Bloomington High School South, The Gothic, 1980, Page 137

Description:	hemher,•lackreenvnaeredorselegsilverandDps.ano3r alirls)pleis hand trembled slightly; slowly he3red the cold, quiet condominium.icing around the room, he was over-ie by loneliness; tears burned hiss.At least I havent been placed in anfolks home. Giving up hope, waitingfor death—that would have been myl alternative. No, living with human[stables is not my style. True, life is notect here; but at least I can do as aise. Now, what should I do.he whistling tea kettle broke into hisjghts. Shuffling about the kitchenjght back memories of his wife.Lydia, my wife, my friend, why didgo, leaving me in this heart-wrench-lexistence? You dont visit me often indreams. Fleeting you enter; quicklygo.(e tea scalded his mouth and throat,as good to feel pain, physical pain.XJttamvdvAJimfir ASamLinda WeimerMemories choke a person until one hasto cry for relief. The flesh is much tougherthan the soul.I must try not to think—clear my mindof all thoughts. Maybe not all thoughts,just those pertaining to the past. Think ofthe future. Yes, that is what I must do—think only of the future.What future? I have only to live to die.Are these the thoughts of a man who wasalways so ambitious? Getting up early,working hard, saving wisely so that Lydiaand I would have an easy retirement—my goal—retirement. Retirement stinks.I wonder if Ill get a letter from one ofthe kids, always wonder that. Day in andday out, ever optimistic. They say that iswhat keeps me going. If they only knewthe truth, then theyd see.Truth of the matter is Im too much ofan old cuss to die. Mean enough to stayalive so that the kids must earn their■«»->..».;/<-,^Jill Dalrympleinheritance. Ha, ha. A few letters, a fewpresents, a few phone calls now and thensure are costing me.Id like to be at my funeral. Yes, Samwas dependable—a man whom youcould always depend on. Malarkey.Did I accomplish what I wanted to do?Yes, I have possessions, but I never setthe world on fire; guess the world is capable of doing that for itself. My car, myhouse—sold now, of course—thosewere the things that meant success tome. They were nice while I had them, butthey sure could drive a man crazy. Acondo is fine, just fine. Not quite likehome, though; nothing is without Lydia.Drowsily his head drooped down ontohis chest. A tired old man sat in his chair,to sleep the rest of his days into years.His hand trembled slightly while the teacup fell gently from his hand.HappinessLili DorsonMisery seepsinto every blood streamof lifeBut happinessforever remainsthe marrow.From joy to sorrowAngela WesleyJoyVibrant, aliveEmerging, growing, overwhelmingBirth, Life—Destruction, DeathTearing, crushing, mutilatingCold, darkSorrowCreativity 137
Source:	http://cdm17129.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/hs-bloomsouth/id/1629
Collection:	Bloomington High School South

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