Reminiscence: What I Regret NOT Doing

***

1

If I remember correctly, the Hiking merit badge was all that stood in the way of my achieving the lofty ranks of the Eagle Scout in the summer before junior high school. (This of course preceded the national organization’s having taken its anti-gay stand.)  Not that the Hiking badge was required of everyone. I believe I had selected it from several alternatives. Hiking in this case meant walking, not climbing. I would probably not have chosen Climbing.

To be accepted into my troop two years before, like the other boys I had to promise to work my way up to the Eagle rank, and the troop did have the best record in our Council for the number of Eagle Scouts each year. My troop leader was named Kidd, and among ourselves we called him “Captain.” He was relentless reminding us how far we had to go in order to fulfill our promise.

All I had to do for the Hiking merit badge was to complete a certain number of walks of varying lengths. The first was probably a half-mile, and the last – as I remember more clearly – was ten miles. Mother would take me to a largely deserted spot just outside of town, and we would measure on the odometer the requisite distances. Then she would take me back to the spot where we had begun and let me out. On the shorter trips, of course, she would just wait for me – usually parked under a shady tree – until I arrived.

We fussed about my shoes and socks. As a precaution, she put Band-Aids on my heels and outside toes, to help prevent blisters. I carried my Scout canteen filled to the brim with that good-tasting tap water we had in my city.

I think Mother timed my walk for the first one-mile trek, so that she could estimate when I would likely arrive at the end of the remaining walks and go about her business in the meantime. I wore my school watch with the muted yellow-green cloth wristband, so I could know when to expect her to return for me.

At this gap of time, I don’t even remember the shorter so-called hikes; they were probably just around our neighborhood. In those days, I seemed to walk constantly from one friend’s house to another’s anyway – trying to set up a football or baseball game among several of us – so the first walks must have seemed pretty normal.

Mother was in charge of filling out a little form for each hike, with the date, distance, time of departure and time of arrival. We would both sign each form. The idea was, as it had been the summer before, that when the troop started meeting again in the fall, the paperwork would be turned in to Capt. Kidd and he would summon us to various little hearings with two or three volunteer dads to be quizzed on what we had done, in order to limit any attempted shortcuts. It always seemed a huge triumph when the dads’ committee declared that Mother and I had told the truth and deserved the badge I had worked for.

But I do remember the last two walks. They both ended at the same spot on the southern outskirts of the city, close to a rather new elementary school and a little strip mall.

Both days it was hot as Hades, and I had more or less emptied my canteen by the time Mother came for me. I was proud of the fact that I had arrived early, showing I had gotten stronger as the earlier hikes were completed.

What did I think about, I wonder, as I plodded (or rather, strode) along? All I remember is that on the longest trek, when Mother had taken me ten miles from the finish line, I had passed a little high school whose name I had heard but I was surprised to see it was in the middle of nowhere. What a bummer it would be to have to go there!

When Mother and I got home that day, I bathed right away both because of the accumulated sweat and in order to cool down. Mother was a little concerned about me and had finished filling out the form already when I came down. I signed it.

And that was the last thing I did.

When the fall started and I began attending classes at the neighborhood junior high, the first Monday night came when our troop met in a Methodist church near the university, but I had no interest whatsoever in going. And I never did go back, never turned in the forms, or sat for the final hearing.

There was even one man in our church from another troop who used to badger me about taking care of that last merit badge. He could not understand why I didn’t want to finish up, and he didn’t even know that all I had to do was turn in the paperwork and demonstrate that I had indeed completed all the requirements for the hiking badge.

I didn’t and don’t understand either why I didn't finish up, but I never did.

2

In high school I was a conscientious student, but not an obsessive one. I enjoyed learning new things even when I did not so much enjoy particular classes. I willingly did my homework on time, even some assignments that I knew some, or many, of my classmates considered tedious (like our nightly Latin translation work). I can remember one time when my mother and father had to go to a meeting at the school, at the time when I was just finishing up something extra-curricular, and I sat in one of the bathrooms on the floor while trying to figure out what the heck one of Vergil’s figures of speech could possibly mean (or something like that).

But I didn’t go above and beyond what seemed the minimum assignments, didn’t seek out the teachers outside of class or do any extra-credit work. My grades seemed okay but not spectacular. My older sister had done better.

As the junior and senior years zipped along, we had quite a few opportunities to take big national exams. Among them were the Merit Scholarship Exams, a kind of practice run at the College Boards (later formalized as the PSAT, which didn’t exist in my day), and then in the fall of my senior year the SATs for real. Finally, it turned out that the second stage of the Merit Scholarship Exams was… another occasion to take the SATs. As usual my results seemed pretty good (and secretly I liked taking this type of exam), but not spectacular.

