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kristen-lockhart-blog · 5 years

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Short story- Amelia

Amelia is the story of an elementary-aged African American girl living in St. Augustine, Florida in 1904.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vQXz0ussl5PI3_1dEBF0JQG7Z7_hr2yAKUL5n44XWl0SlV1DVWRwjl-Yqy9rHKaEPMG6q_6nzeqDBsX/pub

“Amelia,” her momma said, peering upwards from the bottom of the staircase. Amelia sat with her legs underneath her at the doorway of her daddy’s office. The layers of her ruffled skirt folded neatly over her knees.

The year was 1904. Amelia’s family lived in a two story, light gray, wooden house with a periwinkle roof, that her daddy built in Lincolnville, St. Augustine. Her daddy, Henry Green, owned a little shop in town; A grocery mart and pharmacy where he distributed medicine to the neighbors. Her daddy loved to play his horn more than anything. He loved to play for his family, and he loved to play on Washington St., Saturday night for all the neighbors to hear.

Her daddy turned and winked at her as the mellow song of his trumpet began to fill every room of the house with a warm, melancholy timbre. Amelia gently rocked side to side, her eyes closed, humming along to her daddy’s sweet, soulful sound. “Amelia dear,” her momma said once again, “are you ready for school?” Amelia blinked and grinned, awakening from her trance. “Coming Momma,” she said as she hopped up and ran over to give her daddy a kiss on the cheek. “Tell Momma I’ll be down soon,” he said. He played her out of the room with playful ascending melodies. The music followed her as she excitedly hopped down the stairs, her shoes clacking to the rhythm against the wooden steps.

Amelia’s momma, Sarah, and her brother, James, were sitting at the table with orange juice, poached eggs, and toast. “I told your daddy he better not play that thing so early in the morning,” her momma said with a chuckle. “Yeah, I bet the neighbors love it.” Said James. “Oh, you know they do love it Momma. Everybody loves Daddy’s blues!” Amelia said giggling, plopping down in her chair. Amelia’s daddy concluded his piece softly. He gently placed his instrument in its cased and fastened the buckles.

Finally making his way down the steps he sang, “Good morning sunshine,” to a little tune. He sat in his usual seat across from Sarah, easing into the back of his chair casually. “Amelia how has school been?” he asked. “I am doing well,” she said shyly. James was quiet, nibbling idly at a spoonful of egg. He knew as soon as they got to the schoolhouse, she practically shut down. She wasn’t lying though. She was doing quite well. Henry locked eyes with Sarah. “Baby, if anything is happening, you let us know okay,” said Sarah. Henry nodding along to Sarah’s words. “I know Momma,” she said. She was staring down at her toast. She smiled and took several bites.

“You two better get going to school now,” their daddy said. The two children grabbed their books as Sarah handed them each their lunch. The three of them made their way to the front door.

Sarah stopped Amelia in front of the large, rectangular mirror in the foyer. It was a golden color with magnificently intricate designs of foliage along the frame. Amelia’s momma fixed a ribbon in her hanging coils. Amelia stared at her reflection. She loved her soft pink dress. But that was all. She grinned at her momma in the reflection.

Her momma gave her a kiss on the head and James a kiss on the cheek. “Goodbye now children, be safe.” She said. The pair walked down the steps of the front porch and started down the street to the schoolhouse. Few other children from the neighborhood had merged onto the same path just ahead of them. Amelia looked down at her shiny black shoes, kicking pebbles against the brick road. It was always a quiet walk to school with James. He didn’t say much to her outside the house.

Miss Mary was smiling and waving as the children approached the schoolhouse. “Good morning James, Amelia.” She said as they walked through the doorway and stepped onto the creaky wooden floorboards. Amelia settled into her seat near the back few rows of the classroom. It didn’t affect her performance, after all. James sat across the room from her. The classroom filled in with children of all ages. Miss Mary began writing on the chalkboard.

Amelia had a relatively uneventful day until Anna Eli trotted up to her desk during second breakfast with a sour look on her face. Amelia raised her eyes to meet hers. Anna Eli crossed her arms,Anna Ellie Jones marched up to Amelia’s desk with a sour look on her face.

