Remembering Maya Angelou - A Truly Phenomenal Woman

Today, Maya Angelou passed from this world into the next at the age of 86 after a long illness. From an NPR article about her passing we find this about her work:

Joanne Braxton, a professor at the College of William and Mary, says Angelou's willingness to reveal the sexual abuse she suffered as a child in I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings was unprecedented at the time. The critical acclaim and popularity of the book opened doors for both African-American and female writers.
"Maya Angelou brought about a paradigm shift in American literature and culture," Braxton says, "so that the works, the gifts, the talents of women writers, including women writers of color, could be brought to the foreground and appreciated. She created an audience by her stunning example."

She was truly an unforgettable force, and I feel so lucky to have had the chance to hear her read some of her work a loud.

This is one of my favorites:

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Short Story: Barbed Wire

I recently wrote this for my advanced fiction writing class. I hope you enjoy it:

She fell into the mattress, swallowed into memories past. The Man was there, and the Woman. Their voices rang off the walls, charging up to the Girl's ears in a roaring song of battle. The Girl wrapped her arms round her body. Sleep, she thought to herself.

All at once, she awoke in the grown-up bed in the house that did not smell like dog hair and sweat. She breathed deeply; the air was clean. Above her head, the window was ajar. The curtains were open. Don't keep the curtains open - this is a house, not a shop window.

Not every night was like the previous. Some nights the memories stayed downstairs: they did not creep past her door and bare their teeth. But since the Man died, they had begun to fester under her pillows.

The Girl put on an ill-fitting skirt and a drab blouse. It did not matter what she wore - never did. She scraped back her hair - the one thing she liked about herself. She had tried very hard, but she could not be sad that he was gone. She poured her cereal into a bowl and silently scorned herself for the size of the portion. That's why you're so fat - you eat so much. Nope, that didn't affect her, not as much anymore. She was going to eat it, wasn't she? Most people today probably wouldn't be eating any breakfast; their stomachs would be heavy with grief. Why was she not like them?

The walk to the Woman's house was short and brisk. Leaves, the same copper shade as her hair, pooled at her feet and stuck to her plain shoes. She added her bouquet to the arrangement on the driveway. So many flowers; so much guilt. She was surprised there were so many tributes here because she was expecting a small funeral. The Man had not been a sociable creature. The Girl bent to read the cards on the flowers. The first one was from her younger sister: Thank you for being the best father in the world. The Girl felt a lump in her throat. She closed her eyes. She decided not to read any more cards.

The Girl listened as the strangers talked about a good man. A peacemaker. The Girl fought vomit. He was taken too soon, they said. She wondered if she had any memories to share of the Man. There was her hamster lying bloodied in his ball after it had been kicked across the garden. And there was her china tea set, so delicate and pretty, lying in pieces in its box where it had 'fallen' from the shelf. No. The Girl did not have any memories of her stepfather that were suitable for a wake.

She hurried along the road, feeling in her pocket. The plastic rope felt cool in her hands. The path at the back of the library led down to the brook wood, full of solid old trees. It was dark there. Slumped against a tree, each tear was a miserable little orgasm, a triumph of pain.

Everything I was, everything I became was never enough.  And the Man had been enough. His wake was proof. The Girl's funeral would not be like that. She had been a horrible little girl; everyone said so. She had punched and bitten, lied and stolen. She had not known how to be any other way.

She pulled the cord from her pocket and unrolled it, winding the end round her fingers. She glanced above her head at a solid-looking branch. She could tie the right knots; she had read about it on the internet.

"I don't think you want to do that."

"Who - who said that?" Her voice wavered. She glanced round anxiously. Settled against the trunk of a nearby tree was a stranger. "Who are you?" she whispered. "I’ve never seen you around here before.”

“If you must know I live nearer to the city." He uncrossed his arms. "But I’m here for my business."

"What’s your business?"

"You," he said, "and you do not want to do that." He nodded at the plastic rope.

"How do you know?"