So it was a little perturbing to discover that the state university in the Midwest that I had decided to attend, after they offered me a $50 scholarship for the first year, did not accept the SATs, requiring for everyone the ACTs which were not offered in my whole state. “Not to worry,” the university said, “we accept you on the basis of your high school record, and you can take the required exams the day before Registration.”

Yes, I went away to college not having actually passed the entrance exam. No one seemed worried.

I arrived on a Friday afternoon, on Saturday took the exams – along with quite a few others – and was given an appointment with an academic advisor the next afternoon, and then on Sunday morning a line had formed in the parking lot outside the designated building to wait for our results. Again, no one seemed worried or anxious.

When it was my turn in line, someone handed me my letter and said, “Congratulations” just as she had to everyone I had observed ahead of me. Yes, I was officially in. Not only that, a stamp at the top said “Honor Student” whatever that meant and my advisor appointment had been changed to late that afternoon with an Honors Advisor.

My percentile ranks were indeed higher than they had been on the SATs or the Merit Exams, and – here was the shocker – although my university did not give advanced credit, I had been exempted from the usual requirement to take a year of college math!

This seemed at the time particularly good news because in junior high and high school I had convinced myself that I was a verbal guy; I just did not like math. One way I was distinguished from the other good or pretty good students in my class was that I had opted to take the minimum requirement, through second-year algebra, rather than taking on Algebra and Trig that “everyone else” had chosen for the senior year.

So I didn’t have to take any math in college. I don’t recall my advisor pressing me to do so either, asking basically, “Well, what do you want to take?”

As it turned out, I struggled a little with the math challenges in the Physics course I chose to take in my freshman year. Maybe that only ratified my opting for the minimum...

But I regret that now. The fact is, I always did well in my math classes and scored higher on the mathematical parts of exams than on the verbal. The reason I struggled in Physics was that I had not taken A & T. And all through my professional career on the rather frequent occasions when some level of mathematical thinking was required, I prided myself on still remembering and being able to apply what I had learned, minimal or not.

And dozens and dozens of times, I have regretted not having taken Statistics in college.

3

The last act of omission I will mention was amusing as it happened, but I do regret not taking a different route.

It was in my freshman year at college. My father had told me to expect that work that had received an A in high school usually received a B in College, B work got a C, and so on. So I was expecting a B or B- average. I actually did better than that in my first semester, but averaged between an A and a B.

But it was still enough that some people noticed. It led, for instance, to a couple of fraternities – who had to raise their corporate average – to ask me to be a pledge. Not my thing. But, surprise, it also led to my being invited to join a national freshman honor society. That was exciting. I may even have mentioned it to my folks.

But the thing was, in order to join you had to pay what seemed a large sum to me (maybe $5.00) for the initiation luncheon and a membership fee too. I wrote back a nice note but saying I wouldn’t be at the luncheon and would not become a member.

I didn’t think about it again.

The university I attended published a daily newspaper. On the morning when I was excitedly up early to polish my shoes and brass and to brush off and iron my ROTC uniform (my freshman year ROTC was required of all men) because that was Governor’s Day, when the governor of the state was coming out to REVIEW THE TROOPS at noon.

We had been practicing all year lining up, standing straight, and marching in proper formation. I probably arrived at the parade grounds early, all polished up. Most of the guys I knew complained about all this stuff, but I actually liked at least the marching part. So this was going to be an interesting day.

Also on the front page was a story about the freshman honor society luncheon, which turned out to be that very day. Unfortunately, listed along with quite a few others in the small print was my name. I may have been surprised at the mistake but thought nothing of it really.

And sure enough, it was an impressive military occasion: a big field with a pavilion set up in the center. All the platoons, etc., lined up at their assigned stations. After we had “fallen in,” the senior student leading our platoon called us to attention and called the role. Incredibly, all were present. Then we waited there, at ease, as vehicles began to drive up to the pavilion.

I couldn’t pay much attention to the big-wigs, though, because the Sergeant – a professional serviceman – strode officiously up to our little group and bellowed, “Cadet Derrick, front and center!”

This was disturbing, but I marched up to the Sergeant. He said still loudly, “Derrick!”

I said, “Yes sir!” perhaps squeaking a little. But it began to dawn on me that he was actually looking me over admiringly.

“Derrick,” he resumed. “Get your sweet tail over to that honors luncheon!” (He was evidently amused I hadn’t realized that the academic honor was considered more important than Governor’s Day and admired my loyalty to the corps.)

“Sir!” I was so bold to say. “I refused to join that society!” A brief pause followed.

“Derrick?”

“Yes?”

“Fall in!”

I marched back to my place, noticing some smiles among my comrades.

That’s all I remember about Governor’s Day. We did march, to the same Sousa music we had practiced to all year. But that was more or less it.

