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April 03, 1940 - Image 9

Resource type:
Text
Publication:
The Michigan Daily, 1940-04-03

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PERSPECTIVES

Page Me

.u ._ _ v m v .d r.

4ITIN[G . . Continued from Page Five

"Come on, Arden. I have a marvel-
ous idea"
They hurried out of the auditorium,
breathless and secretive.
"Is there any reason why we have
to stay?" she whispered. There wasn't.
Nothingcould be simpler than walking
right out the door.
"We hdd better be very careful,
though," warned Arden. "Just act as
though we were leaving for a breath of
air."
No one was at. the school entrance.
They looked around them, casually, and
then went on out. The sudden feel of
cool air was like a whispered touch on
their faces.
Somewhere, music was playing. Arden
lifted up, her head and sniffed.
"You'll find it that way," giggled-
Lainie. She broke off a leaf from the
hedge. Coolness spattered deliciously
over: her wrist.
"C'mon. I know where it is. Sorority
Row."
This was exciting. This would be bet-
ter than a hot fudge sundae. It was like
being an adventuress. She felt sud-
denly very important and detached, as
if she were seeing a movie of herself,
walking down the shadowy street.
The music had come from one of the
sorority, houses. They were having a
party. The windows were open and
sound came pouring out:
What have you done to my heart. .
"Oh, look," Arden whispered.
Just in front of them a girl was walk-
ing arm in arm with a boy. She had
on a lovely dress. It looked like pale
silver in the dim light.
"Let's-kind of get off the walk," mat-
tered Lainie. Someone else was just be-
hind them. Another girl, in a long shim-
mering dress, and this time the boy had
his armaround her.
The sound of music was all about
them; now. At the end of the street came
another blare of song. Across from
them a girl in white was smiling up
at a tall, dark manl.
"Look," said Arden, sadly.
There was a moon. She had not
noticed lit before. A very small, faint,
April ;moon with one corner blurred and
yet still showing, as though a blue veil
were lapped over it.
"Oh," groaned Lainie.
Another couple was walking toward
them. Every house on the street must
be havinga party. Lainie thought. And
it was no wonder they-wanted to be out-
side on a night like this. It was their
night. She and 'Arden didn't belong
here. She wished; now they had never
come.
"Lainie, let's go," Arden was saying
Lainie nodded and they hurried on;
past the dark hedges and the soft, angu-
lar shadows of the trees. But they could
not seen to lose the whispering couples;
they were all around them, magically
appearing from nowhere, as if they were
a part of the blueness of the night and
the diml lilac scent and the music. At
the end of the street a girl was standing
so close to a boy that they almost
touched, and their lips were only a breath
apart; Lainie stared, and brushed
against them before she knew it.
"I'm sorry," she said.
But as she looked back she saw that
they had not even noticed her.
Arden clutched her arm. "I know."
Lainie muttered. She felt as though it
were almost more than she could bear.
The most wonderful thing in the world
it seemed, was to walk with a boy and
wear a long trailing dress. All the songs
she had ever heard, all the things she
had wanted, all the strange, half-mean-
ings of words she could not understand
seemed to well up suddenly in her and
choke her. She couldn't stand it. She
simply couldn't stand it.
"Let's run," she said. "Arden, let's
run." Lainie grabbed her and started

running. She was surprised it felt so
good to run; she didn't want to stop;
she didn't want to ever stop. Arden
had to jerk at her to stop.
If they could only find some excite-
ment! Something; that they could do.
They would simply have to do some-
thing; she would burst if they didn't.
"Look! Now what's going on over
there?" said Arden abruptly.
"Where! What! Over where!" asked
Lainie, turning and staring.
It was Professor Moyle's house. A
party.
"I bet it's a reception and I bet Ger-

was resignedly giving Arden some clever
looking little sausages wrapped up in
bacon. Now here is someone who really
understands us, Lainie thought.
"Don't know what Mis' Moyle'd say if
she knew this," said Germaine. "Asfor
you, Arden Hamilton, your father and.
mother are at the party; you're probably
eating their food!"
The thought was a marvelous one. It
made up for everything else.
"Oh, punch! Germaine, give us some
punch!" There was a giant silver bowl,
frosty and exciting; and the punch
looked dark and mysterious. But what

