United Colleges - Vox Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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the tension inside of her growing with each second, and she wanted to scream, to throw open the door, and to hurl herself out into the street. She put her hand on the handle of the door. She left it there for several seconds, ran it over her forehead and through her hair, then she clenched it tightly with the other. She felt her fingernails biting into the palms of her hands and she wished she could scratch her hands until they bled. She could feel herself being hurled almost through time, powerless to stop her headlong dash, and she became aware of an extreme feeling of panic. Everything she had wanted seemed to be swirling past her in the turbu¬ lence and the pure colour of the lights as they too passed. She felt she must escape from this boredom, tlfls discontent, to run, to try to catch all she had lost. The boisterous activity of the lights screeched at her and her body stiffened and grew more tense with suppressed excitement. The dull, senseless rhythm of the wipers drove her on, pushed her, and she realized that at last she had caught up with the elusive lights. She turned to the boy who was a stranger to her, even after three years. “Ken, let me out.” “What have I done now” “Nothing Ken, just let me out, please.” “Now I’m sure you’re crazy — you’ve just sat staring at nothing all night—what’s the matter?” She could feel the panic creeping up on her again as her whole body urged her to go. The warmth of the car was creeping around her, which made her unable to move. She could feel the excitement and ecstasy of her life all around her, yet she could not move. She shook her head in bewilderment and half shuddered. “I said, what’s the matter. If you’re sick I’ll take you home. Otherwise I just can’t figure you.” She looked at him. He’d never be able to under¬ stand—-nor could she understand him. She wanted to go, but the warmth seeping through her whole body drifted upwards, binding her completely. Her mind struggled to move but her body was powerless. The lights around her were fading, and the feeling of sickness and heaviness was inside of her again. She could feel the restless, brooding feeling of dis¬ content spreading, and slumped down in her seat. She felt choked—and weary. The car splashed over to the curb, sending up a jet of water which splattered the pavement. “Well, do you still want to get out?” The girl startled, awoke from her reverie. She looked around slowly, her eyes misty and dull. “No, just forget it.” For the Best in Sporting Goods visit ASHDOWNS MAIN STREET AT BANNATYNE 29

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FORGET IT By Louise Goudy Searing red lights shone through the rain- spattered windshield and the car hissed through the rain-drenched streets. Lights came from all angles, red, green, ' brilliant orange; restless lights that blinked and moved with compelling urgency. They looked distorted as they shone through the glass, yet they were real, vibrantly alive. The girl watched the headlights of the car behind reflected in the mirror, and the blinking lights of the car ahead. The rain beat down. She traced the progress of the drops as they slithered down the windshield. The wipers beat out their rhythm and she tried to find a tune that would fit it. There was none, and as the rhythm grew into a howling cres¬ cendo, she reached over desperately and turned off the wiper, then she sat erect in her seat. The boy beside her, annoyed, looked around. “What did you do that for?” “No reason I guess.” “What’s the matter with you anyway? You’ve been acting crazy all night.” “Forget it.” She reached over and turned the wipers on again. A slight irritation continued to grow in the back of her mind pushing out all other thoughts. Some¬ thing seemed to be constantly eluding her, like the tune for which she was searching but could never find. She looked over at the neon sign. It was red. She counted to five and then it blinked off and came on again, white. She counted to seven, then it changed to red. Shutting her eyes she counted to herself, red, white, red, white. She opened them. Her timing had been right. The car passed the sign and she counted some more “It’s white now.” “What’s that?” “Nothing.” “You said something about white. What’s white?” Listen, I didn’t say anything. Forget it.” “All I did was ask a question.” “Forget it, I said.” The girl turned her face away from him. She looked around her. The whole view was one of feverish lights flashing into the darkness. The harsh brilliance of colours tore at the blackness of the night, the whole darkness pulsated with life and the air was filled with excitement, electrical in its force. The girl could feel the turbulent lights pulling her, crowding around her, impetuously tearing at her to come, and she longed to run into the rain and to hurl herself into their flashing midst. Yet, she could not move. She could sit there staring only at the lights which seemed to move just ahead of her, taunting her to follow. She put out her hand to the windshield trying to stop a drop of rain from falling down its course. 