And I have nothing to show for it. It wasn’t right to charge me to get an honor I had earned, especially a relatively large amount. But I should have asked my parents for the money. Though financially stretched with both their children now in college, they would have been happy to oblige.

NOTE: I reserve the right to add to this list of regrettable acts of omission on a later occasion.

***

Story: The Illusionary Stage

***

1

It's easy to romanticize. Especially about the past. And easiest of all to romanticize about your own. Most people don't realize how early it begins. It's not when you're getting close to middle-age. You begin working on your high school days, for example, as soon as you've been a year or so in college. Maybe even before. And it keeps happening. It gets to be a sort of tradition.

But every now and again, in my own case at least, something in my life now will recall to me the way things really were in those days. It wasn't such a different world.

I haven't seen Don Arcott for more than two years, since before I went to Europe. We don't write each other very often anymore. He doesn't answer letters promptly, as he did for a short time. Even though we were not especially close in high school, Don and I did always seem to get along pretty well. And after his troubles with Alice were finally over, we wrote each other fairly often for a couple of years. I was in Europe when it happened. He began to write that summer, saying he might be over there too for a while. When he did, and I was back in the U.S., we still exchanged letters now and then. But our letters became less and less frequent as that year went on.

Alice was a year younger than we were, and in some ways she seemed even younger than us than that. Even to Don. We were juniors, then, when Alice first joined us, and Don was already becoming a fairly important member of The Players. He had never before been an especially good-looking boy, and, in his nervous energy and theatrical personality, he always seemed to stand just a little apart from the rest of us. But he was well-liked. He was funny after all, and I think that was why we liked him then. He seemed to like to make us laugh. But after the performance was over, whatever it was, it was hard to talk with him about just ordinary things. I think even in those days one of the reasons we liked him was that he seemed just a little younger than we did. Age gets mixed up that way. It's not like a calendar or a clock. It's more like an amateur photograph with several images confusedly superimposed one on the other. It won't make a pattern, and the various images may even seem unrelated. Maybe one will come into focus for a minute and maybe then another. Or maybe it will all just seem confused and blurred.

Alice didn't seem so very special to anyone else. Don and Paul, his good friend in high school (who went with him to Europe), were already joining the ones who ran The Players when that year began. Miss Lutz let the officers of the group make a lot of their own decisions. She chose the plays we would do, and cast and directed them, of course. But the officers and the rest of us who voted each week at our business meetings, we decided about publicity and parties and how to raise money. Don and Paul liked audiences and talked a lot in the meetings. We didn't mind.

They were very popular with our plays' audiences too. They seemed to alternate from one play to the next, taking the silly "comic relief" roles and making them somehow the best parts to have. Both of them really wanted to play serious roles, though. Especially the romantic lead. They looked all right for it, especially Paul. But Miss Lutz didn't ever cast them that way.

It was hard to get many girls, who could talk, on the stage. A whole lot of them wanted to work, pasting flats together and painting, and washing the stage. They especially liked to take tickets and hand out programs on show nights. Alice, though, came with one other girl from the junior high across town where Miss Lutz had been drama coach one year before. She did know pretty well how to "project," as we used to say, and how to move on stage. It wasn't very long, then, before Alice was beginning to get some of the better small roles in our plays. And it was sometimes the comic relief's sentimental girl-friend.

She was able to convey from the stage a kind of charm that seemed at the same time special to herself and common to all our collective fantasies. I mean that she was delicate and graceful, with dark hair but a fair complexion and fine, pretty features. She had a kind of sparkle about her, especially from the stage. I guess I've colored the picture a lot now trying to remember it. Still, I think we used to do that in those days, too. But Alice didn't seem to captivate anyone else the way she did Don. I for one can't remember ever even considering her for myself; but maybe that shouldn't count. She did get enough invitations to dances and things, but only from the musically-oriented kind of fellows who would ask anybody. Don interested her more. Of course, he was a year ahead. In high school that counts for a lot.

I never knew Alice well myself, but she seemed to be all right. Somebody said to me once that you were always just a little worried when Don got interested in a girl. Afraid that he would be hurt as had happened so often. I did know myself that there had never been anything lasting between Don and a girl. Still, with Alice you wouldn't have been afraid exactly. Her own parents had just been divorced the summer before she came to our high school. Evidently it had been coming for a long time. And then, her mother had married again, someone else, only a few months later. I don't know where I learned this unless Don told me himself after it was all over.

Looking back now, though, I think maybe that you saw in Alice's face, even through her "little girl" look. You had a feeling she knew a little bit about what was going on. As I say often now, that's the best way to avoid pain, or causing it to someone else - to expect it. It helps you anticipate the way people open themselves up for getting hurt or for hurting themselves. You even find yourself that way sometimes.