"I already told you; it's my business. It has brought you here, hasn't it?"

"I can't forgive him. I'm the only one who can't."

"But nobody is asking you to forgive anyone. The question here is, do you want to keep on living?"

"No."

"You do. You just don't know what else to do with yourself."

"There's nothing I can do with myself," she said scornfully. "Now leave me alone so ..."

"No. I have something for you. It's all part of my business."

"What might that be?"

"They're over there." He nodded towards the fence bordering the library. "Two saplings, down at the bottom. See?"

She leaned forward, squinting. Right near the ground were two green streaks of life.
"I see them."

"In exactly five days, I want you to come back here to see how they have grown.”

"What?" The Girl frowned at the saplings, then back at the stranger. "Firstly, that's a barbed wire fence. Those trees aren't going to grow far next to a barbed wire fence. And secondly, even if they did grow...they won't do much in a week."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Five days. You come back here and listen to what I have to say. If you don't like it, you can carry out your original plans."

The Girl was not sure what she was being offered, not even sure she was awake. She thumbed the rope. Could she bear another week?

"Yes, you can," said the stranger. "Five days is nothing. And yet, it could be everything."

"Fine," she said eventually, mostly because she needed to escape.

"One more thing," he said. "Come here. Closer."

The Girl stepped toward him with caution. She felt the tickle of his hot breath against her neck and stiffened. There was a sharp, wet pain and she jerked away. "You bit me!" She retreated back to the shadow of her tree, touching the two curved, red welts upon her pale skin.

"I've made you the same as everybody else. Just for the week."

The same as everyone else? She realized that she didn't know quite what it was.

She left the wood feeling different. If she believed in Hallmark-type feelings, she'd have said she had a spring in her step.

The stranger didn't feel real. Yet the bite was still present on her neck, the pain vague and sweet. It seemed to have twisted her world on its axis. Why would someone want to help?

The Woman called and invited her for dinner on Thursday. The Girl wondered how anything was meant to be normal in the old house. The Woman was pleasant to her.

"How are you coping after the funeral?" the Girl asked.

"I can't really believe he's gone.  I know he wasn't a saint, but I can't help but miss him. And you know how your brother feels..."

The Girl's stomach lurched as she listened to the Woman's sadness, and for a second, wondered if she was finally experiencing grief. No. She still did not feel anything for the Man. But she felt for those who grieved him. She understood their loss and wanted to be of comfort. She felt.

***

She reached the tree she had slumped against five days ago, rope in hand. It was uncomfortable to think about it, but sure enough, the rope was there now. She reached down to pick it up.

"You see, I told you I'd let you have it back," said the stranger.

"Thank you," she said.

"So how have the past few days been?”

“Better than I had expected."

"Have you seen the saplings?" The stranger nodded towards the fence behind her.

She turned and walked over to the fence, bracken crackling beneath her heels. The first sapling had tried to grow around the barbed wire, and was distorted, its trunk warped. Its branches seemed to tuck back into itself rather than reaching for the sun. The second tree had grown up normally, its trunk thick, leaves lustrous. When she examined it she realized that the barbed wire was running right through it. And yet...it looked so healthy.

"Well then," he said, "Which one are you?"

"I suppose I'm the crappy tree. I tried, but I went...wrong."

"That's not how you've been this week, is it?"

"No, I guess not," she replied. "But I don't understand; the healthy tree still has the barbed wire straight through. It must hurt. How can it be...normal?"

"Maybe it is normal."

The Girl nodded. She understood now. She could be damaged inside and it wouldn't matter. She could still be happy.

 "Are you going to turn me back?" she asked him, nervously.

"To what?” He chuckled, “I didn't do anything."

"But you bit me!"

"Because it made you feel something."

"So you mean...I can stay as I am?"

"As you always were," he replied.

A warm smile spread across her face; it had never felt so good to smile. The Girl lingered a moment before turning on her heel. She made her way back up the brook wood path and out into the sunshine.