“You know the only reason you aren’t completely hideous is because your family gots money and can put that pretty pink dress on your tiny, frail body?” Anna Ellie said.

“My daddy worked hard to get me this pretty pink dress,” she said calmly.

She met eyes with James who had glanced over. Amelia breathed in deeply, grasping her fingertips tightly against her palms. Anna Ellie scoffed and abruptly turned her back to Amelia, stomping back to her seat. Amelia looked at James. He was facing the chalkboard.

The following morning, Henry was inquiring about how Amelia felt about school.

“Daddy, won’t you play us some piano before school?” she asked in an attempt to change the subject. She ran into the parlor before he could answer.

Henry chuckled, “I suppose I don’t have a choice,” he said, making his way over, followed by James and Amelia’s momma, Sarah.

Amelia twirled around in her momma’s arms to the melancholy blues.

“dance with us!” she said to James.

“No.” Said James. “It’s time for school anyway.”

Amelia was in a better mood on the walk to school this morning. She skipped ahead of James.

“Why didn’t you want to dance to Daddy’s blues this morning?” she said.

“Because. I don’t like that kiddie stuff no more.” He said as he brushed past her staring straight ahead at the schoolhouse.

Second breakfast rolled around again, and Amelia’s stomach was already in a knot. She sat alone on the bottom step of the schoolhouse. The front door remained open letting the breeze in. And her peaceful, solitary meal did not last long. She felt a hovering presence lingering over her. She looked over her shoulder to find Anna Ellie’s grimace not even a foot away from her face.

“Did you really think you could hide from me out here?” she said.

Amelia didn’t have anything to say.

“Don’t ignore me.” Anna Ellie said sternly.

She shoved Amelia’s shoulders causing the lunch sitting on her lap to spill onto the ground; her fork clanking on the asphalt. Her knees and palms had hit the concrete beneath the bottom step of the schoolhouse and the ruffles lining her blue dress had been dirtied. Amelia stood up brushing off her knees and grasped the inside of one palm with the other hand. They were red and scraped up.

Her hands we shaking but she turned to face Anna Ellie..

“Why do you think you’re better than the rest of us?” she said with her arms crossed.

“I don’t,” Amelia said.

“You come in here wearing your pretty ruffled dresses every day and you don’t say a thing to nobody!” she said.

Amelia looked at the ground.

“Answer me!” Anna Ellie said with another shove.

Amelia did not fall this time. She had taken a few steps back after being pushed; but she stood her ground.

“You’re no different than the rich white kids at the rich white kid schools.” Anna Ellie said in disgust and she marched back to her seat inside.

Amelia stood shyly at her father’s office door. He looked up at her,

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked.

She walked in the room. He pulled her up to sit on his knee. “Listen baby, has somebody been botherin’ you at school? Whatever they’ve been saying to you, you are beautiful, and kind and they don’t know you like we know you,” he said, looking at her.

“No. They don’t know me,” she said, scrunching her eyebrows together. “She thinks that I think I’m better than everybody,” she said, “that’s not what I think!” She sighed, defeatedly. “I tried to tell her that you worked real hard!”

Henry looked at her quizzically.

“Who said that?” he asked.

“Anna Ellie.” Amelia said quietly. “She said we’re just like the rich white folks at the rich white schools.”

Henry raised his brows.

“Is that so?” he said.

Amelia turned and looked at him.

“Daddy,” she said, “I know you worked hard for us.” Her shoulders slacked a bit. “But how did you do it?” she asked.

Henry smiled.

“I’ll tell you baby.”

On Saturday morning the following weekend, the family walked into town. Henry stopped in front of a grandiose hotel with two vast and splendor towers hovering above the rest of the stunning white and maroon architecture.

“This place,” Henry began, “The Ponce De Leon Hotel, is what I owe a lot of my thanks to.”

They walked underneath the archway into the courtyard of the hotel. They turned some heads of the wealthy white patrons sitting in the courtyard, but Henry was not worried. He stared straight ahead and kept walking; his family close behind him.

Holding the front door for the family was a handsome young black man in a bellhop uniform. He smiled and nodded to Henry.

Behind the front desk was a white, bearded man about Henry’s age. He had dark blonde hair and was wearing a light gray suit. He was attending to a white woman standing at the counter. The woman looked over her shoulder, bewildered for a moment, but then walked away.

