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Writing-Arts/Storytelling
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So, want
to know or forecast what's coming after part one? Well we want to hear
from YOU! We'd love to hear what you have to say. Once
you're done reading Antoinette's story, feel free to email us here at
HarlemLive@aol.com to provide
suggestions, requests, and insights into the future of HL creation.
"Once Upon
a Harlem" Part 1/10
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"How many
times can you do this?" my little brother asked, hopping on one foot. "Hey, I'm
10 and I'm a boy. I don't have to be." We walk up to our apartment building
on 125th street in the late evening. From the |
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He settled down and went to his room. I sat down on our flower couch, right in front of the television. I turned on the news and five minutes later switch to MTV. I would have gone straight to my homework, but it was Friday. I didn't have much homework for the weekend; just a couple of math pages I had to do. What seemed like minutes passed. Surfing channels, I landed on Fox and saw the rolling credits of "The Simpsons," a cartoon comedy that comes on weekdays at 7pm. "'The Simpsons' is going off," I said to myself. I glanced at the clock on the wall on the right side of the room. 7:30. "It can't be that late. Mom should be home by now." I thought about walking over to her store, only six blocks away. She owned Good Reads, a small bookstore not too far away from the new Starbucks. Other than the little book venders set up on the streets, Good Reads was the only bookstore in Harlem. In two months it will be its 8th year anniversary. I remember when she started the bookstore. She was so proud of herself. She kept on saying she started it because "it was a complete shame that people of Harlem had to go out of the neighborhood to Barnes & Nobles just to buy a book." In a way, the bookstore was much more to her. It was a way to remember Father. He was a public school English teacher. He always dreamed about opening a bookstore in Harlem. That was a goal he always talked about; he even had a blueprint with the store name at the very top, "Good Reads." He said that was the only thing he wanted to do before he died. We never imagined that he would never get a chance to fulfill that dream. Any hope for that ended in one car accident nine years ago. My brother, Malcolm, was too young to remember and I was only seven years old. I blamed myself for all of it. My mom was the worst though; she didn't come out of her room for at least three days. She hardly made it to the funeral, where she broke down as soon as the casket was carried out. |
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Ladies
and gentlemen... allow me to introduce you to the brand new "HarlemLive
Storytelling Series"!!! I am so anxious about this section! Creative.
Funky. Fresh. Fictional. A new addition (of the many to come)
to HarlemLive, HL Storytelling is a 10-part series of fictional stories
written by a variety of HarlemLive staff members. Every story you read
has a different author, twist, twang, style, flavor, personality, and
touch. In the midst of all of the upkeep norms for our webzine, this
is one of the sections where our staff members get to be completely
creative and unrealistic...while you -- the reader -- can come to simply
relax and revel in the depths of imagination and originality. This is,
after all, "storytelling," and as both you and I know, everyone
loves a good story...