prettiest one we have in right now and we certainly don’t want her in one of those aqua or rose taffeta things .” And then the lawn mower drowned them out again.
A few moments later Lorraine was just shaking some soap chips into the dishpan for me when we caught the tail end of a sentence from the back lawn—“well, it’s a little late but Art can probably get hold of
someone
who will go, though, you know, Mom, most fellows wouldn’t want to drive all the way up from Milwaukee just on the chance of a blind date!”
My mother’s voice was very maternal and concerned. “I know. It wouldn’t be so bad if Angie weren’t going, too, but—” and then came the whirring sound of the lawn mower.
This was something we hadn’t been meant to hear and I hoped perhaps Lorraine hadn’t, so I made a clatter with the dishes and tried to pretend nothing had happened. But suddenly she turned to me and said in a tight voice, “Why if that isn’t absolutely silly, Angie. Honestly! If I really
wanted
to go I could always ask one of the fellows up from Chicago, couldn’t I?”
I checked myself just in time with the logical question on my lips—“Why don’t you, Lorraine?”
A moment later she threw her dish towel over the back ofa chair and without looking at me said quickly, “Got to go upstairs a minute. Be right back to finish.” I dried the rest of the dishes, swept the kitchen floor, and hung the dish towel on the rack to dry. The bounce-bounce of Kitty’s ball on the driveway was beginning to get monotonous so I turned on the living-room radio to drown out the sound. The breeze coming in the window was fresh and clean with the smell of newly cut grass.
When Lorraine finally came down I pretended to be very busy with the evening paper and she leafed through an old magazine, neither of us saying anything. Her cheeks were very white with powder but around her eyes was still red. It was funny that I had never realized before that Lorraine
minded
not dating.
On Friday night before the dance I stood in the garden, wondering what it was all about. Just a short time ago Jack called to say he would pick me up at a quarter-past nine. I was all ready except to slip my evening dress on over my head. In the end we had decided on the sprigged dimity and my mother had pressed it so the full skirt hung in soft, billowy folds and the small sleeves stuck up stiff and puffed as it was spread out on my bed. I had come out to the garden to pick bachelor’s buttons for my hair in my long white slip, holding it high to keep the hem above the cool dew on the grass. And as I stood in the garden with the soft air against my cheek and a night breeze fingering through my hair, I couldn’t help wondering a little.
From the house came familiar sounds—the radio in the living room purring out soft dance music, the noise of Lorraine clicking down the stairs as the telephone rang, and Kitty in her own bedroom talking to someone excitedly in a high, small voice. When Jack had called I had thought it would make me excited, after not having heard him for three days, but it didn’t. It was just a boy’s voice. Just a low, friendly boy’s voice that might have belonged to anyone. I hadn’t felt any particular thrill at all—at least I believed I hadn’t; but now out in the garden with the night air so still and soft, the thought of him came back to me and played through my mind till my lips felt warm and my heart beat fast with the wonder of it.
In the past few days something had changed. I had never felt things inside of me before and now I wasn’t even sure if I really felt warm and eager because it was my first Country Club dance and my dress was new, or if it was really because in such a short time, such a very short time, Jack would be there—or was it only that the night was so beautiful that I just wanted to feel something? That evening at Pete’s had left me with a cautious soreness, half in my mind and half in my heart. And
A few moments later Lorraine was just shaking some soap chips into the dishpan for me when we caught the tail end of a sentence from the back lawn—“well, it’s a little late but Art can probably get hold of
someone
who will go, though, you know, Mom, most fellows wouldn’t want to drive all the way up from Milwaukee just on the chance of a blind date!”
My mother’s voice was very maternal and concerned. “I know. It wouldn’t be so bad if Angie weren’t going, too, but—” and then came the whirring sound of the lawn mower.
This was something we hadn’t been meant to hear and I hoped perhaps Lorraine hadn’t, so I made a clatter with the dishes and tried to pretend nothing had happened. But suddenly she turned to me and said in a tight voice, “Why if that isn’t absolutely silly, Angie. Honestly! If I really
wanted
to go I could always ask one of the fellows up from Chicago, couldn’t I?”
I checked myself just in time with the logical question on my lips—“Why don’t you, Lorraine?”
A moment later she threw her dish towel over the back ofa chair and without looking at me said quickly, “Got to go upstairs a minute. Be right back to finish.” I dried the rest of the dishes, swept the kitchen floor, and hung the dish towel on the rack to dry. The bounce-bounce of Kitty’s ball on the driveway was beginning to get monotonous so I turned on the living-room radio to drown out the sound. The breeze coming in the window was fresh and clean with the smell of newly cut grass.
When Lorraine finally came down I pretended to be very busy with the evening paper and she leafed through an old magazine, neither of us saying anything. Her cheeks were very white with powder but around her eyes was still red. It was funny that I had never realized before that Lorraine
minded
not dating.
On Friday night before the dance I stood in the garden, wondering what it was all about. Just a short time ago Jack called to say he would pick me up at a quarter-past nine. I was all ready except to slip my evening dress on over my head. In the end we had decided on the sprigged dimity and my mother had pressed it so the full skirt hung in soft, billowy folds and the small sleeves stuck up stiff and puffed as it was spread out on my bed. I had come out to the garden to pick bachelor’s buttons for my hair in my long white slip, holding it high to keep the hem above the cool dew on the grass. And as I stood in the garden with the soft air against my cheek and a night breeze fingering through my hair, I couldn’t help wondering a little.
From the house came familiar sounds—the radio in the living room purring out soft dance music, the noise of Lorraine clicking down the stairs as the telephone rang, and Kitty in her own bedroom talking to someone excitedly in a high, small voice. When Jack had called I had thought it would make me excited, after not having heard him for three days, but it didn’t. It was just a boy’s voice. Just a low, friendly boy’s voice that might have belonged to anyone. I hadn’t felt any particular thrill at all—at least I believed I hadn’t; but now out in the garden with the night air so still and soft, the thought of him came back to me and played through my mind till my lips felt warm and my heart beat fast with the wonder of it.
In the past few days something had changed. I had never felt things inside of me before and now I wasn’t even sure if I really felt warm and eager because it was my first Country Club dance and my dress was new, or if it was really because in such a short time, such a very short time, Jack would be there—or was it only that the night was so beautiful that I just wanted to feel something? That evening at Pete’s had left me with a cautious soreness, half in my mind and half in my heart. And
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