I've seen people in love

The house we live in is located in an old residential area on the west side of Vancouver. Wide streets, ancient street lamps, three storeys high trees, is the accumulation of a hundred years.

By then, many of the new settlements had begun to be remodeled, with old houses bulldozed and replaced by large, sleek houses with gray and white concrete walls. By contrast, our section was a quaint English house, which is why my mother fell in love with it at first sight.

The first time I saw the old doctor next door was on my way to school. Unlike our open lawn, his house is surrounded by high walls of trees. I saw him sweeping leaves, so smiled and greeted him, the old doctor looked up, looked at me for a few seconds before nodding.

When I was in high school, I couldn't tell whether it was friendly or cold.

A few nights later, my brother and I were watching TV, listening to my mom.

"... Poor thing." "I heard Mrs. Dawson say today that the old doctor next door nearly fainted in front of his house. Would he have fallen if Mrs. Dawson hadn't come along and helped him?"

"That's lucky! I wondered, "Where poor?"

"Why not? My mother raised her voice. "A man of 60 or 70 years old, with three children away and a big house all by himself, isn't that pathetic?"

"Poor! Poor!" I nodded, thinking how lonely it was.

"But Mrs. Dawson's good intentions didn't pay off. She helped the old doctor into the house, found him alone, and persuaded him to sell his house and go into a nursing home, where he kicked him out." "My mother said vividly.

From that day on, I kept an eye on the old doctor next door.

I often saw him open the door to get the newspaper, or through the window as he moved about the living room. At all times, the old doctor always dressed neatly, even with his tie tied straight. This relieved me a lot. After all, people who can take care of their appearance shouldn't be so bad.

So after a few weeks, one day after school, my mother gave me a mailman to send the wrong letter, want me to the old doctor next door, and give me a package of things: "the way to take this box of braised beef past."

I rang the doorbell next door, but no one answered for a while.

With the beef in one hand and the window sill in the other, and the letter under my arm, I snooped on the neighbours in an unsightly crouch, when a cough came over my head.

I jumped up and dropped the food box on the floor, knocking it over completely. When I looked up, the old doctor, who I had thought was not at home, looked down at me with a blank expression.

"I'm sorry... I stammered. "Well... My mother asked me to bring beef... I thought you weren't home... Believe..."

I suddenly remembered the letter and held it up in my hands. "This is for you!"

Like LED 100 YEARS, THE OLD DOCTOR JUST SLOWLY OPEN HIS mouth: "BEEF IS ALSO to me?" Looking at the mess, the old doctor laughed. "It smells good. Thank your mother for me."

The next afternoon, my doorbell rang, and the old doctor stood at the door with a pot of pansy in his hand.

"Thank you for the beef stew," he said, smiling at my mother, "but I have to tell you one thing. The beef..." I stood behind my mother, white in the face, afraid of being found out. "The best I've ever had." The old doctor winked at me.

From that moment on, I knew he could be my friend -- anyone who covers for you from your mum and dad can be called a "friend of life and death".

"Ouch! How polite the old doctor is!" Closing the door, my mother said happily, holding flowers.

Since then, my mother made a good dish and never forgot to let me send one to the old doctor. And every time, the old doctor will return the washed lunch box in the afternoon of the next day, plus a potted plant as a small gift.

One early fall afternoon, I rang the doorbell next door with a blueberry cheesecake. Instead of thanking me as usual, the old doctor looked a little hesitant and finally plucked up the courage to ask if I would like to join him for afternoon tea.

I nodded and replied, "I thought you'd never ask."

The old doctor smiled and sidled me in. The narrow porch was like a time warp, and the walls were covered with photographs. The picture that attracted me most was a very beautiful woman, I think it must be his wife.

"Is this your wife?" I put the cake down and looked at the old doctor preparing the tea set in the kitchen. He was a little nervous and could not find the tea bag for a long time. Probably no one had tea with him for a long time.

"Yes," he smiled, a little shy. "We've been married thirty years."

"She is very beautiful," I said as I accepted the tea tray from the old doctor.

"She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," he said, leaning toward me. "She's the glory of my life." I was very moved.

We had tea and cake and talked about school and the weather. The old doctor listened attentively to one girl's trifles and told me that he was a surgeon and had lived in the house for twenty years.

"I invite you to tea today because I have been wanting to tell you something," the old doctor was a little embarrassed. "Do you remember the day you first said hello to me?"

I tried to recall, and finally had an impression: "You mean, you swept the leaves at the door?"

"Yes," he nodded. "It was very rude of me not to say good morning to you the other day. I've been meaning to apologize. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."

"My attitude was terrible because I misunderstood your family," the old doctor took a deep breath. "I thought you were like many immigrant families who buy a house and then tear it down and rebuild it... I've lived in this neighborhood for a long time, and it's hard to watch these streets become more and more unrecognizable." His mouth compressed into a line, revealing obstinacy.

"But then I found out how much you valued the old house. Every time I came to visit, it became more and more beautiful." Here the old doctor wiped his nose and smiled.

It dawned on me why he wouldn't move to a nursing home.

After apologizing, the old doctor was a little nervous. He stirred the tea in his cup, like a pupil who had done something wrong and was waiting for the teacher to give up.

'I'll tell you what! 'I whispered.' I'll forgive you if you promise to invite me to tea again. '

He smiled. "It's a deal."

Every week or two after that, I made time to go to the old doctor's house. Sometimes I deliver food, sometimes I return books. We would discuss the merits of literary works, and he was very knowledgeable and able to comment on my compositions.

Autumn passed, and by early winter, the old doctor and I had formed a wonderful friendship. We talked a lot. He said his two sons were in the east and his youngest daughter was in the United States. His wife died of cancer a few years ago, and his children wanted the old doctor to move in with them, but he refused.

"My health is fine. I can live on my own, can't I, little girl?" I frowned as he moved precariously between the dining room and kitchen.

"Actually," I said after some hesitation, "you know you can't live here alone forever."

His face was filled with sadness at the words. I kind of regretted that I had spoken out of turn.

"Wait a minute." He got up to leave and came back with something in his hand.

It was a picture frame with a few lines of words printed on translucent paper. The bottom is lined with handmade silk paper with flower petals, and the top is tied with Burgundy ribbon to match the mahogany frame.