Here's a short (short) story I wrote about a year ago, in Church. The style is strange, it's almost a cross between a poem and a story. I was inspired by this message in the church bulletin that day: “A single mother and 3 teenage daughters in the area are in need of beds, a sofa, and kitchen table with chairs.”
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Unedited Version (really strange style)
It’s been so long, it seems, since there was warmth in the air or in my soul. Though Mama doesn’t give up, or a least she says. But after Nina has gone into her bed, sometimes, I see Mama, at the old kitchen table, with her head down, her hair fallen in front of her face, saying, whispering, “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do.” And I’m responding in my head, “I don’t know what to do either, Mama, I don’t know either.’ But then, on a very, very cold day, I walked to the preacher’s house and, after some debate in my mind, finally decided, walked up to the mailbox, and put in what I wrote, so, so carefully on my last piece of notebook paper: 1009 Scott Apartments, Room 1227. Single mother and two daughters in need of bed, chair, coat. Call 301-472-9432 if you wish to donate. God bless you.
And that night, after Nina went to bed, I again saw Mama at the old kitchen table, saying, whispering, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.” And I’m replying in my head, “I know what to do Mama, and I did it.”
After coming back from school, on a cold, cold day; climbing the stairs up four flights of stairs; and opening the door; I hear the phone ringing. The phone was almost always a warning, bill collectors, and I’d never pick up, but this time I run over and do, “Hello?” I say, though it sounds like a question. “Hello. Is this 301-472-9432?” the voice replies.
“Yes it is.” I say, and now I think I know who this is.
“I saw your note in the program at church last week and I’ve got some things you wanted.”
“You mean…a coat?” Don’t hope for too much, I think, but it’s too late.
“Yes, and a bed, and a chair. They’re a bit old, I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, of course, not, thank you!” and now I’m crying. A bed for Mama, a coat for Nina, and a chair for me.
That night, after Nina has gone to bed, with her new coat next to my bed, and Mama’s new bed, I see Mama at the old kitchen table saying, crying, “Thank you God, oh, thank you!” And I say, in my new chair, “I love you Mama. I love you.” And she replies, “Oh, I love you too.”
It’s been so long, it seems, since there was warmth in the air, or in my soul. But now warmth has come for me and Mama, and Nina and I know, I know, I’ll never give up again.
Edited Version (more normal style)
It’s been so long, it seems, since there was warmth in the air or in my soul. Mama says she hasn't given up, but I can tell she's lying. After Nina has gone into her bed, sometimes, I see Mama, at the old kitchen table. She has her head down, her hair fallen in front of her face, saying, whispering, “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do.” And I’m responding in my head, “I don’t know what to do either, Mama, I don’t know either.’ But then, on a very, very cold day, I walked to the preacher’s house. After some debate in my mind, I finally decide and walk up to the mailbox. I put in what I wrote, so, so carefully on my last piece of notebook paper: 1009 Scott Apartments, Room 1227. Single mother and two daughters in need of bed, chair, coat. Call 301-472-9432 if you wish to donate. God bless you.
And that night, after Nina went to bed, I saw Mama again at the old kitchen table, saying, whispering, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.” And I’m replying in my head, “I knew what to do Mama, and I did it.”
After coming back from school, on a cold, cold day I climb the stairs up four flights of stairs and open the door. I hear the phone ringing. It's almost always a warning, bill collectors, and I’d never pick up, but this time I run over and do. “Hello?” I say, though it sounds like a question. “Hello. Is this 301-472-9432?” the voice replies.
“Yes it is.” I say, and now I think I know who this is.
“I saw your note in the program at church last week and I’ve got some things you wanted.”
“You mean…a coat?” Don’t hope for too much, I think, but I do anyway.
“Yes, and a bed, and a chair. They’re a bit old, I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, of course, not, thank you!” and now I’m crying. A bed for Mama, a coat for Nina, and a chair for me.
That night, after Nina has gone to bed, with her new coat next to Mama’s new bed I walk to the kitchen. I see Mama at the old table saying, crying, “Thank you God, oh, thank you!” And I say, in my new chair, “I love you Mama. I love you.” And she replies, “Oh, I love you too.”
It’s been so long, it seems, since there was warmth in the air, or in my soul. But now warmth has come for me and Mama, and Nina and I know, I know, I’ll never give up again.
