“Good morning, Mrs. White. How are things today?” “They are going rather well Mr. Jackson, even better since Mr. Nibbles got over his cold. The poor thing contracted pneumonia and was on death’s door for about a week. But he has recovered now. ”? “Your parakeet always was a strong one, but as for these pigeons that you feed, I say they won’t make it through the winter. It’s going to be a harsh one this year for Scotland’s West Coast. Regardless, I'm glad to hear that Mr. Nibbles has recovered. Well, I’ll be off. I have to keep this old blood circulating you know. See you tomorrow.”

With that Mr. Jackson grabbed a brown bag from Mrs. White and continued around the park, dogging pigeons as he went. He walked bent with age from hard work, having put in long hours over the years in his family owned print shop. With his oak pipe between his teeth, a checkered tweed cap on his head and an old gnarled walking stick grasped in his rough hand, he hobbled down the park’s central cobblestone path. Reaching the middle, he bought The Daily Record and sat on a bench facing the three tiered stone fountain and started to read. Twenty minutes past, he got up and made his way to his modest home for a delicious slice of coffee cake. Every day he did the same thing: walked to the park, had a conversation with Mrs. White, bought and read the local daily paper and returned home at ten o'clock to enjoy his coffee cake.
“Good morning Mrs. White. How are things going today?” ?“Not so well today Mr. Jackson. You see my nephew and his Mum moved into town about a week ago. His teacher assigned the class to write and share a paper and my nephew is deathly afraid of public speaking. He is over yonder by that tree writing and practicing right now. It’s due at the end of this month.”
“Is that him, the one with the blonde hair by the fountain?” he asked.
“No, he’s just beyond that boy; the one with short brown hair and dressed in the red, green and gold polo shirt,” she said pointing.
“Poor chap…Anyway have a nice day Mrs. White,” he said checking his pocket watch, so not to disrupt his routine. 
Continuing on, Mr. Jackson preceded to purchase a copy of The Daily Record as usual. However, arriving at the news stand, he overheard a few words of the boy’s paper, for the boy was pacing back towards Mrs. White. “Uh…iron was mined uh.. in …um… hills and bogs…it is used in many things,” the boy mumbled as he passed very close to Mr. Jackson. He felt a stab of pity for the boy; he himself had trouble with public speaking in his youth. It was so very hard when there was no one to help you. Reflecting, Mr. Jackson was grateful for his father’s work in the print shop, the countless edits on customer’s written pieces, being taught to write well as a lad by his middle and high school teachers. So many adults were there to encourage me in my  youth. Who is helping train up this lad. The question impressed on his mind but was quickly dismissed.
“Good morning Mrs. White. And who do you have with you today?”
“This, Mr. Jackson, is my nephew Ferris. Ferris, this gentleman is Mr. Jackson.”
“Nice to meet you my boy,” he said, looking into Ferris’ slightly nervous grey eyes.
“Ferris dear, here is a real expert in editing and writing, an audience for your speech. Why don't you deliver it to Mr. Jackson?”she said referring to her friend.
“No, no that won’t be necessary, Mrs. White,” Mr. Jackson replied rather hurriedly.
“Now sit down Mr. Jackson! It will be good for you to break your routine for once!” she said, a little more forcefully than she intended.
Sitting down on the bench beside Mrs. White, Mr. Jackson listened to Ferris read, checking his pocket watch every two minutes.
“Well…hope it goes the way you want it to. I should be off now Mrs. White,” he said getting up to leave.
“Ferris why don’t you and Mr. Jackson work on your paper a bit more. His years of looking over people’s work at his print shop, not to mention the years he served as editor of the local paper, are just the expertise you need to move ahead on this. I am going to buy a paper,” she said almost as an afterthought.
With that Mrs. White got up, walked over to the news stand, bought a copy of  The Daily Record and sat on Mr. Jackson’s usual bench, leaving the most frequent user of that bench (Mr. Jackson) sitting with a twelve-year-old child, and being forced to help him write and deliver his paper for school.
  Stunned, Mr. Jackson turned slowly to Ferris. “Ok lad…where do we begin?” 
“I am writing about bog iron and how its produced and mined,” Ferris said rather sheepishly.
“Are you now? Bog iron is an interesting topic to be sure, how do you like it?” Mr. Jackson replied feigning interest.
“The topic is good but, me having to speak about it is a different matter,”  Ferris said in a serious tone.
“Ok, lets see your paper,” Mr. Jackson said, taking it from Ferris’s hand. Skimming down the paper, he picked out three of four grammatical mistakes and pointed them out. “There should be a comma here, and this sentence is a run on. Then glancing at his watch he said “I must get going now; it’s that time again.” He grabbed his cane and stood up, “Nice to meet you Ferris and good bye.” He walked back out the way he came and raised his hand as a slight wave to Mrs. White as he passed the news stand. Glad that’s over with.
