Reunited

When I was a junior in high school, I took a creative writing class-- it was definitely one of my favorite parts of high school. As part of our final grade, we had to make a portfolio of all of the work we'd done in the class during the semester.

Earlier today, I was reunited with my Creative Writing I portfolio. I've had fun flipping through it this morning, finding some pretty abysmal stuff mixed in with a gem or two.

Since I'm so excited about having my portfolio back, I thought I'd share a piece that I wrote during Creative Writing in high school.

I don't remember the full prompt, but the prompt title that I have on the paper is "Yoknapatawpha," which come from Faulkner, if I recall correctly. I do remember that we were supposed to jump back and forth between time lines.

Enjoy.

Mrs. Annie Potter pursed her lips, her nostrils flaring. Her family owned the damn grocery store, and she still could get no service. She huffed, her wrinkled face fixed in a most unflattering grimace, and glanced at the clock.

"Potter's Family Grocery," her father-in-law, Pops, had said. "The pride of Green City. Or at least it will be."

Momma Mary Potter wrinkled her nose in distaste. Who's gonna want to sell their crops here?"

"Plenty of people," Potter laughed. "It's in the best part of town."

Annie listened as her father-in-law went on about the grocery store and how it would change all of their lives. She didn't think their lives needed much changing-- they were already the richest family in the county; they owned half of the town. But Pops, as the late Granny Potter, now residing in the Potter Family Cemetery, had always said, was a dreamer, fanciful and always in motion.

As Mrs. Potter handed the check-out clerk the money for the bag of potatoes she was purchasing, a teenager bumped into her. "Watch where you're going, dear," Mrs. Potter snapped.

"Sorry," the young girl called back at Mrs. Potter.

"You're late, Taylor," the store manager said to the girl.

"I know, I'm sorry," she replied, tying on a apron that had "Potter's Grocery, since 1937" printed on it. "It won't happen again."

The manager waved Taylor over to one of the check-out counters; she stood behind the cash register and began ringing up an impatient patron's order.

"All done!" Taylor said cheerfully when she had finished ringing up the last item, (a box of Cheerios). "Do you want anything else, Mr. Teddy?"

A stuffed bear sitting in a plastic stroller gazed quizzically back at her.

"Okay, Mr. Teddy," Taylor said. "Have a nice day."

"Can I help the next person in line, please?" Taylor said, leaning on the cash register.

"Afternoon, Taylor," Reverend James Valley said, handing Taylor a jar of peanut butter. "How are you doing today?"

"Eh," Taylor shrugged. "Your total's two dollars and nineteen cents, Reverend V."

Reverend Valley handed Taylor a five. "Have you seen Mrs. Potter today?"

Taylor nodded, rolling her eyes. "She's in a mood," the teen said. "She's always in a mood."

Reverend Valley smiled. "She's had a hard time since her husband passed away."

The reverend cleared his throat and adjusted his collar. He hated doing funerals. But it was part of his job. He glanced across the room at the sobbing Mrs. Potter.

"Reverend," Mrs. Potter said as she made her way out of the store, bag of potatoes clutched in her fist. She paused only long enough to spare Taylor a withering glare before leaving.

"Here's your change, Reverend V.," Taylor said, frowning at Mrs. Potter's back. "Have a nice day."