracie has lived three years with us and has grown into a beautiful woman. She has a sister as beautiful as her, who came to us in a similar fashion, two years later, and both adopted, by our love, from the alleys in which they would have otherwise died. Gracie's sister we named Rosie after the color of her hair (she streaks it brown and grey with reddish orange).

Now you know the story behind our Gracie, and a little bit of the history of her sister Rosie, who is not really her sister, but still is, as Gracie, our dear sweet little girl.


Doug Jerving is the publisher of the NewEdisonGazette.com. You may contact him at dje@newedisongazette.com.


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