Thursday, March 30, 2017

CHANGE OF DIRECTION

It has been 4 years since my beloved Paul died. I have spent some time remembering those last two years we had together. I find myself remembering those days less and less frequently, which I am sure is a healthy sign. I have begun to write other things. Below is a short piece I recently wrote for a little literary magazine. Read and I hope you enjoy.


In 1956 I was a student at a small liberal arts college in Kentucky. The female dormitories were locked promptly at 10:30 pm every night, with bed checks at 11:30. And we were kept captive until 6 the next morning. “Not fair”, “A prison” or “We ought to be boys” were repeated complaints.

One might I boldly announced that anyone with half a brain could easily stay out all night and never get caught. Followed by the dare, “OK smarty pants, prove it.”

On the chosen Saturday night I carefully positioned and covered a pile of clothing on my bed and left the dorm at 9:30. For the next hour I wandered the campus. When the chapel clock rang 10:30 I realized I had no place to go. All the buildings were locked: the campus went to bed.

Fearing getting caught I sought a hiding place. When I found an open door to the church I said a silent prayer and slipped in. In the dark I made my way up the steps to the balcony section. The church pew was hard; the church was cold; the night was just beginning. Sleep did not come; noises seemed ominous; the darkness was oppressive. Then light flooded the church. I sprang up and peered over the balcony barrier. The minister intern, Rev Thompson, was at the pulpit podium, sorting and arranging papers. When he shined a flashlight around the church I knew he was looking for me. I slid down and stretched out on the pew. For what seemed an eternity he fussed, examined, and reexamined the altar area. I lay silent and scared, aware I was in deep trouble. Then footsteps, then no light. I was saved.

When I awoke daylight filled the church. I crept down the steps, out the door onto the street. Just as I arrived at the dorm, Mrs. Anderson, the house-mother opened the door and greeted me. My heart raced; my breathing raced: my fear raced. I had been caught. I was in big trouble. Before I could summon a voice she said, “Well how nice.” I steeled myself for what would come next. “I wish.” She said, “that more of the girls would run before breakfast. Good for you.”


“Yes Ma’am”, I said and resaying my silent prayer entered the building.