Cot a't iuitor
GEORGIA CHRISTLIEB, whose sensitivity to poetry dates back to the
Latin poet Horace, is a transfer from Western State Teachers College,
and a Grad here. Has been writing singe she ,was twelve.
HOWARD MOSS won third prize in the Freshman Hopwood awards
this year. Won also a private conference with Louis Untermeyer after
a general poetry conference here.
GWENYTH LEMON writes more poetry than fiction, but supplements
her graduate work dabbling in both.
ELIZABETH ALLEN has appeared in print in the New York Times and
College Verse, captured Freshman and minor Hopwood awards,
done medical social work, worked several years on "writing." She is
a graduate student.
DENNIS FLANAGAN is not new to Pespectives readers. Senior Daily
editor and member of Perspectives staff, he has won the Gargoyle
fiction prize.
SHIRLEY WALLACE, sophomore on the Daily staff, transferred from the
University of Texas. Enters Perspectives for the first time, experi-
menting with structure.
ALVIN SAASOEN tired of pounding a Daily typewriter as a night
editor, pounded out his first short story, was accepted, started imme-
diately on his second. He is a Junior in the Lit school.
NANCY MIKELSON graduates this June, intends to keep on writing,
thinks Perspectives is one of the best college magazines.
JOHN ARTHOS conducts the newly-instituted honor curriculum in ,litera-
ture, has been instructing here for one year, comes from Dartmouth
and Harvard.
ELLIOTT MARANISS directs the editorial policy of The Daily, is the only
college editor to have an editorial printed in a special section of the
St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Co-edits the A.S.U. Magazine Challenge.
AGNES STEIN attends the School of Library Science here.
TRISTAN MEINECKE has contributed drawings for the past three issues
of Perspectives. He is a sophomore in the art school, and serious
about a future in painting or sculpture. Has had a canvas shown ,in t
the Ann Arbor exhibition.

The last thing in the sooitd she-was-
ed to do was to go to bed., tt it had to
be done. She took a lon time to un-
dress. So did Arden.
The ,bed was already hrned bart
for then and after brushg her teetlo
and scrubbing her face thee was real
nothing left to do but go; still I ainos
lingered a minute at the open window.
The air was pulsing with secret fra-
rance, full of wordless and unspoken
promises. For a moment she had a sud-
den feeling as if there was something
wonderful and unknown out there in the
night. But all she could see was the
darkness.
"Lainie, c'mere." Arden a whispe: -
ing from the hall. She ha't been aby
to go right to bed either. and-what woo
she doing? She was hsteosrig at thu
dopr of mother's and fathees room! Oh,
wonderful! Nothing was mote fun than
listening to people when t:hey didnrt.
know you were around, eagpcially whe
they probably wouldn't wait you to lit-
ten, Lainie hurried to er, breathles'
and cautious.
All;she, could hear was a faint nms-
mur. You could only distnguish sepy-
ate words.
"...awful... about that Rouman-
ian youngster .
How dUll. They were tating about
that stupid European gl who was m
town last summer. All she had done was
sit around with a funny lost look o
her face, and act goody goody, and be-
sides she was so hideously religious you
couldn't even get her to go to a movie--
why were they talking stout her! Thi-
was dull, really.
I think it's bad eroiugh when a
girl that young goes intc any order."
It was her father's runeoly voice. B;C
this particular convent s-"
oh, it's terrible. swtbpered her
mother.
Lainie straightened up and looked at
Arden, who was staring at her with
horrified eyes. Not going into a con-
vent. Oh, no. That girl - why, she
hadn't even begun to fid out about
things yet!
Her father was saying sscnething else
. . a litle grim, isn't it? I suderstar.'
they sleep in coffins, to prepare then-
seleves for death."
Oh! Lainie whirled about, ran, ar i
threw herself on the bed. Arden w;a
already a frightened mound under the
covers. It was too terrible. She buried
her head in the pillow. Oh m., BesinOt
her she could feel Arden's body, as stit,
and unrelaxed as her own. She hadn't
moved.
T WAS ENOUGH to make you shud-
der, really. Awful, she thought. She
realized that she was tremblingThat
girl-she would never know what it wns
to find out the meanings behind the
things she did not understand. She
would never be like Ann, or like mothe.
She would never have all the things that
you had to wait for. She would never
wear a long dress and walk with a boy
along a street full of mUsic.
It was dying before you had lived.
Lainie dug her head into the pillow.
Strange, but she felt different abet
everything now. Entirety different.
"Arden," she said, pokog her. She
wanted to tell her that she didn't thik
things were really so hinscs, after al.
But Arden still hadn't crved. It's 01
right, Lainie thought. 3 couldn't ecu
plain this to her anyway. 3 can't ever
explain it to myself. 1t' too hard to
explain.
With one quick movement she flopped
over and sat straight up an bed, staring
around at the dim walls of the room and
.the open windows. She could smell the
lilac again from somewhre, and the
touch of night was soft on her face.