The man behind the counter looked up and met Henry’s eyes.

“Henry,” he said.

“Good to see you again, Sam,” he said, chuckling.

“Likewise,” Sam said. “Are you looking for work?”

“Oh no, not this time,” Henry said, grinning.

Amelia stepped out from behind her daddy’s leg.

“Ah,” Sam said. “You know, Henry,” he began, “You and yours aren’t really supposed to be here if you aren’t working.” He looked at Amelia. She looked at the ground shyly. “Who knows what our guests might think,” he said, “I just don’t want anyone to be hostile towards your family.”

Henry sighed, “Sam, old friend, you have helped me so much in the past,” he said, “I wouldn’t be able to take care of my family the way I do if it weren’t for that job you gave me back in the day.My baby girl here just wanted to see how it all came to be.” Henry said smiling down at Amelia.

Sam sighed and looked upwards at the clock over his shoulder.

“Allow me to escort you so there will be no trouble.”

Henry placed a hand on top of the counter.

“I really appreciate you Sam. You’re a real friend in these times,” he said.

Sam nodded and smiled, stepping out from behind the counter.

“Green family, won’t you follow me?” he said smiling at James and Sarah. “Your father Henry came to me just after the Ponce De Leon had opened its doors,” he said stopping in the middle of the lobby. “He worked here as a bellhop for just over ten years, Sam said, smiling at Henry. “He’s a good man, and a fine horn player,” he said.

Henry beamed.

The family followed Sam all around the first floor of the hotel for the next fifteen minutes. Sam nodded to the bellhops as they passed by.

The last room of the impromptu tour was the hotel parlor. The ceiling had rows of carved, white, floral stone. The floors were blanketed by massively elegant rugs of maroon and cream colors. There was a pair of spectacular chandeliers at either end of the room, with lamps at the end of several curled arms. On one side of the room was a gleaming black, grand piano.

Henry chuckled, “It’s not too sore on the eyes,” he said, “Thanks again for letting us be here.”

“It was great to see you again, Henry,” Sam said. He looked at Sarah and the kids. “Nice to meet the family. Take care, you all.” Sam shook Henry’s hand and walked back to the main counter.

As the family began to make their exit through the lobby, an incredibly smooth and soulful riff began to faintly flow out from the parlor doors.

Henry stopped.

“I’ll meet you all in the front. I’ll be right out.” he said.

Henry walked through the parlor doorway. The handsome bellhop from before was sitting at the piano bench on the other side of the room. As Henry made his way over, the man’s eyes widened and his song suddenly stopped and he stood up.

“I’m sorry.” The man said.

“Don’t be. Relax,” Henry said chuckling. “You can really play the blues, brother.”

The man smiled faintly.

“Thank you, but I really don’t know all that much,” he said.

“Nonsense!” Said Henry. “Have you ever played on Washington St.?” he said grinning.

The man smiled to himself. “I can’t say that I have, actually,” he said.

“Well listen,” Henry said beaming at the man, “I play the trumpet for the neighborhood on Saturday nights. Why don’t you come over next weekend?”

“Oh, I gotta look out for my kid, actually,” the man said.

Henry smiled knowingly. “Bring her!” he said jollily, “I have a daughter myself. They can play and the two of us can make some sweet soul music together.”

“Well…” he said, “you really think I’m good enough for a Saturday night on Washington St.?”

“Oh, the neighbors will love you,” Henry said, “you gotta share this music.”

“Okay.” he said, finally.

“Fantastic!” Henry said shaking the man’s hand, excitedly. “What’s your name, son?” he asked.

“Eddie.” The man said. “Eddie Jones.”

At second breakfast the following Monday, Anna Ellie marched up to Amelia, hands on her hips.

“You know you got me in trouble?” she said.

“I haven’t done anything to you.” Amelia said.

“I know you snitched.” Anna Ellie said.

“I didn’t.” Amelia said. “Why are you being so mean?”

“Why should I be nice to a stuck up little rich girl like you?” Anna Ellie said.

“That’s not me!” Amelia said.

“But your daddy has his own store and he makes lots of money! My daddy is just a bellhop,” Anna Ellie said frowning at the ground.

