St Genevieve of the Pines Junior College - Echo Yearbook (Asheville, NC)

Page 27 text:

I l Olf' 80Lf5lfLlf'8 Sillmta 'Neath blossom-laden branches we slowly wander. Under dusk- filled skies, we move. Hand in hand, eyes lifted, fingers clinging, in the thrill of life on this eve of springtime, we come. Alone, we breathe the sweet, darkening air that stirs in gentle welcome among the branches, and drifts caressing petals down upon us, as we move. Under the thick bouquet of trees, we stop. Together we watch night's glimmering arrival, until the ,last pink blossom deepens to a dream of silhouettes. Our hands drop apart, and in the darkness your fingers touch my cheek. As I return, I am alone. Some- where in the black stillness above, your lips are tender in a smile. For one brief moment, one solitary hour, you descended to me from some far- ofir shore, and though we spoke no word, your kiss has told me you are safe. I am at peace, and unafraid. . . My Love is watching . . . - -Dorothy Louite Kilpatrick' euerie The clayt we ,vpent irz calm tereriity Were worzclroizt claytg fair it my memory Of their looelirzett. I tcarce could Jay Which, of thofe timet, was our tweetett a'ay. The nightf we tat irz moorzlightlt tempting glow Were worralrow rzightt. Therelt yet a breeze to blow That e'er carz match the cool per- fumed breath Which warzclerea' ttraight to ut acrott the heath. Wat that ttrange, tweet perfume from it, or you? I wat iriclirzecl to thinh the latter true . . . The clayt we Jperzt in calm tererzity Were worzclroztt clayt, fair in my memory ,' Alrza' of the rzightt .s'Zi7ZC'6 our clear looefv begun - - - I .fcarce can Jay which wat the .rweetett one . . . -Dorothy L. Kilpatrick The flowery bloomeal a poem- Al poem in exultation Of the One Who had cletigned Their pattern. '- --Mary Elizabeth Volhmarz C237

Page 26 text:

80Lrf5lfLI 8 VL jlflflfe Time is that incomparable thing that Americans do not have enough of and, if they did, wouldn?t know what to do with. It is also that which procrastination is the thief of. I am agitated over this subject. You don?t understand? Welllll . . . What is the first word I hear in the morning? 'fTime to get up, dear. I glance at the clock to see what time it is, only to discover that it Cthe timel has slipped up on me and that I must make haste if I am to get to breakfast on time. And if I don't get there? My mother glances at the wall-clock and dryly mutters, f'The timef, My little brother refuses any re- quests with, UI don't have time. I am going to carry Matilda's books to school this morning and I want to get there before jimmy Whitlock beats my timef' Also, Dad stares at his wrist, slams down the morn- ing paper, bellows, 'CTHE TIME! and runs out the front door to catch his bus to the war factory Cat which time he punches the time-clockl. Time flies at school. Every time I'm late, my teacher's eyebrow rises up and says, 'CA fine time to be com- ing to classf, What is a little time? This is what I'1n telling you! As I seek solace in the library, the magazine rack screams-TIME MAGAZINE! I have to type UNOW is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their . . . 'I Oh no! I just can't do it. I hardly know what I'm doing. At lunch I hear the radio: When you hear the sig- nal, the ti-um will be . . . Click! In my music class, the teacher screams, You're singing out of TIME. At play rehearsal, Lady Macbeth announces, w'Tis time to do't. The newsboy yells, 'cEven- ing paper . . . Asheville Times! Now do you see what I mean? Seems to me that if they would just forget the whole thing, they would be better off. If I could only find an escape in some lovely music, but I dial to WISE, and out comes Rudy Vallee with Your TIME is my TIME. That is the final blow! I can't seem to get away from that word any- where. I think the best thing for me to do would be to go sit on a ticking time-bomb . . . uh oh! I said it again. You see how it is, donit you? I would get drastic and write an essay about it-only-well, you see, I really don't have time! -Peggy Hyder The rea wat an ink bottle, I The sun war the pen. The day was a ttory To he written again. -Gerry Carter C229

Page 28 text:

QIZJQZUOMJ wilffa ary It was that horrible, gloomy night, the night I learned of your accident. I was sitting on this very window seat, when Aunt Teresa brought the news that was later to make me feel this appalling hate. Then she tried to comfort me in her small, cheap way. I said nothing, and finally she left me alone. I remember so well the steady drip of the rain on the tin roof of the house. With each thud of the drops, the hurt in my heart became more acute. I endured it as long as I could, then walked out onto the ter- race. Leaning against a pillar near the steps going into the garden, I cried, for how long I do not know, but I remember turning my face toward the sky, letting the rain come down in torrents on cheeks already wet with tears. Some time later I came back to this window seat, and gazed into the darkness. lX4y misery was so intense I wanted to scream into the eerie silence, and when I stopped screaming, the silence of the room seemed ludicrous by contrast-so I laughed, harder and harder, until the laughter itself became a sobbing and a source of pain. I do not remember being taken to the hospital, but when daylight came, I was lying there, almost content, then Aunt Teresa arrived to pity me. I heard a calm, steady voice telling her to get out. It was my voice I heard. I could not un- derstand how I had so much cour- age then. But she did not leave, and she kept coming with a doctor during the days that followed. They never seemed to know I wanted to be alone. One day a nurse placed a pitcher on my bed table. When the doctor and Aunt Teresa came, C247 I threw the water into their ugly faces. I got out of bed to follow them, but the door was locked. I did not know then why they had locked the door, but I found out two days later, when a nurse was straightening the bed covers. As she pulled at the linen I saw the words stamped on the corner of a sheet: Property of Riverside Asy- lumf' I asked the nurse why I was there, and when she did not answer me, I pulled her hair until she screamed. Two men came in and held me down even though I bit their hands. That is how I knew that they thought I was in- sane. After that I threw so many things at Aunt Teresa when she came, that she did not come any more. And they took away all the things I might have thrown. Tonight the nurse came to stick a needle in my arm, but I got it from her, and stuck her with it. She must have fainted. That7s how I got away from the hospital-in her clothes. There is no one in the house ex- cept the two of us, Mallary. You don't think that I know you are here, but I do. And I am coming over to that dark corner where you are standing, and I shall kill you again. Then we can die together. You drove me mad, and I hate you now. They wonlt let me throw things any more-so I'll take this letter knife, and-Mallary, where are you? You were here a moment ago. Mallaryl Mallaryl Don't make me scream, it hurts my throat. All right then, I shall die first. Then you will want to die too. See, Mal- lary, like this-see-Mal-oh . . . see .... -Lolly McRary