maine is cooking and I bet she'd give
us something to eat."
Of course Germaine would be there.
Everybody in town had Germaine when
they had a party, and it was -said that
a visiting Englishman was still baffled
by the fact that no matter where he went
to dinner in Arborton the same maid
opened the door for him.
HEY RUSHED across the street and
stole through the trees to the back
of the house. Sure enough. There
was Germaine in the kitchen, her rather
severe coiffure topped with the rakish
pink bow which everyone in town de-
plored but no one, as yet, had been able
to change. Lainie rather admired the
bow. Of course it was too bad it looked
so hideous, but it showed a certain inde-
pendence of character.
The substantial warmth of the kit-
chen was an intense relief, and all the
trays of little cakes in neat, colored
rows; the small, delicately shaped sand-
wiches; and dishes of nuts; wonderful!
"Germaine! Germaine! Give us some-
thing to/eat!"
"Heavenly days." Germaine looked at
them blankly. "Get right out of my kit-
chen. Get out this minute."
That didn't mean a thing. She always
said that.
"How do you expect me to do what's to
be done with you sniffing and poking
around like mice?"
"Oh!" Lainie scooped up a handful of
hot mushroom sandwiches. They were
Germaine's specialty. And Germaine

was this? Germaine had her hands on
her hips and was staring at them, de-
fiance quivering up the length of her
starched uniform and crackling around
the pink bow. '
"This is something you can't have."
"But why, Germaine! Oh, you're
mean. Why not! Come on! Jeepers!
Why!'
Lainie felt that she had never wanted
anything so badly as a drink of that
punch. "Why not!" she insisted.
"This." said Germaine, softly, "has
got something in it."
L AINIE KNEW her mother was go-
ing to be mad when they got home,
but somehow she didn't care. She
didn't care about anything. She searched
in her mind for a word which would de-
scribe how she felt; a large, important
word. "Frustrated." That was it. Frus-
trated. Everything had been simply
frustrating, and it was perfectly hide-
ous. "Don't you feel frustrated?" she
asked Arden.
Arden nodded. "I think Germaine
was about the most frustrating of all,"
she said.
Lainie heard her mother's voice call-
ing from upstairs as they went in the
door, and sighed.
"We had better go right to bed," she
whispered, quietly. Any other time she
would have felt bitter about mother
acting as though she'd committed a
crime on a night when she had a guest.
But what was the use.
"Come on, Arden," she said. They
dragged upstairs.

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