Young adult fiction: The adventures of Hermon Brown

The Adventures of Hermon Brown.
Elley Edwards.

CHAPTER 1: Meet Hermon and Henrietta
Human life is such a remarkable and fragile thing. From the moment we’re born we enter the race to become the smartest, richest and most fulfilled being we can possibly be.
What if one met the slowest, simplest and least emotionally evolved person one could find? What would that person be like? You might ask yourself. Perhaps that person would be like Hermon Brown.

Hermon Brown, as one would imagine, lived a simple life in Bristol, England. His house was as simple as he; lined up, side by side, next to other two storey, town houses identical to his. Our friend, Hermon was born in this house, on Middle Park Lane. He grew up in this house and when his mother died of a sudden heart attack, Hermon continued to go on living in this same house in Middle Park Lane. His father was killed in the World War when Hermon was a boy. When he was left in this world to his own devices, after his mother died, he didn’t know what else he was meant to do, so he kept on living in that simple house in Middle Park Lane.

Hermon did the same thing every morning, a routine engraved in his mind from childhood: He got up at precisely 7am every morning, showered, dressed and made himself 2 generous slices of jam on toast, and ate it on the balcony by precisely 8 am. He did this because he loved to say “Hallo!” to his neighbors, and anyone else who happened to walk the sidewalk under his townhouse.
Hermon’s balcony breakfast coincided with the 8.15am train at nearby Middle Park station. Hermon would sit on his balcony after his toast was promptly devoured- because Hermon always awoke hungry-and wave to the people rushing past on their way to catch their train.

One such neighbor Hermon liked to say hallo to was Henrietta Berkenstien, who was a longtime widow and lived in the identical house on the left-hand side of Hermon.
Henrietta’s balcony differed from Hermon’s in that she had a small garden of flowers, vegetables and herbs, which grew in little pots and were lined up along the balcony, like cheerful soldiers.
Hermon always marveled on how she could get her hair to match the lavender she liked to cut from her small, potted garden.Hermon noticed little things like that; true he may not have been the brightest crayon in the box, but he was curious enough to pick up on the subtleties of life, and he spent much of his time pondering to himself about such things: like why dogs’ noses are always wet, what the mailman does when he’s not delivering mail and, of course, how Henrietta’s hair became lavender!

Henrietta liked to go to her balcony too, to tend her garden. Often times she spotted Hermon, who would give her an enthusiastic wave and a robust “Hallo!”
Henrietta could never fathom why Hermon was always so cheerful, for apparently no good reason. In fact, she often thought to herself how strange Hermon was.
‘It’s weird,’ she thought, ‘that someone, like Hermon, who is all alone in the world, should be so happy! Whatever is the matter with him?’

Henrietta, you must understand, was not the sweet, little, old lady one expects to meet. For, as you already know, her hair was a curious shade of purple and she always wore a full face of makeup (particularly crimson lipstick). She was tall and bird-like, with poppy, beady eyes and was slightly bent over from many years of gardening. She was seldom ever seen without the layers of gold jewelry that hung from her lanky frame. My, she was a sight to behold-and quite formidable when crossed. She had a very high opinion of herself and detested anyone who contradicted her.
You and I both know by now that there was nothing the matter with Hermon Brown, only that he was peculiar and he found pleasures in the simple things, most particularly the people around him; something that Henrietta Bourkenstein didn’t understand very well at all.

She had seen and experienced a lot in her eighty-odd years and had grown suspicious and resentful. Cynicism festered as the years sped on after her husband died. Mr. Bourkenstein was a warm generous person and before he left for the war he left her a tidy sum of money from which to live off, should he fail to return. This, one would think, would afford Henrietta some sort of peace of mind of not being burden on her children in old age. Unfortunately though, Henrietta had become so cantankerous and difficult that even her two grown children, who lived in nearby towns, refused to visit her; Christmas was the only exception.
So you see, there was a world of difference between Hermon Brown and his neighbor, Henrietta Bourkenstein, excusing one, blindingly obvious similarity: they were both alone in the world.

CHAPTER 2: To be continued...