I don't guess I'll be able to go on with this in a straight and simple way. All these new things keep occurring to me. I don't want to think about them much. That's the way you distort things, and I don't want to do that. I want to just tell the story of Alice and Don, just a factual account. But then, the reasons why things happen - that's part of the story too, isn't it? Maybe that's why I wanted to write all this down in the first place. I want to be able to understand the why of these things, now that my own life looks as though it will change in a permanent way. . .

It's especially hard, I guess, for a guy to think of another guy as "glamorous" in any way. But that must have been how Don was for Alice in the early days. Just about the time they started dating besides, he began to grow better-looking. Maybe he always stayed just that little way distant even from Alice too, and maybe that was an especial reason why she was held to him for so long - in a kind of fascination.

It always took Don a long time to get rolling in a courtship. I always thought I was shy because, until I went to France really, it never occurred to me to ask a girl out unless I was prompted by someone else. Don, though, wanted to, on his own, from the first. He would want to first in a general way, and then there would be a particular girl he would decide to ask. But he couldn't ever just come out and do it. He would manage to be around her a lot and talk to her, and be funny and clever. Maybe he would even plan to ask her to a dance or a movie next time he saw her, but would then decide to telephone. Then when he was home with that ugly old telephone the Arcott's had in their awkward, cramped entrance hall, he would decide it would be more than pleasant to ask her the next time he saw her.

He had to go to a lot of trouble to get Alice's number because she was living with her mother even though she had not changed her name. Besides that, she and her mother and stepfather had just moved in the beginning of the year. But Don found out. I wouldn't even be surprised if he followed her home one time after rehearsal and then sneaked back late at night to read her mother's new name off the mailbox. That's much too spectacular a picture, I guess. Anyway, he had the telephone number, but didn't use it for a long time.

That's one of the things about all this that is so funny. Don was like that. He had trouble asking a girl out. I guess it wasn't too bad when they were just talking during breaks in rehearsal and times like that. But even then, you could tell he wasn't comfortable. All that nervous activity. And being funny.

But Alice wasn't that way at all. She had a lot of vitality all right, but it wasn't exactly nervous energy or covered-up timidity. Or at least not on the surface. On the contrary. She seemed to have real social skill even pretty much in the early days. You could imagine her, for example, having big parties and introducing people, Don didn't have that kind of poise.

Maybe all of what happened was just the result of bad luck - a lot of sad coincidences - chance. Alice hadn't really matured, of course, when they first started things going, so maybe it wasn't obvious that she would develop this kind of social grace. Maybe Don only saw the "little girl" look or the sparkle Alice created on the stage, and didn't see how it was just a nonchalant and knowing front Alice was developing to be pleasant for the world. But now it occurs to me that, if it was just a front - only a more complete and more successful one than Don's clowning pose - maybe Don eventually got to something none of the rest of us ever knew, underneath. . .

I'm afraid I'm getting it all confused.

I never did know exactly when they started dating. We all got used to seeing them talking and laughing together. They were with Miss Lutz a lot. She was a pretty close friend of Alice's - and later Don's too. But Alice and Don weren't actually dating for a long time.

Then, late in Alice's first year with us, we had one of our big events. We always did a one-act play in the spring in a competition with other schools. It was a big thing, and everyone in the state took it seriously. A University in the northern part of the state invited us several weeks before the competition to come put on our little piece for them as part of a big conference. The University drama students and professors would then criticize and give us advice. Miss Lutz thought it would be good experience. And besides, she was afraid the people in the play were getting "stale" without an audience. Alice had the biggest part in the play, and Don had the most difficult. It was a peculiar little fantasy-play. Alice actually played a little boy. Don was a kind of strolling performer. Miss Lutz thought it was a comic part, and Don played it that way. But the rest of us never thought it was funny. The whole little play had that kind of odd feeling to it.

I came as close to knowing Miss Lutz on that trip as I ever did. All of us drove up the day before our show, except for Paul and Don, who for some reason couldn't come until that night on the bus. She seemed pretty young, Miss Lutz did. She just threw herself into her work with us with a zest and dedication that seemed like schoolgirl eagerness to those of us who knew the calm, sort of professional attitude of the older lady who had been our director just before Miss Lutz had come. But we knew, of course, that Miss Lutz was not just out of the University, because she had been teaching at a junior high across town. I remember that some time or another too, after this first year I'm talking about now, someone showed me a picture in an old yearbook of our high school. They used to print pictures of all the teachers as well as the students. It was pretty hard to tell at first because of the strange hairstyles they used to wear in those days, but it was Miss Lutz in the picture. She had been teaching English then, and her name was Mrs. Davis.

Sometimes Miss Lutz would look suddenly tired. It wasn't necessarily a time when things in the show were going badly either. Something would just happen in her mind all of a sudden, and the firm smile she usually wore above her great, energetic motions would drop away, leaving her cheeks a little heavy and her eyes a little droopy.

