Summit School - Flame Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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. SUMMER NIGHT ' REACHED up feeling for the lamp switch, pushed it till it snapped over, and felt the darkness of the night reach in, covering me like a protecting black hand. In the sudden darkness I could see the glare of the light bulb dancing wherever I looked. I uncurled my legs and got up, leaving my open book upside down on the chair. The straw porch rugs were rough on my bare feet. I walked slowly, cautiously off the porch, through the dark house, and pushed open the screen door. The dog brushed past me, her hair soft and smooth as it touched my bare legs. I looked up the quiet little street. The cars left out for the night slept silently in front of houses like faithful dogs, and you could almost hear the houses, like many-eyed monsters, breathing heavily with sleep. The street lights glowed soft and yellow with light like melting butter. I looked down at the city, pulsing, beating like a living thing. Over the other noises was the screaming of streetcars, and above it all the low sky glowed soft and red as a burning coal. The air was hot and heavy. The city itself seemed to radiate the heat, and under it I felt the suppressed excitement, the striving and desire that is always seen in the faces of a crowd. In the street below young people in cars rushed by, the win- dows rolled down so you could hear the blaring music of the 1'adio. Older people sat on their front porches waiting for a cool breeze and listening to the cars and the softer incessant noise of the moths flying futilely against the screens, trying to reach the light on the other side. On the porches old men slowly read the evening paper, the strong smelling cigar smoke drifting lazily up. Their wives sat near them, rocking in creaking chairs, thinking, dreaming, wondering what the noisy, reckless young people were look- ing for, forgetting they had once wanted the same thing. ' Downtown the lights twinkled, gleaming as brightly as brass buttons on a blue coat, There was so much to see, to hear, to think, and to feel. I didn't want to miss even the smallest part, but I knew it was more than I could ever comprehend. I bent down and rubbed my hands across the short dewy grass and then held my wet hands against my hot face, feeling the lovely cool dampness on my eyelids. The warm, heavy air seemed to have permeated my thoughts, leaving them rather odd and slow ever since I had left the house. The heat and excitement of the city had seemed to draw me from the house like a magnet and to hypnotize my eyes and mind with its strange fascination. I turned around and began to walk back towards the house, but before I had gone far, I began to run as quickly as I could over the short wet grass. NANCY GAVER F arm VI LA FIEVHE DU PPLINTEMPS H, LA joie de vivre. Clest le printemps dans toute la gloire. Le soleil chaud, l'herbe V6ftC, les fleurs et les arbres qui s'ouvrent. C'est merveilleux. Les petits oiseaux batissent les nids, les amoureuxls slaiment, et les enfants jouent. Oh, c'est merveil- leux. C'est glorieux. C'est beau. Clest le printemps. Mais-Parfois il pleut. La pluie froide. Beaucoup de pluie. L'cntendez-vous? Goutte a goutte. Goutte a goutte. Apportez une autre bassinoire. Vous sortez. Cette pluie court le long de votre cou. La pluie impitoyable court le long de votre visage, le long de vos manches, et le long de vos jambes dans vos souliers. La pluie qui fait des Heuves dans les rues et des lacs dans les trottoirs. La pluie qui fait des mares qui sont impossible a traverser. Goutte a goutte. Goutte a-Pouffl Vous venez de tomber dans une mare, mais c'est le printemps. Ne l'oubliez pas. DEBORAH BUTLER Form IV 30 THE FLAME

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THE HOUSE TRUDGED along the last block of unshoveled sidewalk, looking down at the spar- kling snow that I was scrunching under my stadium boots. With every step the light, clean snow sprayed up from the back of my boots, some of it falling back down inside them where it melted, leaving my ankles wet and cold. I tried to walk carefully so that the snow would not come in, but I was unsuccessful. On the other side of the street some children were sliding down the white banks, across the sidewalk, and bumping off the low curb into the street where they rolled off their sleds. The sled runners left deep, narrow scars in the snow. The children's faces were shining, cold, and red. Their breath came in frosty little clouds as they puffed up the banks again, dragging their sleds. The next Hight of steps led up to the little house. I still called it our house although it really wasnit ours any more. It had been sold a month ago. In the neighboring yard more children in snow-clotted snowsuits were pushing a great heavy snowball. I knew their arms were aching with the weight of it, but I could see the determination on their faces as they tried to roll the huge ball a few inches farther. V The yard looked the same as it always did in winter. The two big trees on either side of the walk dripped snow like white frosting, and the brittle, winter-dead shrubs stood like ghosts guarding the door. I went up the low steps and rang the doorbell. Wait- ing for the door to be opened, I could not help thinking how odd it seemed to be standing almost like a stranger in front of the house I had lived in for so many years. The door opened. Inside stood a rather old woman with a dust rag in her hand. Hello, I came over with some keys for Mr. Williams, I said, pulling two keys out of my coat pocket, one marked 'LBasement', and the other Back Door. Mrs. Williams is upstairs. Iill call her. She opened the door wider. I scuffed the loose snow off my overshoes and went in. The maid was on her way upstairs to call Mrs. Williams. Even knowing beforehand that the house would be' changed, I was shocked by its new appearance. I could scarcely believe my eyes. It was like meeting an old friend and finding him changed. To me all the furniture seemed out of place, as if it didn't really belong here. The big comfortable sofa was no longer stretched out along the wall at the far end of the room, school books scattered liberally over it, its pillows mussed where I always left them. There was a neat, tidy chair in the place where my father's big easy chair and footstool had been. The piles of popular records and my father's records were gone from the corner shelves where we had always kept them, and only a small radio sat forlornly on the table. I wondered, not really caring, how it would seem to see this new family sitting here in our living room where we had spent so many evenings, enjoying the warm, luxurious feeling of contentment that permeated the room, while the smoke of my fatheris cigarette spiraled hazily up into the lamplight, and the radio mumbled pleasantly. I didn't want to stand there any longer, remembering. They wouldn't understand about 'our special climbing-tree by the garage in the back yard. They would never know how I had felt coming down the stairs the night of my first formal dance, holding up my long skirt, trying to look calm and experienced, although my legs were weak with anticipation and my heart pounded with excitement and happiness. My thoughts were like impish children racing through my mind shouting, Remem- ber, remember, rememberli' I couldn't bear it. I started toward the door, but Mrs. Wil- liams was coming down the stairs. It was so nice of you to bring the keys, she said. We simply love the house, but there are a few changes to be made, of course. We have some lovely plans for remodel- ing. 32 THE FLAME