I was chatting today with my landlord, who had come by to check out a leak in the roof, which had made itself rather wetly evident last night during our first heavy rain of the season, when we together noted the sound of a child crying somewhere out in front of the house.
Going out to the porch, we noted a child standing on the second story ledge of the house across the street, crying pitiably. We asked him what was wrong, but he just kept crying. We asked him what he was doing out on the ledge, but he just kept crying. More people wandered down the street to see for themselves.
"Boy, what are you doing out there? Go back in!"
But the boy was frozen in place, crying.
Well, as it turns out, the boy had been asleep when his family left the house. Upon waking and finding himself alone, he decided, for some reason, to escape from the window on the second story. Had he been locked in the room? Was he unable to reach the doorknob? Nobody knows.
Anyway, when the boy could not be coaxed to return to the window and reenter the house, or do anything, really, other than cry, a trio of young workers from the house under renovation up the street showed up with a ladder, which was just tall enough to allow one of the men to stand on the upper rung and let the boy climb onto his shoulders.
The boy stopped crying after that, and I later saw him running up and down the street with this brother and sister, who had returned home from wherever they had gone.
All's well that ends well.
Going out to the porch, we noted a child standing on the second story ledge of the house across the street, crying pitiably. We asked him what was wrong, but he just kept crying. We asked him what he was doing out on the ledge, but he just kept crying. More people wandered down the street to see for themselves.
"Boy, what are you doing out there? Go back in!"
But the boy was frozen in place, crying.
Well, as it turns out, the boy had been asleep when his family left the house. Upon waking and finding himself alone, he decided, for some reason, to escape from the window on the second story. Had he been locked in the room? Was he unable to reach the doorknob? Nobody knows.
Anyway, when the boy could not be coaxed to return to the window and reenter the house, or do anything, really, other than cry, a trio of young workers from the house under renovation up the street showed up with a ladder, which was just tall enough to allow one of the men to stand on the upper rung and let the boy climb onto his shoulders.
The boy stopped crying after that, and I later saw him running up and down the street with this brother and sister, who had returned home from wherever they had gone.
All's well that ends well.
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