We had two flat tires on the way up north in Miss Lutz's car. She seemed angry about having gotten poor quality tires, but I think she was pretty embarrassed about it. It was already very hot on the highway even though it was only March. But the three of us boys had the tires changed in just a few minutes. When we stopped in a gas station each time to have the spare repaired or replaced, they worked fast too, and were very courteous to us. Still, the last part of the trip was not comfortable, and it was altogether about a six-hour drive. We were pretty tired that night and went to bed as soon as we could.

But that was nothing compared to what happened to Paul and Don.

The show was scheduled to go on something like nine o'clock the next morning. We got the props and the lights set up the night before. Don and Paul were supposed to get in a little after midnight, but the bus they were going to ride on broke down. They had to take another bus through a couple of other cities and even had to convince the driver to make a nonscheduled stop in the city where we were, just to get in by 5:30 a.m. We all got up at seven.

Despite all that, the show went better than we would have thought possible. They especially liked Don as he pranced around and grimaced and laughed. He hadn't even had time to look where the furniture was before the curtains opened, but everything was all right anyway.

I'm only telling this because Don's behavior was odd all that day. He was usually somewhat frail, needing a lot of sleep and quiet and regular hours. Paul was the one who can get along on next to nothing. But somehow they switched places that particular day. Maybe doing so well in the show just set Don up to it.

Anyway, after the show Miss Lutz stayed to watch some of the other plays, but the rest of us went straight back to the hotel. Paul didn't even have a very large part, but he was so tired he was almost sick. But Don was feeling great. Paul took a shower and went back to bed, and the rest of us scattered. There wasn't much to see downtown - a lot of banks, closed. We didn't feel like a movie and it was still pretty hot. So mostly we just roamed around in two's or three's or four's, talking excitedly and having ice cream or a Coke. We must have toured every store there was downtown. Some of the girls bought little things for souvenirs.

Every time we wandered back up to our floor in the hotel, we saw Don and Alice. The floors were shaped like a horseshoe with the elevator in the center of the top part. In front of the elevator on our floor, there was a big mirror and a shiny table with dried ferns and flowers in a vase on it. Next to it was a divan. The boys' room was all the way out at the end of the horseshoe, and the girls' was at the end of the other arm. I guess they did that on purpose. Miss Lutz's room was not even on the same floor.

Anyway, no matter where we went on our floor in the hotel, we had to pass that little divan in front of the elevators. Every time you went down to tour another store or get a coke or a magazine, of course you had to wait there. Usually two or three of us would meet in the lobby or at the newsstand, and go back up together. It was just a little surprising for the door to open right in front of Don and Alice sitting there. It shouldn't have been embarrassing since they were obviously having such a good time. They called out to us, and we talked to them later when several of us together were waiting for the elevator to go down again. We also traipsed back and forth a lot between our two rooms and so had to pass by there a lot.

We all thought they must be having a much better time then we were. We just couldn't sit still like that because we were so keyed up from the trip and the play that morning. We brought them Cokes or ice cream once and sat down for a while, but then we'd begin to fidget and would have to move on. Later, after they had been dating for a while, someone else saw them sitting like that as they used to do before class in the speech room every morning, and said they "looked like sunshine." For the first time they actually seemed to be having fun. Not just trying to, scared of each other.

I don't know how it happened, but finally, late in the afternoon, one of the girls said that we could go up to Miss Lutz's room. She wasn't back yet, but would meet us for dinner later. Don and Alice joined us there after a while trying to look as though nothing had happened between them. But it had, and we all knew it. We were really just sitting around talking and joking. Alice and Don kept finding little excuses to touch each other on the arm or shoulder and to look each other in the eye. Don would tell a quick story, laughing and genuinely smiling a little more than he usually did, and at the important moments would lean forward just a little and tap lightly on Alice's forearm.

There was one old romance among members of our group. They had been "serious" about each other for a long time already by then. But it wasn't the same.

The fact is, rest of us were enjoying it too. It made us feel a little older, and protective.

So, I've always thought that that was how it got started. Really started, and not just playing at it, even though we didn't hear of them actually dating until a while later. Maybe the hardest thing for me to realize is why Alice hung around so long waiting for Don to get it going. After he did, I guess I can see how it kept on.

Of course I can see that, even if he was a little stiff or shy when it came to kissing her and that sort of thing. And then, maybe he wasn't like that. But if it wasn't going to work out at the last… That's what I can't understand. If it wasn't going to last them all their lives or whatever, why did it last as long as it did?

No, that's not the real question. The real question is, Why did it start at all if it wasn't… No, I mean why did it seem so right, even to those of us just watching… What is it that I don't know?

