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Bittersweet
By
She was a perfectly typical sym
bol of intense youth. Her lashes
screened a pair of gray eyes that
were to be likened to a stage on
Broadway; for the lights of eager
ness, ardent intent, and sparkling
animation illuminated her fresh
young face each time she lifted
those silky, dark lashes. Flashes
of this spontaneity occurred as
chums called to her from time to
time, and a charming voice was
her mark of individualism as she
answered the many greetings. Stu
dent waitresses hurried between
the small tables, blocking the view
of the entrance. It was at these
times that she moved forward
slightly to see more clearly the ap
proaching girls and boys. Her out
ward appearance was one of
seraphic content with life, but
upon close inspection one might
hav’e discerned the sigpis of a
rapidly increasing anticipation.
Her rapt expression caught the
approving eyes of many of the
boys who passed. The revelation
of her startling eyes was made
more often as her glances toward
the door became a bit disturbed
with the passing of time.
“Hi, Tad!”
The greeting was insignificant
enough, but the havoc was
wrought at the small table in the
corner. An involuntary start cut
off her breath for a moment, and
a glowing happiness brushed warm
fingers over her. The universe
stood still! He saw her, nodded,
lowered his eyes, and pulled back
a chair for the languid young girl
at his arm. He cast another look
at her, but she was in a nose
dive, “blacking out” rapidly. Her
vision was blurred, and a single
tear fell, blending with the melting
ice cream into which it had fallen.
Her reasoning left her. She was
transported into a black abyss of
despair. She was seeing herself,
a gray-eyed young girl of a tender
age, making her way down a lonely
street on the outskirts of town. She
visualized the desperate figure
avoiding a dimly-lit bridge to dash
swiftly down the banks of a roar
ing river. Long strands of grass
were given life as the water lifted
them until they swirled and pi
rouetted before the current like
dancers in a ballet. A cold hush
passed over her, and in the faint
Ruby Putnam
light from the moon’s brilliance
a streak of crimson rushed occas
ionally down the stream and under
the bridge, disappearing in the
darkness of the water that hid its
secret.
“H’llo, Donna.”
From a watery grave she arose
to lift those persecuted eyes to see
a boy with broad shoulders,
freckles, and a crooked grin,
beaming down at her. The tragic
and catastrophic vision faded into
pink clouds, and the crimson was
evident in her flaming cheeks. She
tossed her curls and basked in
the sunlight of admiration, and her
voice was a lilting melody as she
chattered happily with the lad. Joe
was a popular, handsome chap who
was Just the balm for a broken
spirit. Her lovely lashes dropped
their scientific use and were serv
ing as a social aid. He made him
self comfortable opposite her, and
his lazy smile was the sun of Ire
land after a London fog. She
wrinkled her nose at the dish of
liquid before her, then beamed
with joy at her companion’s sug-
gest.on of double banana splits.
Lover Come Back
Bv
I guess I knew when I saw him
over the top of my test tube that
he was the one for me. I don’t
know whether it was the way he
boiled his hydrochloric acid, or
whether it was the manly way he
jumped when he dropped the jar
of sodium in the water; but I
knew without a doubt that I had
met the only man I would wash
beakers for the rest of my life.
I’ll never forget the day we
were distilling com coibs. The way
he took that hammer and broke
my corn cob into bits was so ro
mantic. And he was so brave the
day he cut his finger putting his
thermometer into a wet cork stop-
HILLTOP—PAGE TWELVE
per. Why, he didn’t say a word
when Mr. Frazier put bromine on
the cut, the dear, brave boy.
After classes were over we
wandered up the hill together, just
we two, and the other three girls
in the class who had a crush on
him. I never did like those other
girls, but I wasn’t jealous; for he
told me that he would rather my
distilling flask of sodium hy
droxide would break in his face
than anyone else’s. But as I was
saying, after classes we strolled up
the hill and sat down together on
the cool grass, and did our home
work for the next day.
My, he was so smart! He could
Shirley Schellenberg
write the most interesting equa
tions! They were equations that
even Mr. Wood couldn’t find any
where. I was so proud of him the
day he made gold out of rotten
potatoes and ethyl alcohol. We
were rather embarrassed the next
day when Mr. Frazier made him
try it in lab and it didn’t work;
still I’m certain the failure wasn’t
his fault.
But now he is gone. I haven’t
seen him since that last day in
organic, but I don’t mind; for I
think of him every time I smell the
chemistry lab.
submitting
present Bap-
Student directors included Allen
Brown and Barbara Morris, and
Blankets & Spreads
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