28 She was powerless to stop it. It flowed on the outside of the glass unheedingly, until the cruel surge of the wiper lifted it and hurled it over. She watched the rest of the drops follow the same course, hoping uselessly that one would reach the bottom without being caught up and thrown away. The drops were all movement to her, they danced before her eyes. She could feel the vibrant lights burning into her; she could hear the dull swish of the tires as they cut along the road. She wished she were outside instead of in the car. Out there, she could feel gay and free; she wouldn’t feel the brooding sense of sickness, of discontent, that seemed to be burning up her whole being. She longed to run along the street, to feel the rain, to become a part of the swirling mass of colours. She looked at the boy. “He’s sulking,” she thought. He’s hurt and angry and I can’t possibly explain how I feel. I could never explain to him how every¬ thing I see makes me feel so light and excited and how I want to shout, but cannot. As the boy turned to face her she stared straight ahead at the rain-speckled windshield. He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, a frown slowly creasing his face. She bent over and pushed in the lighter. When it popped out he took it wordlessly, and he watched the smoke curl up and vanish out of the window. It seemed to be drawn out evenly as if strung on an invisible thread. The girl still sat erect, immovable. He could tell something was bothering her. She had never seemed so remote, so untouchable. She just stared ahead of her as if there were nothing to see. He could hear the rain on the roof, and the sharp sounds, almost like the tearing of fabric, which the car made as it went along the street. He felt warmer just to hear it, and he slumped a little more behind the wheel. He saw a giant sign with the big word “LOANS”. It flashed on and off, once a second. It was huge, it was all movement. He saw it flash off and on and saw how it was in time to the windshield wipers. They both kept the same beat, off, and on, off, and on. The directional signals of the car ahead blinked three times for every click of the windshield wipers. All the sounds connected—all the movements seemed to be a whole. He watched the smoke from his cigarette slowly curling upwards and drifting around the car, then quickly, he reached over and crushed the butt in the ashtray. He looked at the girl resentfully, won¬ dering all the time how she could sit there so impassively, so impervious to all movement and sound. The girl turned her back to him and looked out the window with a blank stare. Her hands were clenched tightly together, and her whole body was rigid. As the rain pattered down, she could feel

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CHAMPS SIX-MAN FOOTBALL BACK ROW, 1 to r: Pat Nagle, Mr. Tomlinson, Mike Skibinsky. CENTRE: A1 Belisle, Mel Peeler, Don Brown, Roy MacKenzie, Dick Gower. FRONT ROW: Harold Bjarnison, Wally Stephan- chuk, J. Kendle, Lou Walker, Mike Kachmar, Don Porth. SENIOR B BASKETBALL BACK ROW, 1 to r: Rod Couper, Thom Murray, Gord Swan, Alex Morrison. FRONT ROW, 1 to r: Duncan McLeod, Bruce Sampson, Jim Walker, Carl Ridd, Gerry Musker. TAnivQhAih (Dobaiinq Qkamjidu L to R: Harry Backewich, United College de¬ bating chairman, Muni Basman, Norm Silver- man. DEBATING After a twenty-year absence, the half-century-old Dingwall Trophy returns to United College. The orchids go to Muni Basman and Norm Silverman for their triumph over the agriculture debaters. That cherished Dingwall Trophy, emblematic of debating supremacy at the University of Manitoba, will for the next year stand amid the rest of our trophies, won in sports and other activities. The battle for the trophy was a memorable one. United was forced to assert its position as down-town debating champ by meeting Medicine in a semi-final. The finals were reached and won despite the few obstacles that detained us momentarily. Harry Beckewich is to be congratulated on the excellent qualities he displayed both administratively and forensicly, for without a doubt, the trophy would not be gracing our halls, were it not for some of the ‘debating’ he did behind the scenes. Once again, congratulations to Muni and Norman. 30