What is it? I can't go on with this. I should not have started.

2

Donald T. Arcott met Alice Emily Laurel while they were both attending high school. Their friendship grew as they, together with the drama teacher at their school, a certain Miss Lutz, led the school dramatic club to state prominence. Arcott was president of "The Players" when they won the state one-act play competition. Though he took no role in the winning production, he served on the crew along with the quiet, veteran member named David Grosman. Alice was awarded an "honorable mention" in the best actress competition at the finals of the state contest, and the best actor award went to another member of the winning play's cast, Paul Mann. Arcott and Mann had been close friends for several years.

That year was the pinnacle of "The Players" success. The year before they had barely reached the regional competition and so did not compete in the state finals. Judges said privately that Miss Lutz's production that year was superb, but her choice in plays was in some degree responsible for her group's failure to reach the finals. The piece presented that year was a peculiar fantasy play without a strong story line and yet without a comic interest. Arcott, who performed in an important supporting role, was awarded an "honorable mention" in the best actor judging both at the district and the regional meets.

The year after winning the state meet, "The Players" continued to be successful in their home theatre at the high school. Alice Laurel became very popular with her fellow students and especially the parents and University students who attended "The Players" productions. Most observers agree that her most memorable appearance was in a popular play about the Old South; her death scene was considered deeply moving.

At that time, Alice was being coached outside of "The Players" organization by Arcott himself, of course, and by Miss Lutz, who though she had retired from active participation in the productions of the group, continued to be a close personal friend of Alice and Arcott. Arcott was no longer active in dramatic work, but he became friends with several of the drama students at the University where he was studying in a basic liberal arts program. They also became interested in Alice, both as a friend and as an actress, and continued to encourage and advise her during the year. No one was especially disappointed when "The Players" new coach - who had just graduated from the University the preceding year - decided to present another full-length production for the home audiences in the spring rather than enter the traditional one-act play competition. The play presented was such a popular success that the usual four-day run was extended to a full week including two weekends with a break Sunday and Monday evenings.

Alice and Arcott grew more and more close during the year. Arcott even began to talk of the day in the distant future when they could be married. That would not be, of course, until after Arcott had completed his University studies, and so they did not yet consider themselves actually engaged. Some of their friends in the high school, however, may have.

Immediately after graduating from high school, Arcott took a part-time job washing bottles and test tubes in a biochemistry lab at the University. He had always been quite interested in science and had decided not to major in biology or chemistry only because he thought such a course would commit to too many years in school. He wanted to have his B.S. after three years of study. He worked in the lab for two hours every weekday afternoon. The University summer school session began one week after Arcott's high school graduation. He had always been a good student though never near the top of his class. He did, however, pass one "advanced standing" examination at the university, and was exempted from the freshman English requirement. In the summer and the following fall, he completed most of the major courses required for freshmen and sophomores in Liberal Arts. He was not yet certain what his major field would be, but he was assured that any broad background would prepare him adequately for a career in business something like his father's in real estate sales and management. Miss Lutz, whom Alice and Arcott visited now and then during the summer, did not long continue her attempt to persuade Arcott to study for a career in drama. There would be no security in such a career, and not enough money - especially at first - for marriage and a family. A background in fine arts, also, would not prepare him for a business position. On weekends in the fall, Arcott took a job writing headlines for the Sunday and Monday editions of the local newspaper.

Arcott did not find his studies as difficult as he had always expected college would be. His grades, in fact, were better then they had been in high school. He seemed to find a new kind of energy which allowed him to improve his concentration on his studies, to work longer hours at his two jobs, and yet to be more relaxed and cheerful in social situations than he had ever been before. He usually picked Alice up at high school rehearsals after he had finished his work at the lab. If the weather was nice they would drive around a while or stop at some especially lovely part of the city to enjoy the sunset together. Each of them was surprised that they could feel so comfortable together, and Arcott felt that they shared everything.

It was almost always Alice who pointed out when it was time to be going home. Except on weekends, they didn't often have supper together because Alice would have to do her homework. Arcott's family liked Alice very much, and Mrs. Arcott would often invite her over for supper on Saturday evening. Even though they saw each other for a little while almost every day during this period, Arcott and Alice often talked on the telephone too. Alice would sometimes call to ask for help on some of her homework.

This continued even after Alice had entered the University, even though she saw somewhat less of Arcott then, since most of the University drama group's rehearsals were at night. She worked on several "crews," as they were called, for each production, and attended all rehearsals even when she did not have one of the small roles she was sometimes given. Arcott was able to change his work schedule at the lab that year to the evenings and often gave Alice a ride to rehearsal. She usually asked one of the members of the drama group to give her a ride home afterwards.

