Edgewood School - Bridge Yearbook (Greenwich, CT)

Page 34 text:

Wanting OHN PRESSED his face against the window pane, watching the departing form of the high school girl who had taken care of him that afternoon, as she disappeared down the street, the evening darkened. His parents should be home in half an hour. Wandering through the kitchen, living-room and hall, he paused at the bottom of the staircase. The ground floor rooms were warm and softly colored by the last reflec- tions from the West. Family possessions lay all about, his father's open book, his mother's sewing, waiting to be picked up again. John climbed the stairs, his light tread scarcely breaking the expectant silence. He was going to play bears under the bed in his parents' room. It was a thing he never did when they were home, partly for fear of being caught at baby games when he was seven years old, partly because they would scarcely approve of the growls of the bears. So he had the pleasant sensation of being a conspirator as he entered the forest of their room and crawled into the cave under the bed. He lost himself completely in the game. He killed bears by ones and twos, and always, just when he thought he was safe, a more ferocious grizzly would attack him from behind. Sometimes he chased them and sometimes they chased him. Once he was cut off from his rifle and had to stab a bear with a knife. Again finding him- self in the cave of a maddened mother bear fearing for her cubs, he only managed to slip to safety through a narrow crevice. As he rolled from under the bed, flushed and dusty, the hall clock struck seven. The hall was quite dark. Lighted down the stairs by two thin windows, he was hesitant about leaving the safety of the banister. Darkness was uncertainty. But he groped his way to the light-switch, which brought instant relief. He toured all the rooms on the ground floor, lighting lamps as he went. He lit the porch light so his parents could see their way up the walk. Then he knelt on the living-room sofa and stared into the dark, trying to catch a first glimpse of his returning family. When- ever headlights swung into the street, John watched to see if the car would turn up their drive, but they all went past. After awhile he made a bet with himself: One of the next ten cars will be them. He thought he was allowing too much leeway, for his parents would be among the first. But slowly the time passed and John counted nine cars go by the house. The next one will be they! he said.. The next one must be they. His knees sank into the sofa, his breath clouded the glass and his eyes were blinded from staring into the empty night. At last a car turned up the street, its head- lights crept closer and closer, it seemed to slow as it reached the driveway- It is them -it slid past and was gone. Disappointment struck the boy like a blow. He left the sofa and wandered into the kitchen. Finding some cookies, he returned to the living-room and tried to read some comic books. But he couldn't lose the sense of waiting which possessed him. Everv creak of wood drew his eyes to the front door, had his ears listening for foot- steps. He seemed to hear every sound in the house, from the gurgle of the refrigera- tor to the scraping of the branches on the roof.

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The clock chimed the hour and struck eight. John yawned and rose from his position on the floor with the comics. His parents were an hour late, They had gone to a cocktail party at a friend's. Probably they were just talking. But in spite of this common sense explanation, others presented themselves. He ceased to see the street outside and the house opposite-he saw instead a dark highway and his parents driving home. Suddenly from the opposite direction, at top speed comes a car-there is a screech of brakes, the cars skid-a scream-a terrifying crash crumples both vehicles and shatters glass. In the hush that follows, a siren rises, ambulance, police arrive- they reach the victims- Too late for a doctor here. Johnny-we're home! Familiar voices coming in the door, beloved faces smiling at him through the light--the tears dried in john's eyes. We're a little late, said his mother. I hope you didn't mind being alone so long. She reached out to hug him, but the boy eluded her. Of course I didn't mind! he said huflily. His mother's hair shone with an un- believable brightness and his father smelled of tobacco. Afterward, when he was in bed Che had refused to allow his mother to tuck him ink, the murmur of voices drifting up from below brought him peace and security. The tenseness left himg he turned over and went to sleep. Manoa BARTON, '48