Nevermore - a short story by Florence Liberfarb...

The voice of the teacher in our grammar school class began to fade as I looked outside my window. New, little blossoms were covering a nearby tree. How I love spring! I got rid of my snow boots, my heavy coat and my woolen hat and mittens. Plus I got new dresses and new shoes.

Another great thing was being able to play more after school and after supper, too. Also, people smiled more, like my parents. We waited so long for spring and here it was. I wanted to raise my hand for the teacher and the whole class to see those blossoms.

But, suddenly the teacher’s voice changed. She could do that when she read us those poems, which she did the last session on Friday afternoons.

Miss Casey was her name. All the teachers at school were called “Miss”. I don’t know why. You could tell Miss Casey liked Fridays. We did, too, in a different way. Looking now and then at the slowly ticking clock on the wall. Some of the boys started off restless, scraping their feet under their desks. But soon everyone was quiet, as she began in her poetry voice.

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

Our class had a few quiet girls in starched dresses, also some raggedy ones, but most of them were like me. Our mothers tried hard to keep us neat, but we always came home with a shoelace torn, a button gone, a ribbon lost or a garter broken, making a stocking sag. The boys were mostly wrinkled and scruffy. But, of course, some of them were cute, too.

I figured out, it was the way Miss Casey read those poems that kept us listening. Like she was on a stage acting them out. And even though we didn’t understand some of it and had never heard it before, it felt like we had.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea;

But we loved with a love that was more than love --

I and my Annabel Lee…

We children knew about love. Didn’t we see it every day, all around us – carved on desks, written on the walls of the girl’s washroom, on the walkways around the school? Written with chalk, with crayon, with a stick in the dirt. “T.D. loves R.P.”, “Freddie loves Helen”, “Philomena loves Chester”.

It gave you a shivery feeling and embarrassing, too, to see it spelled out like that for the whole world to see. Especially, if it was true.

Miss Casey was holding the poetry book with both hands on her desk, her face getting red, as usual. Why was she so excited about poetry? It was just rhymes with a story. But from the stillness in the room you could tell the other children were feeling things, too.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me –

Yes! – that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

Sometimes tears would come to Miss Casey’s eyes and her voice would quiver. She would blow her nose in her small handkerchief, saying, “Excuse me, class. I must be coming down with a cold.” But we knew it wasn’t that. Was it because she didn’t have any children of her own? It was just on Fridays that we saw her lonely side. Maybe she cried at the movies, too, like I did sometimes.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

(Excerpted from Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe, first published in 1840)

One morning last week when I woke up and took the cloth cover off the bird’s cage, I saw that it was dead. We loved our little bird very much. I cried and cried until my mother said, “You’ll be late for school!” Then I shut up.

Is love sad? I turned to look out the window again.

“Philomena,” the teacher called. “Your attention, please.”

Why me? I wasn’t the only one starting to get fidgety. But I folded my hands on my desk and listened as she started another poem.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered,

weak and weary…

While I nodded , nearly napping, suddenly there

came a tapping

As of someone gently rapping – rapping at my

chamber door…

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days

of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant

stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my

chamber door –

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the

Nightly shore –

Tell me what thy lordly name is…

Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then

he fluttered –

Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends

have flown before –

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have

flown before.”

Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”

(Excerpted from The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe, first published in 1845)

Suddenly the bell rang loudly, setting us all in motion. We were free. Out we would burst into the winds of April, back to the world we knew.

I understand poetry a little more now, and also Miss Casey. Another lesson I learned was from life itself – the meaning of the word, “nevermore”.

Florence Liberfarb writes poetry, short stories and plays. You may freely republish this story for non-commercial use provided you follow the Publisher Guidelines and provide a hyperlink (electronic media) to the Wordly Web Site. You may not alter the copyright notice or edit the content of this story. Please notify the author of your intent to republish. Commercial use of this story requires written permission and payment of a royalty.

Nevermore by Florence Liberfarb

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Poems, Stories, and Plays by

Florence Liberfarb