One evening in the spring of Alice's first year at the University, Arcott and she stopped for a few minutes on their way to school to look at the sunset from a little park on top of a hill overlooking the town lake. They usually found a few minutes together like that to talk of one thing or another. Alice had been particularly willing to stop a few minutes that day because she had been wondering for some time if perhaps she shouldn't begin to tell Don that she didn't quite feel the same about him as she had at first. He did not seem quite as exciting to her as he had at first and had continued to be even all during her senior year at high school. She still liked to be seen with him, and he was very popular among her friends in the University drama society. She was beginning to think, however, that it was important that she could not quite understand why they liked him so much. He didn't very often tell stories and joke the way he had done in high school.

She tried to study his face when he opened the door for her to get out of the car. He smiled at her, and again she liked him very much. She could not go through with it. He seemed so confident now. He seemed to trust her. That was what made her uncomfortable, she thought as they walked up the flat stone steps toward the top of the hill; his trusting her that way made her feel a little ashamed that she was annoyed with him sometimes. And there was nothing really bad about him. No, she would have to try to make him understand just a little anyway, or she could never feel right going out again for a Coke with Tom after rehearsal. Tom Palmert was a senior; he had the lead in the next play the dramatic society was going to present, and the summer before, he had brought down the house as Launce in The Two Gentlemen of Verona.

Arcott himself was enjoying the warmth of the spring evening and the natural beauty around him. Trees and rude stones, the lake waters below and, far beyond, the pink and orange clouds strung out over the western horizon - that was just fine. It was warm and the breezes that rustled Alice's dark hair and the billowy sleeve of her white blouse were soft and caressing. He smiled again at Alice as she came up to his shoulder by the old wall that ran around the rim at the steepest part. "It's always quiet up here," he said. "I never understand why more people aren't always here."

Arcott put his arm around her shoulder. "I'm glad too," he added. She felt a little stiff to him, but she turned up her face so that he could kiss her lightly on the mouth.

She gently pushed him a little away after a minute and smiled at him for just a second. "Don?" she said.

He smiled down at her again. Yes, she could depend on him to understand. She could trust him now just as she had always done. Alice had often asked Arcott's advice about how she could behave with her parents. And she felt that Arcott always understood. Yes, she would only have to hint at it and he would understand everything.

"Maybe," she said shyly, "maybe we ought not be so close when we're together." That was a good way to do it, she thought. Arcott only seemed a little puzzled and not hurt. He had always let her decide how intense their love-making could become, and would be able to adjust. "After all," she went on, "it'll be a long time still before. . . before we could even think of getting married, for example." She was becoming a little flustered.

Arcott noticed that she was blushing and smiled again. She almost seemed to stamp her little foot as she looked suddenly out over the wall.

"Do you see what I mean, at least?" she asked rather shrilly.

Now, Arcott felt, I must answer something. Then he realized that he did not really see what she meant. "Do you mean," he asked, "that because it's at least another year. . ."

"Yes," she said and looked back at him. She wasn't as frightened now. He would understand. "We wouldn't want to get too excited now."

"Has it been-- Well, has it been uncomfortable for you so far?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"No, no!" she said quickly and laid her head on his shoulder. "No," she whispered, "it's been wonderful. You know that." Now she was certain that he understood everything. He was so good, and they could go on being as close as they were at that moment.

He had put his arm around her shoulder again. "It's a little hard?" he asked, "a little uncomfortable, to have to leave off. . .?" He didn't want to talk anymore. He had so often gone home with a paralyzing ache at the base of his stomach wishing for her, wishing for the time to pass. It made him feel strong with her there now to know that she too felt that way. "We can be together," he said, "without being together, can't we?"

"Oh yes, Don," Alice said. She looked up at him and then pressed lightly again her head on his chest.

Arcott knew then that he could not have gone on that other way alone; but now that they were sharing the awful agony of waiting, they could live it through together.

When Alice was sitting in Tom Palmer's car that evening at the hamburger stand where they usually stopped for a coke, she remembered again how well things had gone with Arcott before rehearsal. She was ashamed now for having been afraid he would be hurt.

Arcott and Alice continued to date often and to see each other or talk to each other on the telephone almost everyday. Arcott saved the money he made from his two jobs, and in the spring of his third year in college, several months before his graduation as an English major, he used part of them to begin payments on a car for himself and Alice. The wedding had been planned for some time in June. Two weeks before Arcott's graduation, the plans were canceled. After a month, Arcott took his savings away with him to spend a year in Europe, following his high school friend David Grosmann to France, and then to study at graduate school in the East; at the end of the summer when he went away, Alice was married to an older member of the dramatic society of which she was a member.

3

So she's not home.

