“Hiya," he mumbled, trying to walk on.
“No school today?” Ray asked, obviously innocently.
It surprised Ponce. Hadn’t the guy heard? He was a walking radio antenna, this guy, with radar thrown in, and he hadn’t yet heard? It surprised Ponce, no end. He played it dumb.
“Ah, just taking the morning off, that’s all.”
“Uh oh—not feeling good?”
“Not too good.”
“Seen a doctor? Lots of flu around.”
“Will soon.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Pain in the head.”
“Oh oh."
“See you, Ray.”
“Left a bundle of stuff at your place.”
“O.K., Ray.”
“Saw your mother.”
“Yeh. Ray?”
“On Eighth Street. Before. Guess she was out for the
groceries—”
“Guess so.”
“All set for the big game?”
“Oh yeh, well, things are moving along, Ray—”
“Ha Ha. Bet we clobber them—”
“Hope so. Well—see you, Ray—”
“Ho Kay Ponce. Take it easy, boy. See a doctor—don’t forget—”
He departed, pushing his mail transporter.
Walking along, Ponce hoped he wouldn’t bump into anyone else. Britfield Avenue wasn’t exactly bustling at this time of day, so there was a good chance he wouldn’t. He was worried about his mother though. If Ray had seen her, she might be home by now. What would she think of that phone off the hook? And had she got the news? Ponce was astounded, actually, that Ray hadn’t heard it yet. Reflecting on it, Ponce began to think: Life is full of astounding things, and no doubt of it.
All the rest of the way home, he mused over that one. In the driveway, alongside the house, there was his mother’s car. No sign of any other cars. He felt good seeing that car. But also, scared. He did and didn’t want to see her. Slowly, he walked up the three steps, crossed the porch,
Pretty Maids All in a Row 53 reached the front door, stopped, turned around, crossed the porch again, walked down the steps and around the side of the house, to the back door. She was in the kitchen, of course. She didn’t see him until he opened the door. She dropped a loaf of bread she was just unloading from the bag of groceries, and she called out to him, and Ponce knew she knew, right away—
“Ponce!” she said, “Oh how awful!” she said, “I just heard—I know all about it—” she said, putting her arms about him, holding him close to her.
He felt like crying. He buried his head in his warm, soft, sweet-smelling mother. He just wanted to cry and cry on her. He realized, suddenly, this is what he had wanted to do, all morning, without a doubt of it. He broke down.
“How come I had to find her?” He murmured to her, sobbing profusely on her.
She held him, close to her, she caressed him, tenderly, she spoke softly now, murmuring to him. . . .
12
Marjorie Evanmore, in the school cafeteria now, was just finishing her lunch, sitting at a table with a group of her pals. Two of them, Hilda Linder and Jeannie Bonni, were also Majorettes. Madge, to tell the truth, was very hungry, her appetite was at a high peak at lunchtime, especially on days when she had her favorite class, typing, and most especially on days when she had a session with Mr. McDrew, Tiger, among other things School Guidance Counselor. She felt a powerful hunger for life on such days, an incredible vigor which defied all assaults on it. She was soaring. Glowing. If the floor of the cafeteria for example had given way, if she found herself plunging downward amid tons of rubble toward the boiler room, or if in fact that battery of boilers had blown up, sending the school with all its occupants to paradise, higher than sky-high, it wouldn’t have bothered her. She was on top. Ravishingly hungry. Happy. Soaring. With Tiger. For she had him within herself, magically, wonderfully, secretly. It was their secret, she was his own, no one would know, oh no. She loved him so. She loved what he did for her so. Who in the whole of the world could so—so—She sighed, within, exquisitely alive and warm with him. She way his....
Thus it was that although the cafeteria was markedly subdued this day, with hardly any of the near-chaos of any ordinary day, and in fact there hung about it and over it a cloud of depression and fear, as well as a certain bizarre unacknowledged excitement, no less, Marjorie just couldn’t get with it. To tell the truth, she couldn’t have cared less. She was within herself. It would take a few days at least for her to really get to grips again with the world out there. And by that time she could have been to the Guidance/Counseling office again. Unless, her heart skipped, unless and if, how it skipped, the Guidance Counselor, her Tiger, sent for her sooner. She closed her eyes a moment, contemplating that happy happening. She even stopped munching a moment, and that was something.
“Gee, I dunno,” a voice drifted in to her. opening her eyes for her. It was Hilda, “I’m shook—shocked—I feel all shocked—numb—you know? I feel numb, all over.”
“I feel awful,” Jeannie Bonni informed her.
“Who would ever think—who would think—” Hilda put
in.
“I mean—w said Jeannie, “Who can dig it?”
And they were at it again, chattering in that subdued way, about it. About and about it. Marjorie sat silently, munching again, only. She gazed at her circle of closest pals with a kind of pity almost. They were so childish. Certainly she was sorry about what had happened, and who wouldn’t be? Poor Jill was a wonderful girl, and who didn’t know it? Who could deny it? Who would dare to deny it? A good kid if ever there was one. All of Sawyersville knew that! She had been a friend, even if not one of her real close friends. Their association with one another actually was mostly connected with their mutual morale-boosting extracurricular activities. These brought them, or had brought them, closest together, actually. For of course Jill had had her own circle, mainly among the Cheerleaders—which was a clique, a world of its own, as everyone knew. Like the Majorettes, in a certain sense. Marjorie, of course, was their leader. So what could she do, Marjorie thought, enjoying her fried chicken and listening to the unceasing talk about it. They acted as if it was something that just couldn’t possibly happen in a nice school like this, a terrific place like Sawyersville. Which was crazy, Madge knew, just plain childish, she certainly very well knew, oh how childish, she would say it like that to Mr. McDrew, she made a mental note of it, next time she saw him. Life had to be accepted, Marjorie knew, paraphrasing Mr. McDrew, her Tiger Honey, not that he had to tell her. What use were these childish reactions? What were they so shocked and numbed about? Didn’t they know it was the kind of thing that could happen? Man was a few million years old, things had always happened, as Tiger had told her, and she well knew, in any event. Marjorie took a few forkfuls of broccoli, which she loved, absolutely. The cheese sauce was terrific. Tiger. A voice within her murmured sweetly, softly. She took three fast forkfuls, adoring each one.