By Donna Hruska
Nov. 1, 1965
Writing Class – Rewrite of Sophy – Approximately 2100 Words
Rewrite of Sophy
Sophy woke as the first gray light of dawn crept across the faded quilt. With her first awareness, dread settled into her stomach. She pulled the quilt over her head, hoping she’d oversleep. But after a few minutes of board-stiff, tight-eyed trying, she gave up, pushed the covers back, and turned her head to look at her clothes neatly folded on the old rocking chair. On the floor beneath the chair were the shoes.
She sighed and turned her head back so that she could see through the slit between the cracked, yellowed window shade and the gray woodwork. Outside, ice clung to the bare branches of the trees and tinkled gently as the cold February wind rubbed the limbs together. The blizzard she had hoped for hadn’t materialized.
Yesterday the sole had come off of her shoe. She had tried to glue it back on. She had even tried to tie it on with an old shoe string, but neither method had worked. Finally, Granny had said that she would loan Sophy her shoes until the relief check came next week.
Sophy felt the sinking feeling in her stomach again. The shoes were bad enough. But why did it have to be today, a day that promised to be miserable all by itself?
She climbed out of bed, scarcely noticing the cold against her bare feet as she slipped into the faded cotton dress and Granny’s shoes.
A sharp twinge of despair gripped her as she avoided her image in the mirror. Too well she knew the pale face that looked back out of that mirror—too thin, too small for a twelve-year-old, with hair that hung lank and dull, the bangs a little too long. They were bangs she had cut herself a few months ago shortly after Mary Louise McKinney had come to school with a new hairdo that all the girls admired.
Mary Louise was everything that Sophy wished to be. Where Sophy was devoid of color, Mary Louise glowed with good health and care. Her dark brown hair fell in shiny curls on her shoulders and her bangs were always cut straight across at just the right length. She was clean and starched and pretty and glowing. Sophy was none of these things.
She put her comb back on the dresser and carefully removed a brown paper bag from the top drawer. The knot in her stomach twisted again. Silently she counted the square white envelopes. They represented months of salvaged pennies, hoarded nickles and an occasional triumphant quarter. For today was Valentine’s Day, and although she had been careful to include a card for everyone in the room, she had little hope of returning home with a bag full of valentines she had received. For who would even remember that she was in the class—shy, silent Sophy who never answered the teacher’s questions—silly Sophy in her grandmother’s shoes.
Sighing, she folded the top of the bag so that none would spill and headed for the kitchen. The door to Granny’s room was slightly ajar. Gentle old-lady snores wafted from the room as Sophy passed down the hall to the kitchen.
“Oatmeal,” she thought longingly as she spread margarine on her bread. Granny always intended to fix oatmeal for her in the mornings.
“Now, I’ll fix your oatmeal in the morning,” she’d say every night as they went to bed. But she never woke up in time and Sophy never woke her.
The cold wind hit her sharply as she opened the door to leave for school. For once, she was glad her coat was too long. The wind whirled it around her legs as she tried to pull herself down inside the collar.
For a while, Sophy concentrated on keeping her balance on the ice-crusted brick sidewalk. It wasn’t an easy task in the unfamiliar shoes. But as she reached the business district the sidewalks were clear and she could concentrate on calling up a mental image of the shoes of her dreams that now lay invitingly displayed in Anson’s Shoe Shop window, brown leather shining, laces fashionably criss-crossed and tied with a flair, near a chrome price tag that said $4.99.
She reached Anson’s a trifle breathless and shivering with cold, but she paused for her morning adoration of the shoes which lay as beautiful as she remembered in the alcove window of the store.
She was about to step out into the gusty wind when a woman came out of the store next door and paused at the curb to rummage in her purse for her car-keys. Sophy recognized Mary Louise McKinney’s mother, tall and beautifully dressed in a warm black coat and high-heeled fur-lined boots.
