I wake up never truly knowing what the day will bring. I vaguely remember a time when I didn't worry about every little thing. Even enjoying my favorite lemon tart from the bakery, a tiny feeling of shame would appear, making me think it was silly to waste money on just a pastry. The guilt from that thought would grow inside me until I’d feel foolishly brave enough to go back to the bakery, a half-eaten tart in hand, intending to return it.

I barely leave my house anymore. My days are always the same: I drink my coffee, and then I stare out my window. All day. I watch a small boy, a flash of red as he scoots by. A woman finds comfort in a book on a nearby bench. The mailman, a seemingly friendly person, even gives a treat to the neighbor's dog. A couple laughs together, their happiness a sound I can only hear from afar. All the while, I just sit here, watching, tied to my window.

I had truly thought I’d made it clear to my neighbors that I simply didn’t talk to them. My eyes were fixed blankly on the front window when she arrived. Wendy. I opened the door just enough for her to hand me a letter, then she quickly left, as fast as she'd appeared. A letter. I hadn't ever received one. At least, not one I could easily remember. I tossed the unfamiliar envelope into an empty drawer, ignoring it. Wendy was that kind of neighbor—the type who always tried to "fix people," convinced she could spot every flaw, even in someone she didn't know at all.

Honestly, though, I would say the letter was quite rude.

Dear Josephine,

I noticed you never come out of your home. Is there something that’s bothering you? If not, I suggest you cope with your sadness. It’s sad to see such a plain house when I wake up every day. Maybe you can invite the neighbors over. Or learn to not be such a problem for the community.

Your loving neighbor,

Wendy Markle

This was… good. Surprisingly. Despite the sharp words, I found myself taking it as direct advice. A harsh, clear message. Get out more. Take better care of myself. Look forward to the future. The words, meant as a criticism, instead lit a small spark inside me, almost like determination. A strange, unwanted, yet undeniable push towards changing my ways.

                          Charlotte Schiff

PART ONE

I recently hosted the neighborhood book club, and our chosen read was "The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald. While Jacklin and Lily thoroughly disliked it, the rest of us found ourselves quite intrigued by the story. It's about a wealthy man named Gatsby who throws big parties. He does this hoping to get back with a woman he loves. As the host, I, of course, brought out scones for everyone to enjoy.

During our discussion, Juno glanced out the window, pointing towards Josephine's house. "What seems to be the issue with her?" Juno inquired. I sighed, explaining that Josephine is my neighbor, and I've truly never seen her leave her house. Penny then chimed in with her usual bluntness, suggesting, "You should tell her how undistinguished she is, give her a lesson". Before the meeting wrapped up, I reminded everyone to bring more beverages next time, as frankly, the entire book club needed my help; nobody even bothered with the proper attire.

Fueled by a simmering frustration, I quickly composed a letter to Josephine, bluntly informing her how unmannerly she was. This, naturally, led to my book club mates questioning my actions.

Yet, almost immediately, Josephine was out and about, actively planting primroses in her garden. And while the neighborhood still presented its challenges, I felt I had successfully addressed another one of my concerns.

                  Charlotte Schiff

PART TWO