Appleby College - Argus Yearbook (Oakville, Ontario Canada)

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His heart sank as he gazed at the anxious young man who sat waiting in the lobby. Nervously he reached for a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Then, tur- ning away retreated down the long hallway of the hospital. He knew he shouldn ' t smoke there, but he did not care - he needed the relief the cigarette would give him. There was news he must tell the young man in the waiting room . . but he couldn ' t find the courage to do so. He paced up and down the hall, never before had such a problem rested on his shoulders. Why was he, a first year obstetrician, placed in such an awkward position? His brow knitted as he tried desperately to think of a way out . . . but there was none. Eventually, his eyes lifted and he turned around. He was a docto? - a specialist, he had a job to do. He proceeded back down the hall and burst through the doors of the waiting room. The younger man was startled. Dr. Smith! he exclaimed, rising automatically to his feet. Smith looked at the eagerness in the boy ' s face. Poor wretched lad, he thought to himself. He could perceive the question in the young man ' s eyes. Tim , he started, Your wife is fine. Tim sighed with relief, then ad- ded, But Doctor, what about our baby? Smith looked down. His mind was searching for words. What could he say? I have some good news - and some bad news , he finally said softly. The young man peered into the obstetrician ' s eyes. He had prayed for weeks that his wife and he might have a healthy child - surely nothing had gone wrong now. Please Doctor, tell me the good news first , he choked. Smith looked up. Your child is not quite normal , he stuttered, then stopped. Go on. Doctor, please! Tim begged. Your baby seems to be missing a few features . . . . Tim was horrified; what on earth could he mean. He, he ... . what? Well, he has no no arms or legs .... in fact he has no body. Tim was dumbfounded. What sort of a child has no body? Then what is he? he asked, his eyes pleading. He ' s just a big eye. Tim couldn ' t believe his ears. l don ' t understand , he choked, tears collecting in his eyes: then suddenly he added, This is the good news? Then what is the bad news? The doctor gazed down at the floor. He ' s blind . . . . Richard Wilson AT DAWN The brothers stood, and watched the glow that swelled And misted slowly, easily Into the land. Among the branches, secret birds speckled silently in the shadows Chiselled from a heathen frost. For a naked moment, regret quivered in the gloom, but then The day thrust its torch into the East, And pride surged to conceal weakness as The elder squinced, and raised A hand of stone. Behind him, his brother watched the fading stars And trembled. Ten paces marked, ten paces called by each. Off amongst the trees, She cried in the shattered dawn. Victor and vanquished, the first-born followed the dew To where it pulsed with blood. The day encircled him, and exploded in a thousand swirling voices Of ridicule and sorrow, of laughter And lament. A sob, his first, caught and choked in his throat As he drew aside the weeds, and found the pistol: Still charged But yet uncocked. S. Roloff

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AN IDEA FOR A STORY It was 9:30 at night and quite dark, and I was thoughtfully making my way home, when there it was, directly facing me, the barrel of a sawn-off shot gun! Behind it, holding it tightly, the shadowy figure of a heavy set man loomed out of the bush. I stiffled a yell and stood rooted to the spot, my legs feeling like heavy weights. He nudged me with the butt of his rifle in the direction of a small trailer. He didn ' t speak at all, but just looked sort of blank. Then, we came to the trailer, which was quite a small, old thing and looked as though it had been there for quite a while. I wasn ' t really familiar with this area of Lake Scugog, but had been over visiting a cousin and was now making my way back to our family cottage which was a way down the Lake. He shoved me through the door of the trailer and followed me in. I started to speak . . . Sit down and shut up , he growled. I almost fell into the nearest seat. I glanced around; it was a shabby old trailer. There was a stale loaf of bread on the table. I sat there, wondering if he heard my teeth chattering! I ' m on the run , he said. I want money and if you ain ' t got it you had bet- ter go and get me some, mighty quick! I had no choice, but to wriggle my wallet out of my pants pocket. I handed it over to him. In it was $25.00. Not bad, he said. I was saving it for the G.N.E., I muttered. He indicated that his case was more important. Suddenly, the man sat down and told me he was Pete Gundy. I had just been reading in the local paper about a convict who had managed to escape from the Kingston prison and was supposed to be in the Northern Ontario district. For some reason, once he started to speak, he did not want to stop. He even told me about his rough childhood - no father, hun- ting around for food for the family before he was twelve years old. Gould have been you , he said. Vou are just one of the lucky ones! I told him he was a fool to keep on the run, but no way would he listen and told me I was a kid who would never understand what it did to someone like him brought up in the bush, to be shut away. We seemed to have struck up a weird kind of friendship. He agreed even- tually to let me go on my way home and asked me for my promise not to breathe a word about him until the next day. I said I would try. We had no phone and my mother and brother would probably be asleep by now. We left the trailer together, and he made his way towards a rowboat at the edge of the lake. That was the last I ever saw of him. I started to walk b ack down the road, feeling much older and thinking, This would make a good story! S. Gatrell

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At the shrill voice of my mother, scurried up several shabby, wooden steps which led from a tranquil little bay to our sorely neglected home. From the treetops, its leaky roof looked rather like a crossword puzzle for all the missing tiles. I had a small, model sailboat tucked un- der my arm, and as I ran across the yard, being slightly off balance because of it, stumbled, letting the boat crash to the ground. Picking it up, I brushed away the dirt and inspected it closely for any new damage. To an untrained eye, it would have been impossible to detect any change in the boat ' s appearance, yet I noticed another tear in the sail, as well as a small crack along the port hull. You see, through many years of rough use, it had acquired a great number of such flaws, of which I knew every one. It was about a foot in length, and in addition to its single mast, it had a small rudder which was held fast to the stern by a pair of upholsterer ' s tacks, placed stragetically at either end of the shaft. It was, indeed, a sorry sight, and though I had often dreamt of owning one of the magnificent vessels in the town hobby show, I had refrained from asking mother for one, knowing it to be far beyond our means. Glancing through the open door at the rear of our house, I saw my mother, bending over a tattered sofa, rather greyish in colour, which someone had left a day or two ago. I recall their having said that the frame was in fine con- dition, and could she find time to recover it, for a small fee . Since father ' s death, two years ago, mother had tried hard to make ends meet in this way. Nevertheless, it had always been a struggle. As I entered, she rose, brushing away a few stray hairs which had fallen down her forehead. Johnathan, she said, I ' d like you to go the grocer ' s this af- ternoon. There are several things we need, and I ' ll be toe busy to make the trip. I was rather suprised at this, as I had never been entrusted with such a task before. However, I tried not to show my delight, for I was overcome with a sense of maturity, and wished to appear outwardly so. Stuffing the list of necessities and a pound note in my shirt pocket, I rushed out the front door, and down the road towards the village. As I approached the narrow rows of houses which marked the edge of town, it occurred to me that a short trip to the hobby store would not take me far from my destination. That was my initial mistake, for within a few minutes I found myself standing outside the big display window of the shop, gazing with awe and wonder at the most gorgeous ship I had ever seen. It was a model clipper, about two feet in length, with three sets of sails, a gleaming wood finish and detail more beautiful than had seemed possible. Below the clip- per, in large black letters was written: SALE - 17 - A multitude of thoughts raced through my mind as I felt the pound note in my pocket. Mum wouldn ' t mind , I said to myself, even though I knew that she would. It really isn ' t a lot of money. Yet, I realized that it was. I ' ve had my old boat for years now, and I think I ' m en- titled to a new one. And after all, it is on sale. These chances don ' t come along often, and one really ought to take advantage of them. I argued in this way for quite some time, and although I was thoroughly convinced that buying the boat was the proper