As Mrs. McKinney snapped her purse shut and slipped into her car, Sophy saw something flutter down and land under the car. By the time she reached the curb, Mrs. McKinney’s car was down the street. There in the slush lay a crumpled, soggy, magnificent ten dollar bill. Sophy scooped it up and looked after Mrs. McKinney’s car turning the corner and disappearing from sight.
“I can give it to Mary Louise at school,” she thought as she stuffed it into her pocket. She walked into the alcove to take one last look at the coveted shoes. “The McKinneys probably have more shoes than I’ll ever have in my whole life,” she thought. She caressed the ten dollar bill in her pocket and looked down at Granny’s shoes. The sight of the ugly black old-lady shoes gave her the courage to open the door to Anson’s Shoe Shop and buy the shoes of her dreams.
“It doesn’t matter now,” she said to herself as she hurried on to school in the new shoes. “It doesn’t matter now if I don’t get a single valentine.”
A group of fifth grade girls giggled past Sophy as she went up the stairs to the second floor, but she scarcely noticed them. Carefully, she hung her coat on a hook in the hallway. Then with a deep breath, conscious of the stiff newness on her feet, she entered the room where Mr. Watson taught the seventh and eighth graders.
Hardly anyone noticed her as she passed the little groups of boys and girls talking at the back of the room. Only Mary Louise McKinney, who was talking to two other girls, smiled as Sophy walked by.
Sophy eased herself into her seat and put her books away. There, on the corner of Mr. Watson’s desk, was the Valentine box, covered with white crepe paper and dotted with red construction paper hearts. Sophy went to the desk, emptied her brown paper bag and carefully dropped in the thirty-two small envelopes and one big one. The bell rang just as she sat down in her seat.
Time passed slowly. The shoes, which at first had seemed so beautiful, now were becoming a persistent reminder that she had spent someone else’s money. Her confident indifference to whether she received any valentines dissolved as she sensed her classmates’ excitement as the time for the valentine exchange drew near.
Finally, at two-thirty, Mr. Watson closed his arithmetic book and smiled at his students.
“We’ll have our party now.”
There was an expectant rustle as the boys and girls cleared their desks and stretched. One or two girls giggled as they whispered to each other.
Mary Louise and Peggy Turner began to pass out refreshments.
“Here you are, Sophy.” Mary Louise smiled as she set down a small paper cup of red Kool-Aid and a little red cellophane package tied with white ribbon.
The ribbon slipped easily from the package and little candy hearts tumbled over the desk. Sophy picked up a pink heart that said “I love you” and put it into her mouth. It dissolved slowly on her tongue as she stared out the window.
Faintly, she heard Mr. Watson say, “Please come forward when your name is called.”
He turned the heart-spangled box upside down and ripped it open.
“Henry Spengler,” called Mr. Watson.
Henry shuffled to the front of the room, his hands in his back pockets and his face getting redder with each step. He claimed his valentine and returned to his seat where he tripped, much to the delight of the other boys.
Sophy returned to her examination of the tree outside the window.
“Sophy Mattson.”
Sophy’s cheeks flamed as she went to the front of the room.
“Thank you,” she muttered to Mr. Watson as she hurried back to her desk where she tried to hide the once-loved shoes under her seat again. She opened the envelope as she sat down and saw that it was from Mr. Watson.
“Jack Roberts.”
“Sophy Mattson.”
When all the valentines were distributed, Sophy carefully opened each envelope and placed the card upon her desk. There were twenty-eight in all. Some were signed with names of her classmates, but many were signed anonymously, in a hand that looked suspiciously the same.
She glanced up to see Mary Louise smile at her from across the room.
“Let me see your valentines, Sophy,” Alice Johnson said, turning around in her seat. “You got a lot more than I did.”
Sophy watched Alice count the cards and wondered how a day when all your wishes came true could be the most miserable day of your life.
Boys and girls carrying bags of candy and valentines boiled out of the school, laughing, slipping and sliding on the icy streets.
