Columbus School for Girls - Topknot Yearbook (Columbus, OH)

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TOP-KNOT, 1928 her friends, and her parties. It was evident she was having a beautiful vacation. She surely deserved it, too. How she had stood things for sixteen years was more than Judy could imagine. Why, she was sick of everything already, the daily planning of meals, buying cheese and turnips, seeing that Jane stuck to her job and didn't shirk. Next morning Judy woke up with a cold. She felt heavy-eved. feverish, and altogether disagreeable. Her throat hurt her whenever she tried to swallow. Perhaps it was diphtheria. Didn't that start in this way? She wouldn't say anything about it, though. If she did, Dad would insist on taking her to the doctor, and she hated doctors. The cold made her feel tired and cross. Breakfast was a nightmare of trouble. Everything went wrong. Mary spilled cocoa on the table, a rivulet trickled down Judy's sleeve. This meant that she'd have to change. She was furious with Maryg her anger choked her. She felt herself flushing and hated herself for it. She wanted to shake Mary, to slap her-anything to hurt her. Upstairs she leaned against the window-pane, fumbling at her but- tons, her eyes filled with anger and self-pity. She heard the door open downstairs, but didn't pay any attention, so engrossed with herself was she. Judy! Mary called. Probably wanted her to do something else. Judy, there's a telegram. Wait a minute. She heard Mary rushing upstairs, taking them two at a time. In an instant she appeared, wildly waving a slip of paper. The sheet was blurred where Judy tried to read it through her tears. Finally she made it out. KITTY HAS SCARLET FEVER STOP JUST MISSED BEING QUARANTINED STOP HOME 'TOMORROW 3 :35 sro? Low: MOTHER The sun came out, and Judy smiled through her tears. GENEVIEVE WINANS, '29 13 i

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COLUMBUS SCHOOL FOR GIRLS That night she felt she would lie awake. Wasn't she the lady-of-the- house now? Hadn't she forgotten something? Something she ought to have done? She vaguely imagined she had. Finally she fell asleep. The next morning she awoke with a headache. It made her cross. The room was cold, the window still up. Why hadn't Dad put it down as he always did? A sudden thought struck her, caught her by the throat, choking her. Suppose Dad was sick, had even died, alone in the night? Struggling against the dreadful picture, she faltered anxiously into his room. How empty mother's bed seemed. He was only asleep, thank heavens, and rather apologetic for over-sleeping. It was a glorious morning, surprisingly beautiful for one following last night's drizzle. She gloried in the crisp air, the clear sunshine, and thought of daffodils. Ever since mother had left, the sense of importance had gradually enveloped her. Hadn't she been left in charge, and oh! wasn't it glorious to be in command? She ordered the food for the next day and instructed Jane concerning the evening dinner. She was rather worried about that dinner. She did hope the family wouldn't mind having the same things again. Her mind seemed to run in a per- petual groove of baked chicken and mashed potatoes. . On her way home from school she stopped her car before a bakery, and told Mary to get out and buy some cakes. Mary looked at her with her little crinkly smile and sat still. What do you say? Please, She didn't think it at all funny, Mary did, though. That night they made popcorn. There had been a card from mother. Wish you were here with us. She wondered whether mother really meant it, whether she didn't feel free and relieved, too. She didn't dare define her feelings by any more explicit words. But she knew, deep down in her heart, that mother meant it, and in the depths of her soul she loved her, loved her passionately, and wanted her. But she wouldn't admit this, pretending that it was childish, babyish. Mary was different. She was younger. Dad frankly missed mother, fell asleep every night at his paper, tinkered with the radio or furnace. One evening he even suggested a movie, an unheard of thing for school nights. Mother had been gone five days now. She had gone with the inten- tion of staying two weeks. In her daily letter she spoke of the climate, 12 ,

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COLUMBUS SCHOOL FOR GIRLS WE SEE OURSELVES ULL of the self-importance which a tragedy lends, I walked along the street, with obvious carelessness. Nothing-nothing mattered any longer! For me, now, life held no richness, it was barren of all future hope. Vague, soothing thoughts of the arsenic or iodine bottle flitted through my head. But no, I could not make use of them. I must consider the feelings of others and for their sakes bear up as well as possible under my great dolor. fNoble girl lb My eyes scanned the side- walk before me. It occurred to me that my future must be like it, cold and grey. How sorry-how very sorry-for myself I was. It seemed, as I continued my way, that passers-by regarded me with infinite interest. Although, in my desperation, I seemed to see none of the worldly things about me, now and then I was driven to observe the impression which my obvious grief and despair were making on my fellow-creatures. It was fortunate, I thought, that they could see only the outward evidences of the great tragedy which had befallen me. Carelessly, still oblivious, I crossed the street. Upon every side machines were bearing down upon me. What did I care? Death, now, would be sweet. Life meant nothing at all to one whose heart was crushed. Only two days before he had been there. Now he was gone. Never again should I see him. Those rich black curls, that delicately chiseled nose, those ravishing eyes were gone forever! Why had he gone? Some said that he was going to peddle ever-wear aluminum in a neighboring town. Surely that could not bel What could those curls know of sordid pots and pans? I could not understand. Then, suddenly, it occurred to me. He had realized the insurmountable social barrier which stretched between us and had determined to leave. He went because his going would make things easier for me! My heart swelled in admiration of that great courage by which alone he could have torn himself away. With dark, unseeing eyes I gazed listlessly into the shop windows, full of vain and foolish fripperies. Scornfully, I appraised a group of simpering school girls raving inarticulately about the Nile green undies so immodestly displayed in the window. How little these shallow crea- tures knew of reality! Once more my glance returned to the window. There I saw mirrored a pale, wan face and deep-shadowed eyes. Could it, oh, could it, be I? Alas, no one could go through all that I had without betraying symptoms of tragedy. Again a wave of self-pity surged over 14