I was furious when I noticed the hurtful note written on my healing grandfather’s dusty automobile. But identifying the offender was only the first step. I was about to give this conceited neighbor a lesson she would never forget. My phone rang when I was at work two months ago. Mom was there. “Meg, this is Grandpa,” she stammered out. “The hospital is where he is. He How come? hospital? I interrupted her, completely uninformed. “What took place?”
Mom said again in a trembling voice, “He had a heart attack.” “We must visit him.” Is he okay, Mom? Oh my God. “I’m not sure, Meg.” “Mom, I promise to be there as soon as possible,” I answered, hastily closing my work email. The truth is, Grandpa Alvin is my world-wide favorite, my confidant, and my rock. Saying that I adore him more than Mom won’t be incorrect. Be quiet! It’s not public knowledge! And Mom’s phone call had completely flipped my universe. I genuinely felt like I had a knot in my gut as I hurried out of my office to tell my supervisor about Grandpa’s health. I can barely remember my commute home from work. I don’t know how I got there, but I picked Mom up right away so we could head to the hospital.
It took us roughly forty-five minutes to get to the hospital from our place. And let me tell you, those forty-five minutes were the most agonizing and prolonged of my life. Mom continued to cry the whole time, and I could feel my heart racing. A nurse informed us that Grandpa was in the operating room when we arrived. The doctor finally emerged after what seemed like an eternity. He informed us, “The surgery went well, but he still needs care and rest.” He must have a diet low in saturated fats and salt that is good for the heart. Frequent, low-impact exercise is essential. And not a single bit of stress. “Okay, doctor,” I gave a nod. But when will we get to see him? “Is he truly alright?” Mom asked hurriedly. She was reassured by the doctor to “not worry.” He’s currently soundly asleep. When is a good time to visit, the nurses will advise you. A few days later, Grandpa was finally permitted to return home, but there was a catch. Since he lives in a different town, we are unable to care for him on a daily basis. We consequently employed a full-time nurse. She agreed to cook for him too, which was a blessing. Grandpa stayed inside his apartment and concentrated only on getting better for two months. I came to the realization last week that I hadn’t seen him in much too long. “This weekend, I’m going to visit Grandpa,” I told my mother over breakfast. Would you like to attend? Her eyes gleamed. “Honey, that’s such a great idea,” she grinned. “I’ll accompany you. He will be overjoyed to see us! “Excellent!” I said, just before biting into my cooked eggs. I got up early on Saturday, picked up a bouquet of Grandpa’s favorite vivid yellow sunflowers, and took Mom for a long drive to his house.
I was eager to see him and watch the joy on his face. Knowing nothing of what awaited us there, I was just ready for a day filled with Grandpa’s stories. I saw his ancient, beat-up automobile as soon as we arrived into his apartment complex’s parking area. He hadn’t driven it since being ill, as shown by the heavy coating of dust covering it. But something made my blood boil as we drew nearer.
There was a message on the back windshield from someone. It appeared as though they had handwritten it. It appeared new. “YOU ARE A DIRTY PIG!” was the message. Either clean up your car or leave the neighborhood. What a shame! What a shame! I was enraged beyond measure. An elderly man who has been too ill to do much more than lie in bed or clean his automobile could not have been treated with such cruelty. Mom exclaimed, “Oh my God.” “Who could commit such a crime?” I balled up my hands. My cheeks were burning with anger. “That’s who—some entitled jerk who has nothing better to do than bother a sick old man.” I felt Mom’s gentle hand resting on my arm. Calm down, honey,” she commanded. “We shouldn’t annoy your grandfather.” Taking a deep breath, I tried to gather my thoughts.
“You’re accurate. Come with me to visit him. We made our way up to Grandpa’s flat swiftly. I waited for him to open the door as I rang the bell. “My girls!” he exclaimed with a broad smile. “What a delightful revelation!” “Grandfather!” I gave him a strong hug. “You look fantastic! So attractive! “Well, I do, of course,” he laughed. “When did I ever not look good? I was drawing attention everywhere I went, even in my hospital gown! I kept thinking about the nasty note on his car as we made our way inside. That image would not go from my head. “Megan? Sweetie, are you listening? It was Grandpa’s voice that brought me back to earth. I apologize, Grandpa. I was only.
