Fun English 10E assignment that I decided to post. After reading The Secret Life of Bees, we had to write a follow up chapter that takes place in the present, when Lily is 61, and include reflections on the book. Enjoy!
The honey bee can learn to discriminate between different odors, extending its proboscis to lemon and not to vanilla, keeping memory of the correct scent for a long period.
—ScienceDaily .com
I coughed as I blew the thick layer of dust off the box, turning my head to the side so that I didn't cause even more dust to rise. I don't know why I had chosen today of all days to clean out my basement, but I did and here I am. The box feels rough to my hands, old and worn. It's not labeled at all, but sealed with tape to prevent me from opening it easily. Judging from the dust, it hasn't been touched in a long time.
I slowly stand up and grab my cane, making my way over to the wooden stairs leading above. Years ago, I would never have thought that I would need a cane, but all those times I kneeled on grits have not been nice to me; they screwed up my knees. I walked slowly up the steps, hearing them creak loudly with each step I took. Stairs shouldn't be so loud for someone as weightless as me, but they are. I guess they got old, too. I push open the door at the top and come into my spotless kitchen, blinking at the change in light. Walking over to the cabinet drawer under the microwave, I pull out a large pair of scissors.
On my way back to the stairs, I caught a glimpse of myself in the large mirror on the wall over the stove. I paused for a moment to study myself. I have changed a lot over the years, but I'm still me. My hair is still uncontrollably frizzy, though it's laced with gray, instead of the solid brown that it used to be. I have deep wrinkles, the most prominent of them being laugh lines. If I could go back in time and laugh less to have fewer wrinkles now, I wouldn't do it. I'm fine just the way I am. My appearance doesn't really matter.
Going back downstairs, I sit on the worn white carpet next to the old box. I set my cane next to me gently, then return my attention to the box. Taking the scissors, I carefully cut through the tape, giving me access to the box's hidden contents. I hurriedly pull it open, slightly ripping the box in my excitement to examine the contents.
The first object I pull out is a jar of Black Madonna Honey. Oh! I remember this! It was one of the seven I took with me when I finally left the Boatwright house. After ten years of living with them, at age twenty-four, I had felt the need to set out on my own. I certainly missed everyone, but it had been time for me to move on. Of course, I visited often. I would never get tired of seeing them all—August, Rosaleen, June and Neil, all the Daughters of Mary, and Zach. I especially enjoyed seeing Zach. Our brief childhood romance had ended, but we had parted ways still the best of friends. We still write each other, either by letter or email. He's sent me pictures of his daughter, and, more recently, his tiny grandson.
I smiled softly as I reached back into the box to pull something else out. The single light bulb hanging on the basement's ceiling hummed softly, bringing to mind the familiar sound of humming bees. The bulb provided little light, making it difficult for my old eyes to see into the box, despite having large, thick glasses. I felt around the inside of the carton of memories until my hand came into contact with a smooth, slightly worn rectangular object. Pulling it out into the light, I found that it was my old notebook; the one Zach had given me so long ago. I flipped it open towards the middle, exposing the pages. They were completely covered in ink, my writing filling the pages top to bottom. It was in this notebook that my first novel was born, the first in a series of twelve. I gently sat it so the side, propping it against the honey jar.
Just as I was turning back to the box, I heard the doorbell ringing upstairs. Someone was at the door! Grabbing my crane, I made my way back upstairs, albeit much quicker this time. I really should have installed an elevator or escalator or something. These stairs will kill me someday. I shut the basement door behind me, then made my way through the house to the front door.
I turned the deadbolt on the door, and pulled it open to see a very excited-looking woman. She had strait black hair, pulled back in a bun, with the gray roots just starting to show. She appeared to be about sixty-one years old, my age, though her wrinkles did nothing to diminish the inner beauty that she practically radiated. She was my best friend, Ellen.
"Hey, Ellen," I said, ushering her inside. "How are you?"
"I'm fine, Lily. Did ya forget 'bout our plans again?" she asked.
I looked away guiltily. I did forget. We were planning on going to the local YMCA for their Bingo Night. "Sorry, it completely slipped my mind. I was cleaning out my basement, and I think I found a box from 1964."
"That old?" she exclaimed. "I threw 'way everythin' older than 2003. I figure, if it's old an' not in use, why keep it." Ellen started to walk towards the basement door. "We won' make it to Bingo on time, and I didn' drive all the way over here for nothin', so you might as well show me what's in that ancient box o' yours."
"Whatever, Ellen." I led her downstairs. She huffed occasionally because I go so slowly. Well it certainly isn't my fault that I need a cane and she doesn't. I pull a folding chair up to the box, then plop back down where I was before. She sat down in the chair and said, "Show me now. I wanna see!" I swear, she's such a child sometimes. Maybe she's been eating too much sugar.
"Okay, so have I told you about the happenings of 1964?" She shook her head no, so I decided to explain. "Well that was the summer I ran away from home. Rosaleen and I went to Tiburon, South Carolina, and stayed with the Boatwright sisters. They were blacker than you, but that didn't stop them from helping us, even with me being white and all. August, May, and June made honey, and they let us stay on to help with the honey making and the bee keeping. A lot of crazy stuff went down that summer. A whole lot. Now, May was different; she felt everyone's pain, not just her own. Eventually it became too much for her and she drowned herself in the river. Worst thing I'd ever seen, though I can kinda understand why she did it. There's just so much pain and suffering in the world, and she felt the worst of all of it. And before that, my friend Zach got arrested for something he didn't do. Very stupid of the cops. They wouldn't have done that to him if he was white, even though the Civil Rights Act had just been passed, supposedly making everyone equal.
"But there were good parts of the summer, too—happy parts. June married Neil, who was very nice, I might add. Those two are just so perfect for each other. And I got away from T. Ray, my father. I've never been happier to be away from someone in my entire life. Also, I was kind of dating Zach back then. He─"
"Wait, Zack?" she interrupted. "The same Zachary Taylor that we both know? The lawyer? You were with him? What, were you suicidal? They coulda killed you for bein' with a black man. 'Course, it sure is different nowadays. Who woulda thought that after all those problems 'bout givin' blacks rights that we'd have a black president."
I agreed completely. "It sure is different. But it just goes to show how much can change in so little time. And yes, I was talking about that Zach. And I was definitely not suicidal, even though I had finally learned the truth about my mother. I told you about that part, right?" She shook her head yes. "Well I learned that you should make the most of life while you still can, and that family is important, but you don't have to be blood related to be family."
"That sounds so meaningful. I think I'm gonna cry," Ellen said, sniffling.
"You totally just killed the moment," I said laughing, hitting her lightly on the shoulder.
She started laughing, too, falling out of her chair. "Ow! My hip!" she cried, jokingly.
"Suck it up, you baby. This cane is mine!"
Life is good.
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