2
Woodburn2
Mackenzie Woodburn
Thomas Blake
Interpretation of Literature
21 October 2013
A Rose for Emily
Emily Grierson killed me. Her controlling love had taken over and I was the victim.
I was new to the small town of Jefferson. I could tell it was a very close-knit community and I was not sure where I would fit in. I came to do some work on this run down town, the sidewalks needed to be paved so I put my boys to work.
After a few weeks of hard labor I began to meet many people throughout the community. Everyone was very nice and I always seemed to have a crowd of laughing women around me. There was one house, however where there was very little sign of life. It was a fairly large, white house with a large balcony that looked like their once was a very important and wealthy human being living inside. When I finally caught a glimpse of the woman living inside I knew I must take her out.
Emily was clearly like no other woman I had ever met. She looked like she had been through a lot and needed someone important in her life. Her hair was cut short, making her look like a little girl. She looked like she was distressed and didn't bother with life anymore, but I knew I could help her.
We began going out every Sunday. I would take her out in my little yellow buggy where she always seemed to have a good time. I could feel the neighborhood watching us like hawks however. They seemed to know something I didn't. I kept thinking to myself, "Why are they so interested in Emily's life?" Despite the negativity from the community I could tell that Emily was falling for me and I was falling in love with her as well.
"Homer?" Emily said in a weak, needy tone.
"Yes?"
"Stay with me tonight," She demanded. "I can cook for you, I can take care of you."
I felt as if I could not say no. "Of course," I replied knowing she would not take no for an answer. She looked me in the eyes and smiled.
The evening rolled around and I showed up to Emily's house where I was shuffled through the front door and forced to sit down at the table.
"I slaved over the stove all afternoon for you, you better like it." I took a few bites as she stared at me from the end of the table. "Make sure you clean your plate."
I looked up at her and asked, "Aren't you going to eat something?"
She looked at me odd. "No, I made it all for you. What are you trying to say? You don't like it?" she shouted at me, not allowing me to get a word in. I knew all along she was a bit controlling, but I did not know it would turn into this.
An hour or so passed and I felt myself nodding off at the dinner table. Emily was starring at me the entire time. Her eyes were locked in on me and they were definitely not wandering.
"I should go home," I begged.
"No, no," she said. "Come upstairs and lie down," she demanded as she pointed at the dusty staircase. I could hardly see straight so I simply nodded and she escorted me up the stairs.
The room she brought me to was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Everything was a pale rose color, from the dresser to the curtains and even the lights gave off a dim rose tint. I saw a suit and tie lying on the chair, expensive silver that looked as if it had our monogram engraved on it. It was almost like she had been planning our wedding. I knew in that moment that Emily Grierson was crazy. I had fallen under her crazy over spell and I slowly felt myself slipping away.
"Lay down."
I did as she said. I did not have a choice. She hovered over me with a grimace on her face. "What's going on? I need help," I shouted with the last ounce of energy I had.
Emily put her hand over my mouth and said, "Shhh," my eyes close and I drifted off into a deep sleep. I was dead.
My body was lifeless. I lied there on her bed as she sat next to me stroking my dead flesh. She treated my body as if it were alive. Everyday she would groom me as if she was getting me ready to walk down the aisle.
The years went on and Emily was still infatuated with my corpse. Her health was declining quickly and her hair had become an iron-gray color. As I watched from above I knew she wasn't going to live much longer, but as frail as she became she still catered to my body. She would lie on the pillow next to my decaying head and let the dust collect around us.
Eventually Emily died. Her family and the community put on a funeral for her and the whole town took this as an opportunity to see what she had been hiding behind closed doors all this time. I walked with the neighbors as if I was one of them. I wish I could have warned them before they walked in on my decaying body, but I couldn't. They walked upstairs and went to the door that had been sealed from the outside world for at least forty years. They wiggled the handle, but it wouldn't budge.
"Push!" Shouted an older woman.
"It won't go, we'll have to break down the door." The group of women heaved and hoed at this old door and with a little force they broke through. They starred blankly at the bed. The looks on their faces were priceless.
"Homer! It's Homer Barron."
They gathered around my body as if I were an exhibit in a museum. "I knew Emily was crazy." A woman exclaimed.
"Ever since her father died years ago she never was the same Emily we knew."
They studied the bed and pulled an iron-gray hair from the pillow beside my head and stood in silence.
"Poor Homer," the silence was broken, "he was just so naïve."
"This is exactly why a day laborer and someone as wealthy as a Grierson should never have thought they could be together happily."
That was the last that was said of me. I was nothing but a Northerner to the Jefferson community and that's all I would ever be.