Amelia’s eyes widened and she looked up at Anna Ellie’s face.

“Anna Ellie…” she said, “I told you. My daddy was just like your daddy.”

Anna Ellie grimaced; fists clenched.

“I swear!” Amelia said. “My daddy was even a bellhop at the Ponce De Leon Hotel for ten years…”

Anna Ellie’s expression lightened.

“Really?” she said. “There’s no way.” Anna Ellie looked at Amelia in shock.

Amelia nodded.

“That’s how lots of the shop owners in the neighborhood were able to start their businesses.” Amelia looked at Anna Ellie’s face, trying to make eye contact. “I bet your daddy is a hard worker just like my daddy.” Anna Ellie’s face was red. She was glaring at the ground, her eyes welling up. Amelia looked at her face, concerned slightly. “Anna Ellie…” Anna Ellie turned away and walked back to her seat and plopped down dejectedly.

Amelia looked at Anna Ellie, wide-eyed. She turned to James who had a similar expression on his face. He turned back towards the chalkboard.

On Saturday morning, Henry and Sarah had been sharing a cup of coffee at the table. When he heard the knock at the door he excitedly hopped up, his spoon clinking into his cup. Sarah giggled to herself.

“That’s my guest.” Henry said, hurrying to the door.

He opened the door, beaming. There stood Eddie with his daughter, Anna Ellie standing behind him.

“Good morning Eddie!” Henry said.

“Thank you for having us, Henry” Eddie said with a soft smile.

“Come on in!” Henry stepped to the side and allowed the pair to step inside.

“Hello sweetheart,” he said to Anna Ellie, “what’s your name?” he asked.

“Anna Ellie.” she said shyly.

Henry raised his eyebrows and smiled.

“Well now, what a pretty name.” He smiled at her. “I have a daughter about your age. She’s upstairs in her bedroom, first door on the right. Why don’t you run up there and play?” he said smiling at her.

Her eyes lit up.

“Okay,” she said, “thank you.”

Henry and Eddie made their way to the piano in the parlor and Sarah took a seat on the sofa.

Anna Ellie made her way upstairs.

Amelia was sitting on her bed with her legs hanging off the edge. She had an open book in her lap, but she was staring out the window, idly kicking her legs against the bed. Her bedroom door was about halfway open, as usual.

Anna Ellie stood in the doorway.

“Hello?” she said.

Amelia turned around, startled.

“It’s you!” she said.

Anna Ellie was just as shocked.

“You’re Mr. Henry’s daughter?” Her jaw dropped and her face contorted into a thoroughly confused expression.

She walked into the room and sat on the corner of Amelia’s bed and stared at the wall.

“How are our daddies’ friends?” she asked.

Amelia looked at her in bewilderment. Her tormentor was now in her room, sitting on her bed.

“My daddy likes the way your daddy plays the blues,” she said looking away.

“Oh.” Anna Ellie said quietly. “Your daddy really was a bellhop?” she said smiling softly to herself.

“Yeah.” Amelia said.

“Thanks for what you said to me the other day at school,” Anna Ellie said. She turned towards Amelia. “And Amelia,” she said. Amelia looked up at her. “I am really sorry.” Anna Ellie said. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me.” Anna Ellie smiled sadly and stood up. “I’ll see you at school…” she said, “but don’t worry. I’ll leave you alone.” Anna Ellie walked out of the room and back downstairs. Amelia stared blankly at the wall.

Anna Ellie walked into the parlor. Henry was grinning, holding his horn, and Eddie was sitting at the piano bench smiling from ear to ear.

Henry looked at Anna Ellie, “well, hello little lady,” he said.

She looked at him. Just then Amelia had hurried down the steps.

“Anna Ellie!” she said.

Anna Ellie turned, surprised.

“I forgive you,” Amelia said walking over to her.

Anna Ellie smiled sadly, tears pooling in the back of her eyes.

Amelia grabbed her hand and stood next to her.

“Well, shall we?” Henry said.

Amelia smiled at Anna Ellie, “dance with me!” she said, “The music helps to heal the soul.”

