Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000) was an American poet, author, and teacher. In this short story, a family contemplates losing their house.
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Home
by Gwendolyn Brooks
[1] What had been wanted was this always, this always to last, the talking softly on this porch, with the snake plant in the jardinière(1) in the southwest corner, and the obstinate(2) slip from Aunt Eppie's magnificent Michigan fern at the left side of the friendly door. Mama, Maud Martha, and Helen rocked slowly in their rocking chairs, and looked at the late afternoon light on the lawn and at the emphatic(3) iron of the fence and at the poplar tree(4). These things might soon be theirs no longer. Those shafts and pools of light, the tree, the graceful iron, might soon be viewed passively by different eyes.
Papa was to have gone that noon, during his lunch hour, to the office of the Home Owners' Loan. If he had not succeeded in getting another extension, they would be leaving this house in which they had lived for more than fourteen years. There was little hope. The Home Owners' Loan was hard. They sat, making their plans.
"We'll be moving into a nice flat somewhere," said Mama. "Somewhere on South Park, or Michigan, or in Washington Park Court." Those flats, as the girls and Mama knew well, were burdens on wages twice the size of Papa's. This was not mentioned now.
"They're much prettier than this old house," said Helen. "I have friends I'd just as soon not bring here. And I have other friends that wouldn't come down this far for anything, unless they were in a taxi."
[5] Yesterday, Maud Martha would have attacked her. Tomorrow she might.
Today she said nothing. She merely gazed at a little hopping robin in the tree, her tree, and tried to keep the fronts of her eyes dry.
"Well, I do know," said Mama, turning her hands over and over, "that I've been getting tireder and tireder of doing that firing. From October to April, there's firing to be done."
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"But lately we've been helping, Harry and I," said Maud Martha. "And sometimes in March and April and in October, and even in November, we could build a little fire in the fireplace. Sometimes the weather was just right for that."
She knew, from the way they looked at her, that this had been a mistake. They did not want to cry.
But she felt that the little line of white, sometimes ridged with smoked purple, and all that cream-shot saffron(5) would never drift across any western sky except that in back of this house. The rain would drum with as sweet a dullness nowhere but here. The birds on South Park were mechanical birds, no better than the poor caught canaries in those "rich" women's sun parlors.
[10] "It's just going to kill Papa!" burst out Maud Martha. "He loves this house!
He lives for this house!"
He lives for us," said Helen. "It's us he loves. He wouldn't want the house, except for us."
"And he'll have us," added Mama, "wherever."
"You know," Helen sighed, "if you want to know the truth, this is a relief. If this hadn't come up, we would have gone on, just dragged on, hanging out here forever."
"It might," allowed Mama, "be an act of God. God may just have reached down and picked up the reins."[15] "Yes," Maud Martha cracked in, "that's what you always say - that God knows best."
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Her mother looked at her quickly, decided the statement was not suspect, looked away.
Helen saw Papa coming. "There's Papa," said Helen.
They could not tell a thing from the way Papa was walking. It was that same dear little staccato(6) walk, one shoulder down, then the other, then repeat, and repeat. They watched his progress. He passed the Kennedys', he passed the vacant(7) lot, he passed Mrs. Blakemore's. They wanted to hurl themselves over the fence, into the street, and shake the truth out of his collar. He opened his gate - the gate - and still his stride and face told them nothing.
"Hello," he said.
[20] Mama got up and followed him through the front door. The girls knew better than to go in too.
Presently Mama's head emerged. Her eyes were lamps turned on.
"It's all right," she exclaimed. "He got it. It's all over. Everything is all right."
The door slammed shut. Mama's footsteps hurried away.
"I think," said Helen, rocking rapidly, "I think I'll give a party. I haven't given a party since I was 11. I'd like some of my friends to just casually see that we're homeowners."
Footnotes:
1. French for "planter"
2. Obstinate (adjective stubbornly refusing to change
3. Emphatic (adjective) attracting special attention
4. A type of quick-growing tree
5. An orange to orange-yellow
6. Short, quick, and separate
7. Vacant (adjective) not filled, used, or lived in
Question:
Imagine how the story would be different if it were told from the point of view of the character, Papa. Using the information from the passage, rewrite the ending of the story starting from when Papa walks home (Paragraph 17). Make sure that you provide dialogue from the characters (Papa, Mama, Maud Martha, or Helen), and use sensory details and language to capture the action of the story.
Stay true to the author's voice and style. You should have a minimum of 300 words. Be mindful of conventions, so that they do not interfere with meaning.
Be sure to:
• Write a narrative response that develops a real or imagined experience.
• Establish a context for the experience and a point of view.
• Introduce a narrator and/or characters.
• Organize events in a natural and logical order.
• Use a variety of transitions to sequence the events, to indicate shifts from one time frame or setting to another, and to show the relationships between the events.
• Use dialogue, description, pacing, and/or reflection to:
• develop events.
• develop characters.
• develop experiences.
• Use precise words and phrases, relevant descriptive details, and sensory language to communicate the action and to describe the events.
• Include a conclusion that reflects on the experience in your narrative.
Check your volo derain from sag, sagna, speling.
capitalization, and punctuation.
As Papa walked home that evening, the weight of the impending loss of their home pressed heavily on his shoulders. The thought of uprooting his family from the place they had called home for so many years filled him with a deep sense of sorrow.
He quickened his pace, eager to share the news with his family, yet dreading the moment when he would have to deliver the final blow. The familiar sight of the iron fence, the poplar tree, and the late afternoon light on the lawn seemed to mock him, reminding him of all that they stood to lose.
As he approached the house, he could see Mama waiting for him at the door, her eyes searching his face for any sign of hope. "It's all right," he said simply, the words catching in his throat. "I got it. It's all over. Everything is all right."
Mama's face lit up with relief, and she hurried inside to share the news with the girls. Papa stood alone on the porch, feeling a mix of emotions wash over him. The weight that had been pressing down on him lifted, replaced by a sense of gratitude and joy.
Inside, the girls were ecstatic, already making plans for the future. Helen's voice rang out, filled with excitement. "I think I'll give a party. I haven't given a party since I was 11. I'd like some of my friends to just casually see that we're homeowners."
Papa smiled to himself, overwhelmed by the love and resilience of his family. As he stepped inside, he knew that no matter where they lived, as long as they were together, they would always be home.
As Papa walked home that evening, the looming shadow of impending loss cast a dark cloud over his heart. The weight of uprooting his family from the only home they had ever known sat heavily on his shoulders, each step toward the house feeling like a step into the unknown.
When he reached the porch, Mama's hopeful gaze pierced through him, searching for any sign of good news. "It's all right," he managed to say, his voice tinged with resignation. "I got it. It's all over. Everything is all right."
Mama's face lit up with a forced smile, the relief palpable in the air as she rushed inside to share the news with the girls. Papa stood alone on the porch, the reality of their situation settling in around him like a heavy fog.
Inside, the girls' joyous chatter grated on his ears, their excitement a stark contrast to the heaviness that weighed on his soul. Helen's voice pierced through the air, "I think I'll give a party. I haven't given a party since I was 11. I'd like some of my friends to just casually see that we're homeowners."
Papa forced a smile, the weight of their uncertain future pressing down on him like a ton of bricks. As he stepped inside, the faint echo of Mama's footsteps hurriedly away echoed in his ears, a reminder of the fragility of their happiness in the face of an uncertain tomorrow.