Mitchell College - Thames Log Yearbook (New London, CT)

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A Little Life By Doraine Riley It is not in the storm nor in the strife We feel benumb'd, and wish to be mo more, But in the after-silence on the shore, When all is lost, except a little life. - George Gordon Byron Mildred Coleman stared at the dull kitchen floor and squirmed under her own enormous weight. She wondered if Tonya was lonesome for her, wondered what she was doing just about now. She smiled as thoughts of her daughter came to mind. She had looked so big that morning with hints of curves pressing through her blue dress. Even her breast buds, timid but proud, were showing as she primped in her Sunday clothes to go with Mrs. Bailey. Slowly, aware of the quiet and drab in the room, a sense of emptiness gripped her. Father Hubbard! This was all his doin', she thought, him and his buttin' in to get Tonya signed up for visitin' with white folks. She didn't like the idea from the start and told him so. But that man had a way of talking, and she finally agreed saying, It couldn't do no harm gettin' Tonya out of the neighborhood what with all the cussin' and slappin' around the young'ns had to put up with? And Mrs. Bailey had seemed friendly and polite to herg even though she had never known them before, she had taken Tonya by the hand and walked her through the door and down the hall - a windowless tunnel with words, as Mildred says, not fit for sayin' scribbled on the walls. She wondered if Mrs. Bailey noticed any of them, and suddenly she felt ashamed. She recalled that as the two figures had disappeared around a corner, she had stood briefly until familiar odors sneaked past her, and then she had stepped inside her apartment and methodically locked the door. After two days of loneliness, Tonya was safely home and sound asleep. Mildred kept remembering the smiles on both their faces when Mrs. Bailey brought Tonya home. She saw Tonya hugging Mrs. Bailey around her little waist. The woman seemed so fragile to Mildred with her blond hair shining and all in curls. Tonya had skipped right past her and into her room where she poked through one drawer after the other looking for something. Grinning, she pressed a little picture of herself to her chest and told her mother it was going to be a surprise for Mrs. Bailey when she visited her next time. She seemed so excited, like a kid getting ready for church. Tonya said, Had a fine time, a real fine time. I ran in the front door 'n out the back. They don't have no elevator, no need to, and only one family there in the whole house! She's got flowers growin' and we sat on the grass and ate lunch, all in one breath.

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Different Beat by Glenn R. Turgeon If a man does not keep pace with his companions . . . june 16, 1973, was a memorable day for all the seniors of Anderson High School in Worcester, Massachusetts. At precisely 8 P.M., POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE would sound as does AULD LANG SYNE on january first. Some 487 students are gathered here for the day which will mark an end to their twelve year wait. The drum roll begins, last minute touches on hair, gowns and caps are made, then we finally move. Each abreast with his or her partner, footsteps fall in unison. The left, right, left, right command of our supervi- sor is silently recited at each fall of the marshall's baton. We march, file into our seats and, as everything else has been, seat ourselves in an orderly manner. '. . . perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. The speaker recites his speech, scholarships are presented, and diplomas are distributed. Together we rise and pro- ceed to march away from the school, away from our parents and teachers, away from all ties of apron strings. For the majority of us, we cannot walk away fast enough. The unison ends and becomes a disorderly bout of hand- shakes and kisses. Most will go to college because of the theory that without a college diploma you won't amount to anything in life. A few will join the service, but only one will do something out of the ordinary. His name is Ty. President of the senior class, voted most-likely to succeed, and a straight A student since grade one. Coming from a good home with well-educated parents, Ty has chosen the profession of a do-good wanderer. He plans to scour the United Stated searching out problems to solve and abolishing vice. Let him step to the music he hears . . . But Ty, you're wasting your skills and abilities. Congratulations, Ty, I wish you the best of luck. What kind of a job is that? I wish I were more like you. How will you live? Where will you stay? What will you eat? How will you make any money? Truly courageous of youli' You're going to find out what life is really like, and when you do, donit bother to come back home. A Good Samaritan may not be the highest paying job, but it's by far the most rewarding. One of my best pupils and he's throwing his life away. You're really doing something worthwhile. Is this what they teach you in schools today? I'm proud of you, Ty. '. . . however measured or far away. Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad.

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Tonya rubbed her motheris massive, black arm affectionately while she told her about sheets with flowers poppin' from 'em and a gold dish filled with little soap dolls and bottles of perfume - musta been fifty in all. You didn't pick up somethin, that don't belong to ya, did ya, baby ? Mildred remembered an incident at school. No, Ma, lid never take nothin' from Mrs. Bailey, anyways she gave me this here. Tonya held up a tiny basket stuffed with sweet smelling flowers. For what ? her mother asked. Not for nothin', Tonya answered, as if it were something secret. Mildred's mind joumeyed to the present as she slipped her swollen, aching feet out of her scuffs and walked to the bedroom, a doorless cavem where Tonya slept peacefully in spite of pink rubber curlers in her hair. She sat on the edge of the cot and its legs moaned and spread as her mountainous body settled deep in the mattress. Slowly, she caressed the worn blanket with its frayed binding that skimmed the edges here and there and then, suddenly, she squeezed it tightly with both fists. Oh, Tonya, she sighed softly, touching the small back turned to her. Her head bowed low and then lower, weary from monotonous days and years, as she sat motionless for several minutes thinking of empty yesterdays. Somehow the prospect of tomorrow, bright or dismal, never came to mind. Twinges and thoughts darted in and out of her body and mind - a hodgepodge of envy, hate and fear swimming through and consuming wisps of yellow hair, sparkling bottles of perfume and Tonya's smiles and excitement telling about two days of living out of nine years of life. Her drowsy eyes lifted and welded themselves to the bare window. It seemed to toy with her senses, drawing her into an unending blackness that concealed any illumination from the street below. Slowly, she lifted herself with a tired push of both arms and walked to the dresser. Tonya's picture stood out among the clutter, and as she looked at it a tainted mellowness enveloped her and tears saved for a lifetime unexpect- edly filled and then spilled from her eyes. Her hand furrowed aimlessly through a drawer and she buried the photo deep in a corner. Mildred shook her head slowly from side to side. It'll do that child no good goin' back again, no good at all, she whispered.