She knew it was late but they so often were together on Saturdays that she hadn't thought it would matter much that she had forgotten to call before. That happened sometimes; you just got used to expecting something or wanting it that you thought everyone else would know too, automatically. It was nice having Alice over on Saturdays. Mrs. Arcott didn't even get nervous anymore because they could just have hot dogs and potato salad which didn't take anytime at all. She could telephone again in a few minutes. She could have Don call. She didn't like Alice's mother very much, and she hadn't told her who she was that was calling please. She would just call back later.

But Mrs. Arcott thought that the wedding would be very nice anyway. When were they going to start planning the details? Even if it was just going to be family. She didn't want to mention that herself. Maybe she was afraid Alice's mother would? That was Don's and Alice's right to mention it first. But Alice and her mother hadn't made any sign yet.

Now that she hadn't found Alice at home she didn't know quite what to do. That's right, a mother's job is never through, she thought. But she couldn't start the hot dogs since it was still early. Don's dad, her husband, would be coming in soon. She had already changed clothes. But she started setting places at the kitchen table. It was all right to do that even if Alice came. She hummed a little tune as she moved around the kitchen - oh, it was so pretty out on late spring afternoons - and wiped a water spot out of a spoon (that old plastic table cloth looks all right today). It was amazing to her how everything just seemed to have a tiny, quiet glow about them these days.

Oh there it is ringing, and she hadn't called Alice back yet. No, Don was going to.

Surely, Alice dear. Now there was just something in her voice on the phone that made her not what to say anything herself. It could just be a cold or maybe she's not talking on the home phone. That one step, just there and nowhere else the carpet was wearing thin. Why did stairs do that way? Don was studying, but he wouldn't mind, of course. She would knock first because he was older now. That handle still needs fixing.

Yes, it was Alice and would Don ask her to come for supper tonight? He's gotten very tall by now and especially thin. They would fatten him up now, she thought and almost laughed, she and Alice together.

She heard his voice at the phone because the stairs didn't make noise if you went down slowly. The phone wasn't pretty and was awkward there at the front door, but she sees him coming up the front walk. Don doesn't say hello to his father because he is so interested in the telephone. Hello, dear, she said to her husband. Did many come out to see the house today?

No, they were not talking about supper tonight so she had no right to listen. But it was hard not to, since the kitchen door just swung a little back and forth and didn't touch around the sides. He will like that beer before supper.

Yes, plenty of time. He would be able to shower first.

Alice is coming, I think, too. Isn't it nice that it's so warm again? He liked a beer in the evenings now that it was warmer. The clear tall bottle of scotch now would stay half filled up in the kitchen cabinet probably until next winter or fall. They got along all right, the two of them. That didn't mean anything that there was so much trouble and divorce now today. She could just step outside a minute to see how warm it was and see better than just through the window.

But ah, Don hung up now; and she could ask him if she were coming before he went upstairs again. Did he hang up? She didn't hear a sound. Well, yes, there was the shower from the upstairs bath. No, that stopped now.

It was very quiet, which she did not understand.

Don shouldn't slump over like that; it made him look ill.

After she stood there for a minute without saying anything because her son seemed to be thinking about something and looking down at his hands, he looked up at her.

"Alice is not coming to supper," he said and stood up

It's the way that people have to slide their feet on the front edge of the steps that makes them wear thin.

Don? She didn't know if he were ill or what.

"I'm not feeling well, Mother," he said without looking back as he trudged up the stairs. "Please, I want to lie down."

He must be very tired. Or maybe he's coming down with something. She could always make him soup. He was right to tell Alice not to come if he was sick.

Now, what was that sound?

She was hurrying up the stairs but her husband had reached Don's room before she did and - his back was still damp from the shower, in his shorts - he was helping Don up onto his bed. It was just a couch now with the cover still on.

"What's the matter, son?" he was saying.

Don didn't seem to be quite able to speak. He wasn't excited or hot. No temperature, she was sure of that.

"All right," he said. "Please, let me alone." He said that very clearly but without seeming to make an effort.

It's all right, dear. Yes, that's right to dry off better and get dressed.

Don didn't seem to mind her being there. But she felt helpless. He lay there heavily in front of her. His eyes were open and looking right at her, but there was no expression in them. His hands were at his sides, and they shook. Only his hands. She took a blanket from the top shelf in his closet and covered him with it.

He didn't say anything. He didn't move, just looking emptily toward her. She started to stroke his forehead brushing his hair back. But he moved slightly away. "No. All right," he said again. "Please."

She was sure he wasn't sick then. It wasn't right to leave him alone. He should have someone to talk to him and brush his hair back and sit next to him. He wouldn't have to say anything until he wanted to.

At the door, she looked back toward him.

"It's silly," he said. "I can't control it."

All right, dear. Do you want anything? But he hasn't heard anything we've said to him. She didn't like to leave him alone, but there wasn't anything else to do.

That handle still needs fixing. One of these days, it's going to stick.