Play & Book Excerpts
Seeing Eye Girl
(She Writes Press)
© Beverly J. Armento
Find a short Q&A with Beverly concerning childhood abuse and the teachers who helped her thrive despite her anguish.
EXCERPT
CHAPTER 9: THE SPELLING BEE
April 1951 (Note: it’s a Friday, the day of the Dade County Elementary School Spelling Bee, and our narrator, Beverly Armento, is ten years old, and in the fourth grade. She’s the school spelling champion. But Momma wants Beverly to stay home from school to do the wash. Beverly tries to negotiate with Momma, to no avail. Frightened of yet another beating, Beverly obeys and gets the clothes ready for the Maytag Wringer-Washer machine.)
I’m on a stool, pinning a sheet to the clothesline, when two women come to the front screen door. I recognize them; they are the teachers who supervise the school spelling bee. My heart pounds so fast, I think I’m going to suffocate. I’m in trouble. I run into the house just as Momma invites them into the living room. They look around for a place to sit.
The younger teacher is short and thin, with curly, long blonde hair, heart-shaped red lips, and a small button nose. She’s crisp in a white blouse with puckered, capped sleeves, a full blue skirt, and sandals. She sits on the Florida Oranges crate and her lacy white crinoline pops up into her lap. The sunbeam coming through the front window lights up her face.
The older teacher is tall, with shoulder-length brown hair that rests on the white collar of her tan, blue, and rust-colored striped dress, cinched with a wide white belt at her petite waist. The front of the dress is all buttoned up to her neck. She sits in one of the two upholstered chairs in the living room.
My wet bloomers and halter top cling to my body. I slink into the living room, look down at the floor, and avoid looking at the teachers or my mother. I rock back and forth on my bare feet and clasp my hands in front of me. I’d like to disappear.
It’s time to start talking to Jesus.
Momma sits in the other Goodwill chair. She lights up a Lucky Strike. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asks the teachers. She pats her rounded stomach, bulging under her skirt with our new baby; she’s five months pregnant. She smiles at the teachers and tells them how much I help her around the house, especially now that she has her sight back and is so busy with her art lessons.
“I’ve only had my eyesight for one year now, and I’m working on the Famous Artists School lessons,” Momma says. She points to her bedroom, where her art table and easel are set up and where she’s been drawing all morning while I’ve been doing the wash.
“We need Beverly to come to school today,” the older teacher says to Momma. “She’s the best speller in our school, and we need her to represent us in the Dade County spelling bee.”
“Oh, I didn’t know there was a spelling bee today,” Momma says.
I stop rocking and stand perfectly still. The young teacher looks straight at me. Our eyes meet and hold for the longest time. She knows what’s going on here. I feel safe in her presence, even protected, if only for a moment.
“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for hereby some have entertained angels unawares.” Hebrews 13:2 (King James Version), one of my favorite Bible verses repeats in my head.
“Beverly is the only student representing Little River Elementary School,” the blonde teacher says. “She beat out all the other students at our school, even the fifth and sixth graders. She’ll compete against the spelling bee winners from all the other elementary schools in the county. She can come back to school with us, and we’ll take her to the contest this afternoon. We’ll bring her back home after it’s all over. I know you must be so proud of Beverly.” She’s my new heroine.
Momma turns to me. She takes a long drag of her cigarette and blows out three smoke rings that hang in the air, awaiting the verdict.
“Go clean up and put on your Sunday dress,” she says.
My heart pounds with joy. I rush to the bathroom, wash up, and put on my plaid dress with the round white collar and my newly polished black-and-white saddle shoes. My clothes were waiting for me right where I laid them out last night.
Strong Beverly is a winner today.
The blonde teacher takes me to the area high school, where we check in with the other fifty spelling bee contestants, mostly fifth and sixth graders. I slip a big sign over my head. It has my name, school name, and contest number on it.