Sophy hardly noticed them. She walked in the opposite direction from her home, oblivious to the cold wind that numbed her cheeks, until finally she stood before the McKinney house. It sat back from the street, tall and imposing. Sophy’s knees shook, but she pushed herself resolutely up the drive and rang the front door-bell.
“Yes, what is it?” Mrs. McKinney frowned against the cold draft as she opened the door.
Sophy groped for words.
“Did you want Mary Louise?” Mrs. McKinney asked.
Suddenly Sophy’s nerve broke and she burst into a confusion of words and tears.
“I knew it was your ten dollars because I saw you drop it and I meant to give it back…except when I looked down at Granny’s shoes…mine just gave out and I couldn’t make them do no matter how I tried…and then these shoes were there in Anson’s window… and I’m so sorry…” Then the tears won and Sophy stood there helplessly wanting to explain.
Mrs. McKinney drew Sophy inside the warm hallway and listened as Sophy, calmer now that she was confessing her mistake, explained what had happened.
“I haven’t the money to pay you right away, but I could work. I’m good at ironing and Granny says I cook like a professional.”
Mrs. McKinney considered thoughtfully.
“How much of the money is left, Sophy?” she asked.
“Four dollars and eighty-one cents,” Sophy answered.
“Suppose you return that to me and we’ll consider your shoes to be your reward for returning the money,” Mrs. McKinney said gently.
Sophy struggled with her conscience. “It wouldn’t be right would it, Mrs. McKinney?”
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” Mrs. McKinney smiled. “Why don’t you go into the kitchen. Mary Louise is making hot chocolate and you look like you could use some.” She leaned down and whispered conspiratorily in Sophy’s ear. “To tell you the truth, her hot chocolate is terrible. Maybe you could give her a few hints.”
Sophy looked searchingly at Mrs. McKinney’s face, then smiled and headed for the kitchen.
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Editorial Comments
Donna Hruska
Nov. 1, 1965
COMMENTS ON: SOPHY
This is a delightful characterization of a little girl who is underprivileged and has a definite inferiority complex.
When Valentine day arrives she does not believe she will get any valentines…but gets 28 — and walks home…crying.
You have woven a nicely delineated story about this girl….you have demonstrated Awareness and you have given the reader the feelings and thoughts of this little girl with vivid clarity….transferring emotion and winning reader identification.
I like Sophy. I feel I know her…and how she felt every step of the way.
She wanted recognition and love and a feeling of “belonging” but she was shy and timid and ashamed of her grandmother’s shoes.
This is, of course, a nostalgic sketch of a child in need whose life seems destitute.
I think your story would gain stature and importance if you should how she DID something about her situation….how she set up all night “making” her own valentines….working on each one individually….or perhaps how she managed to smile at everyone in the room and listen…. and getting the valentines was the reward of her own struggle and conflict.
Just getting them from 28 classmates….does suggest that she was liked by all….but again I repeat, if you want a story and not just a sketch there must be a resolution to some problem… to something Sophy did…herself…..
Excellent theme.
Excellent writing.
I like this very much.
AV
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Donna Hruska
Sept 27, 1966
COMMENTS: THE DREAM SHOES
This is a delightful story about a little girl, Sophy, want desired to get a pair of lovely shoes and knew she could never afford to get them…so she dreams on, until she finds a bill and gets the shoes and then has an upset with her conscience….and determines to set things right.
Good writing, smoothly progressive and pictorially vivid and moving. There is over two pages of good narrative writing and this is acceptable but this could be shortened and deleted for emphasis and essential scenes.
I like the story: Sophy is well characterized, poor, shabby, but basically starved for attention and love.
The plot, in my opinion, is weak because it seems contrived: Sophy just happens to see Mrs. Kinny drop the 10 dollar bill…picks it up, etc. Some seeds of this could be planted earlier in the story to make the episode more acceptable.
Sophy’s confession is good and believable and in character….as is the rest of the story.
Good writing, sensitive and sincere that condensed could become salable!
AV
My Hurricane (Jennifer)