Prologue
"My sweetie, sweetie Melody", the old lady said to me. She had a Scottish accent and a vestige of really ginger, (now mostly gray) hair. While the wind played with our hairs, the leaves started a dance in the street and the rain came along.
"What are you doing there, girl?", mom yelled at the door. "Come inside!"
The old lady looked at my mom and before I could say anything, she murmured "I hope you have a great day" and walked over to the young man across the street. He had a funny smile and a mustache. They hugged each other and then, he waved at me. Weird. I was completed wet by the time I got home. Mom spent hours complaining about how sick I was going to be and how many hours she would spend taking caring of me this time.
"And the answer to that question, young lady, is none!" but I knew I could spend thousands of years sick and every night she would bring me soup. In fact, I got sick. And she did bring me soup that night.
The clouds locked the sun out and the rain gave itself a rest day. So did I. School was not an option to me since I had fever and chills all night.
"She needs to see a doctor!", mom yelled at dad. I could hear they arguing from Cardiff. This wasn't about me being sick. It was about the lady. The other lady. With the eye patch.