The blonde teacher and I walk on stage to find my seat. She places her hands on my shoulders, and looks me straight in my eyes. “You can do this, Beverly. You are a terrific speller. Stay calm, go slowly. Get a picture of the word in your mind before you start to spell it. You will do a great job.” Then she takes a seat in the front row so she can see the big, happy, confident smile on my face.
The contest goes fast. Kids misspell one word after another. Soon, there are just ten contestants on stage. I’m one of them.
“Chauffeur,” the judge says.
“Chauffeur,” I repeat.
“The chauffeur drives us to the spelling bee,” the judge says.
“Chauffeur,” I say. “C-h-a-u-f-f-e-u-r. Chauffeur.”
“Correct.”
The blonde teacher gives me a huge smile and a thumbs-up. I’m going to win this contest.
After several more rounds, there are only four of us left on stage.
“Archaeology.”
“Archaeology,” I repeat.
“The archaeology professor shows his class some human bones.”
“Archaeology,” I say. “A-r-c-h-e-o-l-o-g-y. Archaeology.”
All of a sudden, everything in the room moves in slow motion. The lady sitting next to the judge picks up her right hand and holds it over the bell. My eyes burn. Before I know what is happening, the blonde teacher is beside me. She puts her arms around my shoulders and escorts me off the stage.
“You were outstanding,” she says. “Everyone at Little River will be so proud of you, Beverly. You were fearless.”
“Fearless?”
“Yes. You were one of the youngest and smallest contestants. But you were not afraid. Confident. Brave. Promise me you’ll always be fearless.”
“I promise, I’ll be fearless,” I tell my teacher. I don’t tell her I can’t be fearless all the time. Only at school.
CHAPTER 9: THE SPELLING BEE
April 1951 (Note: it’s a Friday, the day of the Dade County Elementary School Spelling Bee, and our narrator, Beverly Armento, is ten years old, and in the fourth grade. She’s the school spelling champion. But Momma wants Beverly to stay home from school to do the wash. Beverly tries to negotiate with Momma, to no avail. Frightened of yet another beating, Beverly obeys and gets the clothes ready for the Maytag Wringer-Washer machine.)
I’m on a stool, pinning a sheet to the clothesline, when two women come to the front screen door. I recognize them; they are the teachers who supervise the school spelling bee. My heart pounds so fast, I think I’m going to suffocate. I’m in trouble. I run into the house just as Momma invites them into the living room. They look around for a place to sit.
The younger teacher is short and thin, with curly, long blonde hair, heart-shaped red lips, and a small button nose. She’s crisp in a white blouse with puckered, capped sleeves, a full blue skirt, and sandals. She sits on the Florida Oranges crate and her lacy white crinoline pops up into her lap. The sunbeam coming through the front window lights up her face.
The older teacher is tall, with shoulder-length brown hair that rests on the white collar of her tan, blue, and rust-colored striped dress, cinched with a wide white belt at her petite waist. The front of the dress is all buttoned up to her neck. She sits in one of the two upholstered chairs in the living room.
My wet bloomers and halter top cling to my body. I slink into the living room, look down at the floor, and avoid looking at the teachers or my mother. I rock back and forth on my bare feet and clasp my hands in front of me. I’d like to disappear.
It’s time to start talking to Jesus.
Momma sits in the other Goodwill chair. She lights up a Lucky Strike. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asks the teachers. She pats her rounded stomach, bulging under her skirt with our new baby; she’s five months pregnant. She smiles at the teachers and tells them how much I help her around the house, especially now that she has her sight back and is so busy with her art lessons.
“I’ve only had my eyesight for one year now, and I’m working on the Famous Artists School lessons,” Momma says. She points to her bedroom, where her art table and easel are set up and where she’s been drawing all morning while I’ve been doing the wash.
“We need Beverly to come to school today,” the older teacher says to Momma. “She’s the best speller in our school, and we need her to represent us in the Dade County spelling bee.”
“Oh, I didn’t know there was a spelling bee today,” Momma says.
I stop rocking and stand perfectly still. The young teacher looks straight at me. Our eyes meet and hold for the longest time. She knows what’s going on here. I feel safe in her presence, even protected, if only for a moment.