The two men swayed to the music. Amelia twirled Anna Ellie around. Sarah hopped up and grabbed James’ hand. He obliged with a defeated smile. The families danced and laughed together to the blues. Amelia, being swung playfully around by Anna Ellie, caught a glimpse of herself in the foyer mirror and loved what she saw smiling back at her.

#short story #fiction #creative writing #lincolnville #st augustine

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kristen-lockhart-blog · 5 years

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Book Review of “(Im)Proper Nouns” by Donna Sparrowhawk

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Kristen Lockhart (Im)Proper Nouns By Donna Sparrowhawk Book Review

In the collection of poems, (Im)Proper Nouns, poet Donna Sparrowhawk utilizes an effortless flow and rhythm within and between her poems. Some of my favorite literary tools she uses throughout her poems are imagery and metaphors. Her collection is split into three sections, that are the nouns persons, places, and things. The poems within each section complement each other nicely as well as the three sections to form the whole collection. Sparrowhawk’s themes and imagery gives insight to a well-rounded and fulfilling life so far as well as holds hope for a fulfilling life to come. In the section titled Persons, Sparrowhawk has an array of poems, some dedicated to someone by use of their name, others with a more metaphorical title. The poem “Even Now I Listen,” is a pretty straight forward poem about the speaker’s dad. I really appreciate the glimpse into the speaker’s relationship with her father growing up. She hones in on the relationship between her and her father through her diction and metaphors.

“I know what tone you would use Soft, sliding your words under The door of my pain-induced silence.” I like the imagery that this stanza creates. I imagine a teenage daughter distraught and not wanting to talk to anyone, but her dad is the one who can truly reach her in these times. As if gently whispering through the crack of her door or sliding a letter with some heartbreak advice on it. In the last stanza, the speaker is reminiscing on times when her father could give her advice in person.

“Would you lift your eyes to mine and gently with your Fatherly tenderness, sweep the hair fallen in my eyes Remind me

To lessen fear…love more.”

She is admittedly fearful and doubtful of something throughout this poem. Perhaps, felt she was not ready to take on some things in her life without her father always being right there with her. All she has is these memories and can only imagine the advice that her father could give her now. Because of the vulnerability, I feel like this poem is a lovely and intimate glimpse into the speaker and maybe even the poet’s life. Moreover, in the poem “Not Quite a Sonnet for Susan on Her Sixtieth Birthday,” Sparrowhawk has a very compelling free form as well as great diction to portray the speaker’s feelings towards “Susan.” The poet reflects on her own use of form in which she originally intended a sonnet that actually became a free form poem.

“I tried to write you a sonnet for your birthday… abab cdcd efef gg but the fact of the matter is you are definitely free verse and otherwise and wise.”

She admittedly switches gears from a sonnet form to a free form. Moreover, I like the analogy of comparing her friend, Susan, to a free form poem herself. As well as the wordplay in “…you are definitely free, verse and otherwise, and wise.” Moreover, she utilizes lots of little comments inside of parentheses throughout the poem.

“extraordinarily fun deliciously irreverent outlandishly chi-ful (and I love it that you know what that means)”

The use of her parenthetical inserts creates more intimacy between her and the friend receiving this gift. She adds some fun, witty inside jokes and personality. And the way she describes Susan; the words she uses, “extraordinary, deliciously irreverent.” She is describing a deep admiration of everything that makes Susan the way she is. While keeping few elements of a sonnet throughout the piece, the author iterates that her Susan cannot be described in any one form. She reminisces on the first time they met recalls specific details with her imagery and describes the instant connection the friends had. I love the final line of the poem, comparing Susan to a child, having the same whimsy and wonder as a newly Sixty year old woman. And ending the poem on an ellipse as to say that her and Susan’s friendship and story is far from over. Much like in the poem about her father, the speaker creates an intimacy between not only her and the person the poem is dedicated to, but also her and the reader. She does so through the use of parentheses, her imagery in describing her memories, and her witty metaphors. The first poem in the “Places” section of the book is one of my favorites called, “Musings on a Train.” I find the setting of this poem so refreshing. She truly captures what it is to feel like you are in the story itself with this poem. “I glance out as sheep newly shorn And young, bolt as the train Whistles, and the old ewes lazily graze, Ignoring the fray.”

