Evening star. [volume], August 24, 1947, Page 6, Image 83

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
suit that looked a little short in the pants,
but that was because he was so tall and grow
ing all the time.
Kitty and Bert began to dance to the rec
ord player, and then Betty and Red joined
them. Harry finally asked Sylvia to dance,
which left Bob and me facing each other
"across the chocolate cake.
He sat down on the couch with me, and
again I had the funny feeling he didn’t really
see me — he seemed to look just beyond me.
Maybe he didn’t care about girls because
someone long ago had broken his heart.
"Do you go to many parties?” I asked him.
"I don’t know many people in New York,”
he said. “I just came here last fall from Bos
ton.” I tried to think of something to say
about Boston, but I couldn’t. He fingered his
bow tie, which had veered to one side, and
we watched the dancers. I hoped he couldn’t
hear how my heart jumped around.
“I suppose you took a lot of Boston girls
to parties?” I asked. It was a subtle way of
finding out if he was in love with somebody
back there.
"No,” he said uncertainly.
Then Kitty danced up to us. “Doesn’t
Sally Smith look simply lovely in that dress?”
“Sallv Smith?” Bob asked I swallowed •>
Betty and Red screamed
with laughter, and all
of a sudden I realized
what had happened to me
1 he new boy was going
to be .pretty much of a
problem but Sally went
after him — the hard way
riage.” It came out all wrong — or rather,
too accurately, because it proved that I loved
Bob and that he was indifferent. I assured
myself that the crossing-out test probably
meant nothing at all, but I wanted to be
comforted so I phoned Kitty, my best friend,
who knew Bob better than I did because she
took Math with him as well as French.
“Maybe he has a middle name,” she
soothed. "That would make all the difference.”
“But,” I said realistically, “he is indiffer
ent. He never seems to see me. I can’t go on
this way, just yearning. What do you sup
pose makes men notice women?”
“Well,” she said thoughtfully after a min
ute, “dogs help. Two girls in this apartment
house have dogs that they take out at night
to meet boys and start conversations.”
“But Bob lives way down on Eleventh
Street. Even if I had a dog I wouldn’t be
able to air it down there.” The crooner had
started “Deep Night,” and my throat began
to ache, because I could smell spring through
the open window.
“I tell you what,” Kitty said breathlessly,
“I’ll ask him to my birthday party next week.
I’ll phone him right now, and then call you
back and tell you what he says.”
"His number is Chelsea 7-2461,” I told
her. I knew the number by heart.
It seemed ages before she called back.
"I’ll repeat his exact words,” she said. “ ‘Yes,
A Short Short Story
I should have been doing my homework,
but instead I tuned in a crooner, softly,
so that Mother wouldn’t hear it in the next
room. It seemed incredible that just the year
before I’d been deeply in love with this voice.
Now it was only a means to an end.
“The next song he sings,” I whispered to
myself, “is what Bob Warner thinks of me.”
My crooner sang, “I Can’t Give You Any
thing But Love, Baby,” and I sighed happily.
Maybe Bob was in love with me and was too
shy to indicate it. He never seemed to notice
any of the girls in school. In French class he
usually nodded if I managed to catch his eye,
and if we met in the hall he said “Hello,”
but he always seemed to focus on a point just
beyond my shoulder, and I wasn’t even sure
he knew my name. I decided to try the super
stitious little test all the girls used when they
got crushes.
I wrote my'name, “Sally Smith,” on a piece
of paper, and then I wrote “Robert Warner”
underneath. I crossed out all the a’s in the two
names and then counted the letters that re
mained as “Love, Hate, Indifference, Mar
BY BETTY BYBD
Illustrated by Bruce Bomberger
I’ll come. Where do you live?’ That’s all.”
I didn’t believe the week would ever end,
and all the time I was thinking of what I’d
wear to make Bob notice me. Mother was
against high heels, but I pleaded so hard that
she bought me a pair.
“See.” she said, when I put them on and
tottered across the shoe store, “you can’t even
stand in them. It’s absolutely ridiculous for
a fifteen-year-old girl. .. ”
But she let me have them, and then I
started my fight for a sleeveless evening dress
with sequins. Mother refused to consider se
quins. but we bought a blue dress without
sleeves. The neckline was very sophisticated.
On Friday night I dressed at Kitty’s, be
cause Mother wouldn’t have allowed me to
wear lipstick.
Finally Betty and Sylvia and Red and
Harry came, and everybody admired the
chocolate cake, which took up nearly all
of a small table and had 16 pink candles.
I wondered how any of them could possibly
be hungry; then I realized that of course
they weren’t in love. Kitty had a little crush
on Bert, but it didn’t amount to anything
because it wasn’t profound.
Finally, when I was sure he wasn’t going to
come, Bob arrived. He said "Hello” to Kitty
and Mrs. Parsons, and then he went over and
stood by Harry. I pretended not to notice him,
but I heard everything he said. He said,
“Gosh, what a cake.” He wore a dark blue
little too loud, because he looked at me,
startled. “Oh. Yes.”
“You ought to dance,” Kitty said. “This is
a wonderful tune.”
Bob and I got up, and when my cheek
touched his lapel, my heart jumped around
worse than ever. The tune was "Lover Come
Back to Me,” which was slow, and hard to
keep your balance to, and I wished I’d prac
ticed dancing with the high heels. I closed my
eyes in order to follow better, and we went
around the room twice. Then suddenly my
heel turned and I sat down on something soft.
At first I thought it was the couch — then I
heard shrieks and felt something moist. It
was the chocolate cake!
I turned around to look at it. It was flat
tened out from three layers to one enormous
layer that spread out over the plate and
squished onto the mahogany table. Mrs.
Parsons came running with a towel, and she
and Kitty began rubbing at my dress. Bob
just stood there, fidgeting.
Betty and Red screamed with laughter,
and all of a sudden I realized where the rest
of the chocolate cake was and how I must
look —bent over being scrubbed. I pulled
away from Kitty and Mrs. Parsons, ran out
of the room into the hall and jerked open the
front door. It was five blocks to my house
and I ran all the way. I wanted to die, because
there wasn’t any point in living.
I AWAk'PMKTl ilKruit olmron tVtnnbfol n A 1 — A.
that it was a Saturday and that I wouldn’t
have to face school. I told Mother that if the
phone rang I didn’t want to answer it. I
couldn’t even bear to talk to Kitty.
The sunlight was bright on the dressing
table skirt, and I watched it spotlighting a
rose in the chintz. I wished it hadn’t been
spring. I wanted rain to cry to, and bleakness.
I turned over and tucked my head into the
pillow, and after a while I went to sleep again.
It was almost dusk when Mother came in
with a tray. “A boy called you,” she said.
“Bob Warner. He said he wanted you to go
to a basketball game.”
It seemed incredible. He wanted to see me
again! And tonight! I blurted out the whole
story to Mother, and told her how much I
loved him. “Why do you suppose he called
me?” I asked. “Unless he’s just sorry for me?”
Well,” she said, “I don’t know him, dear.
But from what you tell me about him, I
don’t believe he called because he was sorry
for you. I think you’re probably the first girl
he ever really noticed." The End