The next day as Mr. Jackson took a seat at on his bench with his paper, low and behold Mrs. White and Ferris strode over to talk to him. “I was hoping that you might look over my paper again. I have added to it since yesterday,” Ferris said hopefully.
Mr. Jackson chewed the inside of his lip, “Alright,” he said making up his mind. The two walked over and sat on their normal bench. “Lets see…this is spelled incorrectly and you need a semicolon right here.” The two sat for a while with Mr. Jackson only looking up after a full hour. And slowly, very slowly over the next few days, Mr. Jackson stayed longer and longer each meeting, until finally a week passed and Mr. Jackson’s schedule had changed dramatically.
Mr. Jackson’s frequent visits now consisted of walking to the park, greeting Mrs. White, working with Ferris instead of reading his daily newspaper, and the two returning to his print shop for a glass of hot cider with a slice of coffeecake. Mr. Jackson discovered that Ferris had a very good head on his shoulders but a tongue that would knot up anytime he socialized with anyone. (Mr. Jackson, Mrs. White and his mother excluded of course). He was very much an introvert yet slowly opened up to Mr. Jackson and began to treat him like a favorite uncle. Similarly, Ferris was to Mr. Jackson the son he always wanted but never had.
“Hey Uncle Jack, my presentation due date is coming up real soon. Do you think I'm ready?”
“Lad, I think you can do just about anything, including this speech,” he replied with a smile.  “Ok, lets hear the ending! This time with confidence.”
When Mrs. White came to pick up Ferris that evening, the two had a chat.
“Mrs. White, Ferris is coming along really well. He is basically done with his assignment.”
“That is wonderful to hear. Goodnight Mr. Jackson and thank you so much,” she said. 
“No problem. Glad I could help. Goodnight,” he said.
Mr. Jackson sat on his accustomed park bench and waited for Ferris. The boy had called his house phone and said they needed to meet immediately. He arrived at the park and looked around but no Ferris. Time passed, until finally at the entrance to the park, he caught sight of Mrs. White.
“Mrs. White over here! Do you have Ferris with you?” he said with alarm.
“Oh, Mr. Jackson I’m afraid I have some bad news,” she said rushing over to him.
“Come on Molly spit it out!” he said forgetting to call her by her formal name.
“I’m sorry Mr. Jackson, but Ferris left about twenty minutes ago.” she said.
“Left? Left where? He’s not hurt is he?” he said.
“No, no he’s not hurt. He left with his Mum to the train station. She had received a call for a great job opportunity but they had to leave immediately. That is precisely the reason they moved in with me a month ago. They were waiting on this possible phone call, and now it has happened. Farris really wanted to say goodbye before he left; that’s why he called you and said he needed to meet with you so urgently,” she said with a fast recital.
Mr. Jackson was stunned. He had just started getting comfortable with having Ferris around and just started getting into a new routine himself. He had made it his job to mentor this lad and pour into him. The brisk temperatures encircled them both as he reflected on the budding friendship, now ripped away with no farewell.
“There is one thing Mr. Jackson. He left you this,” she said holding out a letter.
Numbly, Mr. Jackson extended his hand to receive the trifold. Unfolding it he read:
“Dear Uncle Jack, I’m sorry I had to leave like this. It was really unexpected. I was just starting to really like living here and… P.S. I got a A on my paper and oral presentation.
“Wait, he got a grade for his paper already. But I thought it was due at the end of the month?” he said turning to Mrs. White.
“It was due the first week of the month.”
  “Ferris said that it was due at the end of the month,” Mr. Jackson replied.
“It seems he used the paper as an excuse and fooled us both. You two were getting along so well and I thought you already knew his due date,” she said.
With the shocking news washing over him, Mr. Jackson stood to his feet. He bid farewell to Mrs. White, grabbed his morning copy of The Daily Record and turned with his head hung low, walking out on the cobblestone path once more. Reaching his home, he poured two glasses of cider, one for himself and the other for the friend he missed so dearly.
The following day was cold. The sky was grey. The world felt totally void. Mr. Jackson made his way to the park barely glancing around nor aware of his surroundings. But as he entered the middle of the park, his dark world was pierced by the sound of young laughter. There by the newsstand was the same young girl that sold him his daily paper. As he approached, the girl asked, “The usual, Mr. Jackson?”
“Yes, thank you. Might I ask, what is your name? I come here often enough and I never bothered to ask,” he said rather apologetically.
“Why yes, you may. My name is Fenella,” she said with a smile. It’s nice to make your acquaintance.