Trinity College School - Record Yearbook (Port Hope, Ontario Canada)

Page 21 text:

arts

Page 20 text:

Masters at Large ri ll K, O ...slung iigifggg' Iv .. A I ri peigmlm vm . h 'Ax' , .L Y!-Milf 11. U I. 'SEWER iiiii.-EHB II UI ,I MR. HEDNEY MR. DALE 5... fx I '3' QQ I--.Mi .pals rw ' I MR ARMSTRONG I I 21 MR. HEAVEN 1-3-.C 3, .X a.,,, .1 gg I. ...,.t.F '. ,:X,'g Q.: 53 A, E+ l' ' Q ll.. pq..- .. .. ' . ...P 11? i ' tail..-' -R MR. BURR bak IR 5 MR HAY

Page 22 text:

To Go the Hard He was looking forward to being home again, The fact that he would be able to see all his friends, his parents living in the quiet v illage not far from the big city, that he would be with them again, had very often given him strength during the time lying behind him now. When picturing all the people who would be waiting to meet him after a long absence from home, he had always felt better in those many moments when the life around had seemed to close in on him with its remoteness and frigidity. He had never understood the people he had been with: it was mainly their unattachedness to things that confused him, and he was glad that it had been nothing more than his profession that tied him to the society meaningless to him. Soon his plane would arrive at the airport. They would all welcome him after he passed customs and all would be fine. Thinking of the warmth the fireplace exerted, how they used to sit in front of it, he could hardly wait to hear the clock in the old fashioned living room ticking away time again. Wondering whether had changed at home he denied that question immediately. Maybe the owner at the old barber shop at the street corner died, or they finally tore down the old fire hall and built a new one. The city would be the same, for sure: a grey concrete desert towards which you could develop sentimental feelings despite its nature. The moment the wheels of the airliner touched the ground a funny thought crossed his mind. He imagined himself kissing his native ground on the runway showing symbolically how good it felt to have a place in the world you could fall back on in times of trouble. Just the reflection of all the people he worked with back there, who did not have anything to rely on but themselves, and even admitted that to each other, made him feel forlorn himself. Having not even left customs yet he was already looking out for familiar faces in the crowd waiting outside the terminal for the arriving passengers. He could not recognize anybody though, probably because of the distance between them and him. ln a few moments he could look them all in the eyes again. After leaving the airport building he glanced around for them but there was no sign of anybody, even after the rest of the crowd had departed. He was left over. Did the car break down on the way, or might not they have received his message telling the time of arrival? To be sure, there was no indication from them that they had. ln fact, they had not answered many of his last letters, if any at all. He decided to take a taxi home. Hc did not talk to the cab driver on the way. The car went through the inner city, and reaching the outskirts he could not help noticing some oddness about everything. The people that passed by had something about them he did not like, or rather he could not relate tog although the scenery of everything around had not changed much since his departure, he felt that it still had changed, very much so. He had not imagined coming home to be like this, yet believed that on finally reaching their house all would be fine, anyways. Telling the driver to turn left at the end of the village he looked out the window to identify his home town. The grocery store where he had so often stolen apples, the local pub. Here again he sensed some remoteness of himself: he had returned but not come home. There was a change in everything, not a pleasant change. The car stopped at the front porch which led into the garden he had once known so well. After getting his only suitcase out and paying the fare he walked towards the door of the old mansion. The house at one time had been radiant with emotional warmth and happiness: now it somehow had lost its appearance. There did not seem to be a great difference between it and other buildings. He was irritated. The brass button of the doorbell felt cold when he pressed it. Remembering the bright sound of the clapper he was surprised not to hear anything this time. Trying again there was still no response. Neither did anyone answer his knock, the knock of a small boy. After walking around the house a couple of times and trying to find a way in, he gave up. He had looked through a window to see what was inside but no matter how hard he tried, his eyes could not get used to the different and now darker light that filled the rooms behind the glass. Nobody seemed to be home. All he could do now was to wait. The trees in the garden wore leaves in warm fall colours, and the sun was casting brightness over the village. Yet, it did not reach him where he was sitting in front of the door, in the shade of the roof. He was cold. At one point he decided to get up, and walk away but his mind got caught up in the thoughts of stuffed turkey on the family's Thanksgiving Dinner, of how he slipped into his cold bed at night, and how his body heat warmed it up tit had been cold for too long nowl and made it comfortable. Thus he waited what he knew to be five more days. During this time the struggle became increasingly harder, wrestling with the past. When his life finally left him, the sun was shining into the doorway filling his eyes with light. He went the hard way. Hajo Eicken First Prize Story, Gavin lnce Langmuir, Writing Competition