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.
Maya Angelou, "Still I'll Rise,"
Part Two
My alarm clock and I are not on speaking terms. After its third failure in a row to ring at the designated time, I wouldn't be surprised if we have to end our relationship permanently.
I am running. My apron hits my arm where it's bundled, the ties flying behind me like the streamers on a little girl's bike. My sneakers slap the pavement with a flep flep sound, my breath rings in my ears, deafening me to most of the sounds around me. I skid to a halt at a DON'T WALK sign at the first of two intersections that separate me from my destination. I take the lapse time to hurriedly throw my hair up into a bun.
Needless to say, I am running late. Literally. The diner's owner, Jay, won't care really, but I care. There's a breakfast rush, and I need to be there. Also, my pay gets docked when I'm late, and I can't really afford for that to happen.
This job wasn't easy to find, and once I had found it, it wasn't easy to get. Apparently working at the Main Gate required three glowing letters of reference, a spotless medical history, and effervescent people skills. Ability to read minds not required, but desired. Talking my way in with none of these qualities and a cast on my arm took some extra charisma.
The cast is off now. The only signatures on it besides Ahmir's drawing come from the regulars at the Main Gate. I have the pieces in a cardboard box in my closet.
I burst in through the front door and fold my apron down across my body to tie at my waist, crossing the strings around me twice before fastening them. The clock says exactly 6 a.m. I love the morning.
My plane arrived in Bath very early. The sun was not even up yet. I had spent the interim time between security check-in and boarding trying to doze in a gate chair, and, failing that, sitting on the ground with my back to a pillar, and dozing there. I had nothing worth taking, and besides, I figure that airports are pretty safe places all things said and done—no one has a gun, or even complicated shoes, and no one wants your stuff because they're too focused on having brought too much of their own. At one point I bought a trashy magazine, and read it with relish. I don't mind being shallow if there's a point to it. And here the point is distraction. I kept turning my cast over and over again, making sure that the picture was still there. And it was.
It's confusing, not knowing what to feel. If I had had more energy, maybe I would have spent more time obsessing about it. But I don't have time. And maybe that's the way it should be. When my plane landed, I made my way to the bus stop, and rode the city bus to the apartment my father had bought back when my mother had started having heart problems. The apartment is close to the hospital, which is supposed to be the best on the East Coast. I'm not sure if I believe it. I never did back then.
The morning is a clear one, and as I walked down the street, the sun climbs loped higher into the sky. It was taking its time, and so was I. My fight with Mary notwithstanding, I am not the same person I was when I saw them the last time. I was in no hurry to return to them. But what else can I do? Where else can I go? I have to live in the present now.
The apartment is a huge one, which comes as no surprise. The hallways are wide, and bright, and beautifully decorated. Dark wood tables contrast the cream in the walls, and the entire effect is one of old money, of care, of tradition, of taste. Seeing it now, I understand it better than I did when I was younger. I understand much more than I did back then. Which I guess is the consolation prize for being older.
The entire place seems so much smaller than I remember it. This front hallway used to be like the Champs-Elysees in my imagination, the dining room like the one in Beauty and the Beast. I've made a picture in my mind of this apartment, this city, which calls to play all the bad imagery from all the movies I seen and the books I'd read. Reality is less fantastic, certainly, than imagination, but the details are more interesting.
I closed the door behind me quietly, and set my bags down as best I could. I could hear people talking in the parlor, and I made my way there silently. As I got closer, I recognized my father's voice, talking softly. Through the doorway, I could see him sitting very close to Hope Clay, his body turned toward hers, his eyes on her face.
So. I thought. I'm away for a month and this is what I come back to? A lot can happen in a month, I supposed. Especially if it's forced to happen.
At any other moment, with any other people, I might have stepped aside and let them continue doing what they were doing. But not now. I knocked on the door frame, and they jumped up out of their seats.
"Hey Dad," I said, nonchalantly.
"Anne! What—what are you doing here?" He fumbled with his clothes, straightening them. Hope fixed me with a wide smile, one that I returned. "And what happened to you? You look terrible."
"Thanks, Dad. Where's Elizabeth?"
"Oh, she's out. She'll be back soon." He offered me a seat, and I took it, relishing, for a brief moment, the power I had to dictate where this conversation was going. I told the entire story of Louisa's accident, and Hope clucked approvingly, while my father sat across from me, apparently bewildered at my very existence.
A little later, the front door opened again, and Elizabeth's voice could be heard. She was giggling. She never giggles. Then a man's voice, one I didn't recognize. Or…wait.
They turned into the living room, and there he was. The blonde man from the beach. Elliot Williams. He stopped in his tracks as he saw me, his eyes wide with surprise, and then, slowly, a small smile began to curl itself around his mouth.
My father was saying "Ah, Elliot, how are you?" but stopped as well when he saw Elliot staring at me. "Ah, yes, this is my daughter Anne. Elizabeth's sister."
"We've met, actually," Elliot said, his voice a perfect study of quiet respect. "In Lyme."
My father looked taken aback. Hope looked confused. Elizabeth looked thunderous. I smiled. "Good to see you," I held out my left hand for him to shake, and he did a double-take at my arms, but he politely refrained from comment. "And it's good to finally know your name, Miss Elliot."
