Concordia Preparatory - Concordian Yearbook (Bronxville, NY)

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The CCUNCURDIIAN 1950 -i-

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66No, they said, You can not re- capture the joy of the past. You and the world have both changed since then. That was many years ago. There will be nothing left but emptiness, dis- appointment, and regret. Don't go back! But I did come back. And I have spent a day walking on old paths, star- ing at the insides of empty, lifeless buildings, hearing old familiar voices in the sighing of the evergreens, feel- ing old feelings that have been gone from my heart for so many years. In short, I have spent a day recreating the past. Of that this is my record. Don't go back! they said. But I dared to come back. 4

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Prologue Alvc-ltiiig summer rain was creating rings and bubbles in the troubled waters of the swollen rivers that flooded thc gutters. lt was very early and very wet. And since no one in Bronxville had ever had a liking for either of those adjectives, the streets were deserted. There was no noise save the constant splattering and splashing of the rain and the periodic clicking of the traffic signals as they changed color. They seemed wasting their efforts on the emptiness. So l stopped at one corner and waited for the green just to be cooperative. Then raising my coat collar a little higher around my ears and swinging my big black umbrella into battle po- sition, I headed into the wind and up the last winding section of the old road, called Tanglewylde Avenue for very good reasons. The hill was as steep as ever, and it made me puff. I was surprised, for I hadnt counted on tharg in all the times I'd climbed itiI'd never puffed before, But years had passed since I 'n'F. I 6 'Q' ,I 6' had done that, and somehow I had allowed myself to get out of condition. Strange, I thought, how the years changed a person. I was glad to get to the top and stopped there for a moment to catch whatever might be left of my breath -and, I assure you, there wasn't much. As I stood there, I peered out from beneath my black canopy. Ahead of me I saw, half veiled from sight by the pouring rain so that they appeared as in a dream, the old brick buildings I had longed so to revisit, come so far to see once more, that group of mis- cellaneous buildings which, although really no different from any others and perhaps even less striking than some had nevertheless drawn me to them- I knew not why. The rain and the wind and the gray sky made them look bleak and cold. And I hesitated for a moment, for I was afraid of disappointment and re- gret. Then suddenly my eyes came to rest on the place where many years ago my laundry case had come apart and spilled its contents into a huge muddy puddle. Indeed, there, I thought, was the very puddle. And over there the window that I'd broken with an orange. And the ball diamond, and the dining hall, and-why I was home, Home! Concordia, I whispered, as if I experienced great pleasure at being able to associate the spoken word with such tangible evidence of its existence. Concordia, I said again. And that was all I could think of to say.