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

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

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 29 text:

. f Maude it di Wa Liytening to the raindropy on my windowg Looking through the thickneyy of the miyt, Seemy ay though I feel a certain meyyage. Help me find the anywer, I inyiyt. IVIISTI Tell me: Am I being miyyed? Tell me.' Iy he being kiyyed? Or iy he true to me? RAIN! Tell me: Doey he feel the pain? Iy he walking down the lane Of our old memory? There-in the diytant yky, Through the miyt I ypy 14 ytar that yayy, You are Alwayy with me. IVIISTI Tell him that he'y being miyyedg Tell him that he'y being kiyyed- My thoughty are with him night and day. And the miyt iy gone-our love hay found ity way! -Peggy Hyder Cjhrialnfictd Mayer Dear God, I don't want much thiy year, I'm ayking juyt one thing.' You yee, my brother'y off at wary Will he be back by ypring? He won't be here to trim the tree, Or help yet up my toyy. He'll miyy the turkey and the fun, Like other yoldier boyy. I hope thiy Chriytmay iy the layt He'll have to be away. Pleaye keep him yafe, bring him home yoon, And bleyy him, God, today. -Marilyn Ilflagee juli .f When robiny make their homeward flight and yeek The yun which yhedy ity warmth in rayy of gold- Alrbutuy budy peep from beneath the leaoey, And azure ykiey are flecked with white-I know That ypring hay come again with all ity charm. -Florence Craig you jhie! You ytole into my houye, you thief, And robbed me of my wealth. Not yiloer, gold, or preciouy ytone . . . To you they were not pelf. You crept into my inner yelf, You robbed me of my grief,' Brought job and hope and love CZ7'L6 Z,U- You ytole my heart, you thief... I -Helen Hampton C253