Life is Too Short

     "Stop throwing ze cigarrettes on my lawn!"

     "I don't smoke, Mrs. Jefferson. I didn't throw cigarrettes on your lawn."

     I remember that day when Mrs. Jefferson started yelling at me with her heavy, Greek accent when I was out checking our mailbox. I used to always laugh at her weird accent, but I was too angry to laugh that day.

     "Agh! I hate that woman!" I was screaming as I entered the house.

     "Don't be so rude," my mom told me.

     "'Why you throw ze cigarrette on my grass?' Can't she understand that I DO NOT SMOKE!" I stormed to my room and slammed the door.

     Mrs. Jefferson was our grouchy neighbor- who apparently thought I smoked.

     On a sunny Sunday, I was awaken by a delicious smell filling the house.

     "Mmmm... Chocolate-chip cookies. My favorite!" I jumped out of my bed towards the kitchen where I found my mom standing at the sink, smiling.

     "I thought you could take some cookies to Mrs. Jefferson," she said.

     "But mom!" I groaned.

But of course, my mom always wins. Minutes later, I found myself knocking on Mrs. Jefferson's door.

     "I'm counting 'till ten, if she doesn't open, I'm outa here! 1, 2, 3, 4..... 21, 22, 23..." I was thinking. A whole minute passed by, and still, nobody opened the door and I was beginning to lose my temper.

     Suddenly, Mr. Vaselli, our other neighbor, shouted from behind. "She's at the hospital," I don't know why, but I felt really bad. Maybe scared that something might happen to Mrs. Jefferson. I started running back home. "Mom, we have to go to Mrs. Jefferson, she's at the hospital! No questions, just grab the car keys and hurry!"

     We reached the hospital and zoomed up towards room 201 where Mrs. Jefferson was lying down. I panicked when I saw tubes connected to her and an oxygen mask on her face. She opened her eyes and smiled when she saw me, and I held her warm hand in my palms.

     The doctor was explaning what had happened to her "She's assosiated with lung failure. I'm afraid she might not have much time to live..."

     "WHAT!?" I blurted out.

     "I'm sorry," said the doctor, and he and mom walked out of the room. Later that day, I asked my mom if I could spend the night at the hospital beside Mrs. Jefferson, and she agreed. I couldn't sleep that night. At around 1 o'clock, I heard her soft voice calling my name. I walked towards her, my eyes all red and puffy. "Don't cry," she told me, "Remember zat day when I yelled at you because you threw ze cigarrette on my lawn?"

     "It's okay. Honestly, it doesn't matter," I said.

     "No, no... It was me who threw ze cigarrette."
     "You... Smoke?"
     "Yes... I think that maybe if I tell you, your mom won't let you visit me because me bad woman."

     "No... Not at all! I'm... I'm really sorry I was always so... Bad and mean with you."

But inside me, all I could think about was that she should have told me. Maybe that way I could have helped her somehow.

     Then, she smiled the biggest smile I had ever seen her put on, and closed her eyes for the last time. Something started beeping in the room, and doctors rushed inside. I was asked to go home.

     Today, I regret how mean I was with her. Now, after she had died, I think of her more often. I remember how she used to welcome her visitors with a big smile despite all her lonliness, how she used to knock on our door in the early morning holding a basket full of hot, fresh cookies. And although she was sometimes grumpy with me, we spent a lot of good times together. I now think of all the lonely days and long nights she spent alone.

     When I think about her, I reevaluate my behaviors. I now realize that I shouldn't base my judgments on people according to one incident.