The Main Gate Diner caters to regulars. The tourists who flood the streets in the summer, following the historical routes to all the important buildings, tend to give this little place a wide berth. It looks like a greasy spoon, and could use a better color of paint on the outside, and hasn't been a Bath fixture since 1790. But the food is delicious, and the service, if I may say so, is impeccable. So really, they're missing out.
More important, it keeps me busy, and happily so. It constantly surprises me how much of a difference having a purpose makes in my life. Having a job is refreshing. I'd forgotten how much happier I am when I have something to do every day. The job itself may not be rocket science, but it's friendly, and I'm good at it, and I actually want to go to work every morning, so I'm much less concerned about the glamour of it all. Scrubbing counters is an honest living, and I'd rather be doing this than sitting around watching Dad and Hope dance around each other, or getting dirty looks from Elizabeth. Getting my teeth pulled is more fun than that.
Elliot and I have been hanging out recently. He'll show up at the Main Gate sometimes, or happen upon me as I walk home, and we'll talk. And even though nothing is going on between us, Elizabeth still treats me like I've destroyed her one chance at happiness.
At eleven o'clock on the nose, the front door opens and Rochelle breezes in.
"Oh, Jesus," Jay mutters to me, "Her Majesty is here."
She disapproves of my job the way my father does, but unlike my father she makes an effort to stop by and tell me how much she disapproves. Usually she'll stop in the middle of the floor, take a look around at the people in the place, and then stride toward me, her lips pursed, her eyes snapping. She won't touch the counter. Won't sit in a seat. Sometimes her scruples are exasperating.
But today, she doesn't take the time to telegraph her disdain. Instead, she locates me and comes striding up to me.
"Anne, I have news for you!" Her eyes are alight with triumphant happiness, and in spite of myself, I'm intrigued.
"Hello Duchess," Jay calls from the other side of the counter. "Your usual today? Carrots with a side of steam?" Rochelle ignores him, and pulls me to the side. I set down my coffee pot, just in case she gets a little over excited.
"What is so important, Rochelle?"
"I was at a dinner the other night at the Cartwright's brownstone, and who do you think was there?" She pauses, actually waiting for me to guess.
"Uhh…Steve Tyler?"
"Anne! Be serious!"
"I have no idea. Why don't you tell me?"
"Elliot Williams, of course!"
"Oh, well, of course—"
"Let me talk. Elliot and I happened to strike up a conversation, and can you guess what we talked about nearly all the time?"
"I really can't."
"We talked about you, Anne. He was so polite, and so complimentary, and Anne, I have to say that I honestly think he likes you. A lot. And I was thinking that it might be the perfect opportunity to break out of your shell a little. But," she says, holding up a hand as I open my mouth to speak, " you don't have to decide just yet. Just think about it, Anne. He's a good boy from a good family, and he has a secure future. Just think about it." She kisses me on the cheek, and glares at Jay, then leaves.
I pick up my coffee pot and make my rounds again, but I'm distracted.
Date Elliot Williams? Well, it's an idea, I suppose. And all in all, not a completely crazy one. We get along very well. But still—
I get home in a cloud of confusion. I go to my room in a cloud of confusion. I sit on my bed, and take off my shoes, and lie down, staring at the ceiling, in a cloud of confusion. Time ticks by audibly from the clock on my bedside table. I should take a shower, but I'm already showering in confusion. I should get some dinner, but I'm full of confusion.
Suddenly, my laptop looks promising. I can watch YouTube while confused. I open it up, and almost on autopilot, I check my e-mail. There's one from Charles, which I open immediately. I haven't had any news from them in weeks.
Charles writes:
Anne-
Best news! Lousia had her follow-up today, and the doctor says she'll make a full recovery! It was a little touch-and-go there for a bit, but any adverse effect from the concussion will set itself right soon.
More interesting news, on the other hand, is afoot. Louisa is moving out of our house, and will soon be living with her boyfriend. Not sure how they'll work out the home game/away game thing. More info to come.
Hope everything is good where you are. Write back when you can. Charlie sends his love.
Love,
Charles
It's a short message, and I read it three times before I fully understand it, and then my knees buckle. I grasp my desk for a moment, regain my balance. It shouldn't surprise me as much as it does. It shouldn't affect me as much as it does. I knew it was coming, didn't I? Didn't I?
Yes, I knew it. So pull yourself together. You've spent enough time wallowing. Pull yourself together.
I take one more minute to steady myself, then go and take a shower. I need to do something.
A/N: I know it's short, and I'm sorry about that. I needed to jumpstart this part, and this little thing was necessary to get out of the way before we go deep into Part Two (which is my favorite part, I have to say). I'm going on a trip tomorrow (!), but I should be able to update. And it should be noted that this is the quickest I have ever updated any of my stories, as people who have read my stuff as it was published will attest. P.S. is there anyone reading this story who read Never Better when it was coming out? That would be really cool.
It should be noted, also, that I am an attention whore, and I do actually write faster when I get reviews. Blame it on being the only girl in a family of boys, I guess. So if you'd like to write a review, please do so. Today I learned that people in Cameroon read my story, and Poland, and Bangladesh, and lots of cool places. The internet is the best, isn't it?