The first thing Amy heard when she walked into Ms. Amoit's class the following day was the soft sound of a guitar being played.
When the French horn player got a better look she saw her teacher sitting on a stool in the middle of the room strumming a gorgeous guitar. It was a Gibson J-185 Custom Vine Acoustic Guitar with a maple body and ebony neck, and there was a beautiful mother-of-pearl floral design running up the neck and into the body. It was a rare, one-of-kind master piece and it was obvious the World Lit teacher took care of it.
She continued playing as the class filed in and took no notice of the stares or the warning bell. It wasn't a tune Amy recognized; it was soft yet had a distinctly ethnic tone. It reminded her of some of the music in Fiddler on the Roof.
Only when everyone was seated and the final bell rang did she stop, but only to retune her strings. She suddenly began to sing in a strong, haunting voice.
You
may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You
may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll
rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with
gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my
living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the
certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still
I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and
lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened
by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't
you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold
mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with
your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with
your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my
sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance
like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of
the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted
in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling
and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror
and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I
rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream
and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
No one spoke for a long time once the dark eyed woman was done. Ms. Amoit for her part didn't seem particularly moved or phased by what she'd just done. She calmly packed away her guitar and turned to look at her class.
"Well…can anyone tell me the title of what I just sang?"
The class of twenty-two was silent, all looking at one another for the answer. Suddenly someone spoke up.
"'Still I Rise' by Maya Angelou," said Ricky. It was one his foster mom, Eliza's, favorite poems of all time and she was constantly quoting it. Dr. Fields also used as a motivational tool to show him his worth.
Lee nodded. "Very good Mr. Underwood. Now as many of you know Maya Angelou is one of America's most influential poets, not songwriters. So why did I put it to music? Why did I put one of the greatest poems ever written to a simple guitar ditty?"
The class was silent once more. Then another voice could be heard.
"Because it's the same thing," said Adrian, "Most songs are just poems put to music."
"Exactly," replied the British woman beaming, "That's exactly it Miss Lee. I want all of you to understand that any creative output, whether it's writing, playing an instrument, or something else entirely comes from the same place. What goes in your heart and in your head can translate to almost any medium you choose. And this also brings me to your assignments. Both shall be individual and taken for a grade, so please do not slack off."
The class collectively groaned. Individual projects were never fun.
"Oh don't be so quick to judge," chided the dark eyed woman with a small smile. "Your first assignment will be to write a poem. It will anonymous and I want you all to really write. Express what's going on inside whether it's frustration over grades, puppy love, teen angst whatever. The second assignment will be to find a song that you think is true poetry, a true expression of what the singer is feeling. If a video of the song is available I would like it but if not then that's fine. You will bring in a recording of the song so we can hear what you hear. Also I want a little background information on the band/singer or the song if you can find it. My only request is that if the song has any inappropriate language that you edit it out or give it to me so I can. The poem will be due at the end of the week and the song will due next Monday. Any questions?"
Grace raised her hand and asked, "Can we write about religion?"
"Yes, you can write about anything. These will be anonymous but be smart. If you write anything derogatory or threatening I'm obligated to tell the authorities. And if you need help getting those creative juices flowing, my door is always open before, after school, and during lunch. Any other questions?"
"Yeah," said Adrian, "Where did you learn to play the guitar?"
Ms. Amoit gave an enigmatic smile but said nothing.
Later that day after school was one of those rare moments where Adrian, Jack, Grace, Ricky, Ben, and Amy were all in the same place at the same time. Not to say that that was a pleasant occurrence.
The previous night had been fruitless as far as Ben was concerned. He and Amy had not gotten back together and it appeared she was no closer to reconciling her feelings for Ricky than she ever had been. Amy felt more confused than ever about the whole thing. The more time she spent with Ricky the more she remembered why she'd liked him in the first place. He'd thrown himself into the process of becoming a father (post-conception) with extreme enthusiasm.
Though they didn't pick out a baby name yet Ricky felt that last night was a success. He knew Amy was starting to fall for him and the Ben was slowly being backed out of the picture. Now all he had to do was pick his moment of when to tell Amy he loved her. He, Madison, and Lauren had agreed that telling her in the perfect setting might make her more open to the sentiments then if he merely blurted them out at random.
"So," said Jack trying to break the awkward silence (he was the only person who got along with all five of them), "do you guys have any ideas about what song you're gonna pick for the Lit assignment."
"No idea," replied Grace sighing, "I don't think any of my songs are gonna fit the bill. They're all about how the artist feels about God, not his or her life."
Ben nodded, "Yeah and I don't listen to music much."
"So it was to get out of gym."
The six teenagers spun around to Mr. Molina leaning against his doorframe giving them all a distinctly amused look.
"So you guys are already having trouble with Ms. Amoit eh?" he asked chuckling slightly, "That was fast…two days into class a new record."
"You know Ms. Amoit?" asked Ben curiously.
The guidance counselor nodded. "I've known Lee for a long time, she was a child prodigy. Graduated from Oxford at age sixteen so she has a hard time comprehending that not all of us have genius-level analytical skills."
"You're offering to help us?" asked Adrian in surprise, "Isn't that against some sort of code of ethics?"
"It's an academic issue and I'm not doing the assignment for you," replied Mr. Molina smoothly, "I'm merely suggesting a musical act you could use. Come into my office."
The teenagers exchanged glances but followed him nonetheless. They reached his office and soon he pulled up YouTube. Amy watched as he typed in the name Deliverance. He clicked on the third video that appeared on screen.
A group of three guys and one girl were in what appeared to be a macabre version of a hospital. The girl started playing a guitar and a husky, powerful voice filled the room.
Throw
your dollar bills and leave your thrills all here with me
And
speak but don't pretend I won't defend you anymore you see
It
aches in every bone, I'll die alone, but not for you
My eyes don't
need to see that ugly thing, I know it's me you fear
If you want
me hold me back
frail, the skin is dry and pale, the pain will
never fail
And so we go back to the remedy
Clip the wings that
get you high, just leave them where they lie
And tell yourself,
"you be the death of me"
I don't need a friend, I
need to mend so far away
So come sit by the fire and play a while,
but you can't stay too long
It aches in every bone, I'll die
alone, but not for pleasure
I see my heart explode, it's been
eroded by the weather here
If you want me hold me back
The video flashed to random moments of chaos and terror within the hospital then back to the band periodically. Ricky was surprised, for such a lithe girl she certainly had one set of pipes and some skill with the guitar.
Frail,
the skin is dry and pale, the pain will never fail
And so we go
back to the remedy
Clip the wings that get you high, just leave
them where they lie
And tell yourself, "You'll be the death
of me"
Frail, the skin is dry and pale, the pain will never
fail
And so we go back to the remedy
Clip the wings that get
you high, just leave them where they lie
And tell yourself,
"You'll be the death of me"
Hold your eyes closed,
take me in
Hold your eyes closed, take me in
Frail, the
skin is dry and pale, the pain will never fail
And so we go back
to the remedy
Clip the wings that get you high, just leave them
where they lie
And tell yourself, "You'll be the death of
me"
Frail, the skin is dry and pale, the pain will never
fail
And so we go back to the remedy
Clip the wings that get
you high, just leave them where they lie
And tell yourself,
"You'll be the death of me"
The song ended and Mr. Molina leaned back in his chair smugly. "The band is called My Deliverance," was all he said to them before shooing them out of his office.
"Oh and one more thing," he added before shutting the door, "It's one of Lee's favorite bands."
AN: Don't own "Still I Rise" or "Remedy".