. . thinking. What state are you in? We talked for a while, but I couldn’t help but think about that message. I have to take action over it. I got up and said, “Hey, I need to take care of something real quick.” Could you stay with Grandpa, Mom? I’ll return in a short while. Yes, ma’am,” Mom said. I quickly made my way to the security office by the door, where I saw a man who appeared to be bored working behind the counter. “Pardon me,” I said. “I require access to the parking lot security camera footage.” He straightened his back and raised an eyebrow. I apologize, ma’am. We can’t just show that to those who inquire. I lowered my voice and leaned closer. “This is where my grandfather resides,” In addition to being quite sick, his car was vandalized with a terrible message. I have to find out who did that. After hesitating, the guard nodded. “Okay, just this once.” As we were watching the video from the previous several days, I noticed an elderly, pretentious-looking woman walking approaching Grandpa’s automobile. She wrote the terrible message on his automobile very slowly. “Who is this?” I inquired of the sentry. He said, “That’s Briana from 4C.” “Always stirring up trouble.” He stopped me as I turned to leave after thanking him. “But wait, there’s more.” Last week,
I heard some neighbors conversing in the lobby. It seems that your grandfather has been receiving rough treatment from this Briana woman for several months. “Explain what you mean.” I enquired. He gave his chin a deliberate scratch. They said, however, that she has been whining about everything. For example, she would get upset if his welcome mat was crooked or if his newspaper was left outside for an extended period of time. Even more absurdly, one of the women said that Briana attempted to get your grandfather punished for owning a potted plant that was “an unapproved color.” “Are you serious?” Why hasn’t anyone taken action in this regard? “I guess most people just try to stay away from her,” he shrugged. “Your grandfather is too kind to give it much attention. However, I believe that everyone is becoming somewhat tired of her attitude, just between you and me. Indeed, my grandfather is kind, but I’m not, I told myself as I strode directly to Briana’s apartment. I knocked on the door, and it quickly opened. “May I assist you?” she enquired. “I am Alvin’s granddaughter,” I murmured, straining to maintain a steady tone. “I observed your writing on his vehicle. You don
‘t have the right to treat him so poorly! “I don’t give a damn,” she shrugged. “Maybe he ought to move out of this community if he is unable to maintain the standards set by it.” She slammed the door in my face after that. I was furious. I made the decision to handle things on my own since it was obvious that speaking with her would not resolve the issue. I thought of a way to discipline her. All I needed was a piece of evidence-containing paper and a roll of duct tape. The following day, I made sure Briana’s face was visible on the security camera film, took a screenshot, and had it printed. Then, I scrawled, “SHAME!
SHAME! SHAME!” in large, bold characters. Older neighbors are being abused by the lady from apartment 4C. I put that sign up where everyone could see it—straight inside the elevator. What she had done and who she was were quite evident. The entire building was buzzing within a day. Briana was the talk of the complex, but not in the way she hoped, since people began to give her the cold shoulder. A few days later, I went to see Grandpa once more. I heard two old women chatting as I passed through the foyer. Someone asked, “Did you hear about Briana?” It seems that she has been bothering poor Alvin for several months! “Horrible,” the other person retorted. “This is a new low; I always thought she was a busybody.” I gave myself a small smile. Justice was done. I went upstairs and Grandpa gave me a hug. “Megan, my love! You’re starting to come here fairly frequently. “I’m just making sure, old man, that you’re acting like yourself.” I grinned. “How are you doing?” Yes, I really am an angel. Not like some of the individuals here. Have you heard about Briana’s drama?
I pretended not to know. Oh, I see. What took place? Grandpa leaned closer and said in a conspiratorial tone. “A placard revealing her rude behavior was put up by someone. The entire building is now hostile toward her. Serves her right, in my opinion. I pretended to be astonished as I nodded. He’s still unaware that it was me. I learned from that experience that sometimes you have to put out fire with fire. People who disrespect others, such as Braina, cannot be treated with kindness. If you had been in my position, how would you have responded?
About The Author