“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for hereby some have entertained angels unawares.” Hebrews 13:2 (King James Version), one of my favorite Bible verses repeats in my head.
“Beverly is the only student representing Little River Elementary School,” the blonde teacher says. “She beat out all the other students at our school, even the fifth and sixth graders. She’ll compete against the spelling bee winners from all the other elementary schools in the county. She can come back to school with us, and we’ll take her to the contest this afternoon. We’ll bring her back home after it’s all over. I know you must be so proud of Beverly.” She’s my new heroine.
Momma turns to me. She takes a long drag of her cigarette and blows out three smoke rings that hang in the air, awaiting the verdict.
“Go clean up and put on your Sunday dress,” she says.
My heart pounds with joy. I rush to the bathroom, wash up, and put on my plaid dress with the round white collar and my newly polished black-and-white saddle shoes. My clothes were waiting for me right where I laid them out last night.
Strong Beverly is a winner today.
The blonde teacher takes me to the area high school, where we check in with the other fifty spelling bee contestants, mostly fifth and sixth graders. I slip a big sign over my head. It has my name, school name, and contest number on it.
The blonde teacher and I walk on stage to find my seat. She places her hands on my shoulders, and looks me straight in my eyes. “You can do this, Beverly. You are a terrific speller. Stay calm, go slowly. Get a picture of the word in your mind before you start to spell it. You will do a great job.” Then she takes a seat in the front row so she can see the big, happy, confident smile on my face.
The contest goes fast. Kids misspell one word after another. Soon, there are just ten contestants on stage. I’m one of them.
“Chauffeur,” the judge says.
“Chauffeur,” I repeat.
“The chauffeur drives us to the spelling bee,” the judge says.
“Chauffeur,” I say. “C-h-a-u-f-f-e-u-r. Chauffeur.”
“Correct.”
The blonde teacher gives me a huge smile and a thumbs-up. I’m going to win this contest.
After several more rounds, there are only four of us left on stage.
“Archaeology.”
“Archaeology,” I repeat.
“The archaeology professor shows his class some human bones.”
“Archaeology,” I say. “A-r-c-h-e-o-l-o-g-y. Archaeology.”
All of a sudden, everything in the room moves in slow motion. The lady sitting next to the judge picks up her right hand and holds it over the bell. My eyes burn. Before I know what is happening, the blonde teacher is beside me. She puts her arms around my shoulders and escorts me off the stage.
“You were outstanding,” she says. “Everyone at Little River will be so proud of you, Beverly. You were fearless.”
“Fearless?”
“Yes. You were one of the youngest and smallest contestants. But you were not afraid. Confident. Brave. Promise me you’ll always be fearless.”
“I promise, I’ll be fearless,” I tell my teacher. I don’t tell her I can’t be fearless all the time. Only at school.
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Beverly J. Armento was inspired by the many teachers who mentored her and became an educator who enjoyed a fifty-year career, working with middle school children as well as prospective teachers.
Now retired, she is professor emerita at Georgia State University and holds degrees from The William Paterson University, Purdue University and Indiana University. She currently lives in Atlanta, Georgia. Her memoir, Seeing Eye Girl, was awarded a bronze medal from the IPPY awards. |
Beverly J. Armento
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UPCOMING EVENTS/SIGNINGS:
September 18, 2022 Gallery 992 4:30-6:30 p.m. 992 Ralph Abernathy Blvd. Atlanta, GA Reverend Merchuria Chase Williams, Ph.D., in conversation with Dr. Beverly J. Armento October 15 and 16, 2022 Arts on the Creek Book Fest Johns Creek, Georgia Arts Festival Book Sales and Signing 1930 Bobby Jones Drive Johns Creek, GA Saturday, October 15: Beverly J. Armento will be signing Seeing Eye Girl from 1-2 and 4-5 p.m. Sunday, October 15: Beverly J. Armento will be signing Seeing Eye Girl from 12-1 and 3-4 p.m. |