I am fortunate to have ridden on a train in England as well, especially as someone who lives in Florida with very few, if any, passenger trains. This poem describes to calm whimsy of riding on a train traveling past hills and grassy fields. A quite relatable stanza in this piece, is as follows:

“I doze in strange comfortable discomfort Drifting in and out, nestled against my Ferdinand’s Jacket, crumpled on the table under my head.”

Though, not all readers might have had the experience of riding a train, the images she creates can certainly come to life in the reader’s imagination. I particularly love the phrase, “comfortable discomfort,” to describe falling asleep on a train. Again, maybe not all readers would know this as exactly as described, but I feel like the sensation of trying to fall asleep on a bus or car even, can be a strangely calming scenario in a not quite so comfortable vessel. Especially if you are riding in said vehicle with a loved one. The scene described in this poem is that of a comfortable, daily event that is intimate between the speaker and a loved one. Sparrowhawk’s imagery allows the readers a glimpse into the speaker’s life because of her descriptions of this sweet life. Another one of my absolute favorite pieces is “Ballad of Equeurdreville.” Sparrowhawk’s effortless rhyme scheme creates a hilariously witty and whimsical story in this poem. I love how while reading this poem the reader gets a scene laid out in front of them of this funny banter between a traveling couple.

“My, what a pleasant urban walk! said he As she dodged the biker […] I’m sure my mate said repast was just beyond this hill A lovely place for dinner, in lovely Equeurdreville.

Why, yes, my love! cooed she to he Somewhat loudly over the roar of the passing lorry.”

From the very first line, the setting is being described as “urban” and disruptive with the biker needing to be dodged, as well as the “roar of the passing lorry.” Yet, the positive attitudes of this couple is already creating a humorous build up.

“I fear a restaurant I will never see, said he. Her reply reassuringly whispered, perhaps more a shrill— Do you think we’ll ever bloody find this Equeurdreville?”

“[…] I dare say one can look from here to eternity, said he. But no sign, no hope of food, nor drink—no, nada, nil In this, this, uh…lovely…Equeurdreville.”

The couple have a shift in attitude the longer it takes for them to find this restaurant. I particularly love the last line of that stanza; it makes it seem like a sassy narrator is reading this poem aloud to the reader. “Oh my, said she. Oh my, indeed, said he As they walked and pondered what was the key Don’t know, said she, but make out a Will Next time you suggest to me Equeurdreville!”

The final stanza after the couple had finished their long awaited meal in Equeurdreville, we get the final round of witty commentary. The poem ends on a silly joke as well, adding to the fun nature of the rest of the poem. This poem reminded me of the whimsical ways of rhyming of Dr. Seuss. This poem is different from the other poems in the collection due to its playful theme. Yet it still holds the particular style especially when it comes to Sparrowhawk’s romantic diction and intimacy between characters. The contrast in playfulness from this poem compared to more mature themes in other poems, as well as her consistent rhyming scheme shows how talented and versatile Sparrowhawk is with her writing. Finally, in the section “Things,” there is a poem entitled, “Twilight,” that has just more of that calming scenery that Sparrowhawk paints.

“It’s that time of day again… The light, in its fade Softens… Well, softens Everything.”

This opening stanza creates such a lovely setting with just a few simple phrases, which is magical. I also love the third stanza continues with this serene imagery and the fourth begins to introduce another theme into this poem.

“I wonder if the fox Will make his appearance tonight Now that you, Not I, Are absent.

“I’ve missed you today I should have been with you today, But, painfully I really couldn’t Because we You and I Know how to love.” The speaker is describing beautiful scenery yet is lonely or missing her loved one. Yet, I gather this is the type of missing someone when they are just out for the day, perhaps at work.

“I know you are on your Way back to me now.

Warm soup is waiting And music, and me,

The words can wait.”

The lines of her poetry feel comfortable and familiar. Sparrowhawk has been able to take sorrow in her poems such as this one and spin it around into hope. This entire collection of poems by Donna Sparrowhawk reflects on a life filled with beauty and love for these persons, places, and things. She uses wonderous imagery and metaphors to describe these loved ones and locations in such intimate detail. The warmth, wit and charm in her words are the ties that carry over and connect all her poems in this collection, (Im)Proper Nouns.

#book review #poetry #collection of poetry

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