Read Online Of Time and Memory by Don J. Snyder - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Don J. Snyder
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Cowpath Road in Lansdale who is building a bomb shelter in his backyard. One afternoon, rather than take the trolley home from work, she rides along with her friend so she can see firsthand.
They park a few blocks away then walk across the street, their heels clacking on the hard macadam road, reminding Peggy that she had spent too much of her first paycheck buying these heels at Stuartâs shoe store. All the girls were wearing them now, even to jitterbug in, and they make her feel tall and elegant, but she is still kicking herself for succumbing to the fashion when what she really wanted to do was put the money into her savings account so that one day she could goclacking down the busy streets of some distant city where no one would know her and where she would be free to do whatever she liked, including spending a whole day just staring out a window, barely moving, just watching people go by in their busy lives. This kind of blessed anonymity she has only felt twice in her life, both times when she went to the Allentown fair and allowed herself the rare pleasure of disappearing into the throngs of people who swept her along in their momentum.
It had been exhilarating, but if she heeds the polio warnings she will miss the fair this summer. The thought of missing it, of missing the chance to disappear from herself for a few hours and to feel the velocity of life in the people around her, is as much a threat to her as the thought of polio condemning her to a lifetime of metal braces the way it had poor Frances Snyder, whose father owned the Atlantic station on Main Street, a girl exactly Peggyâs age who, they said, would never walk again.
From the curb the two of them can see mounds of dirt in the backyard of a small one-story house.
âI bet itâs only a swimming pool,â her friend says.
Peggy wants to laugh along with her, but she canât because her grandfather has already told her that the bomb shelter would be finished off with reinforced concrete. The only way in and out will be a round hole in the top with a concrete lid that screws on.
Peggy doesnât want to make a big deal out of this but while her friend is speaking, a fear spreads through her. All Peggy can think about is the houses of her friends, and the dance hall in Pottstown and the Consolidated School and the movietheaters in Lansdale being blown to smithereens. During the war she used to stand outside with her father at night, keeping watch for enemy airplanes. Her father had a chart that showed the silhouettes of every enemy airplane. He would bring the chart with him each time. She will always remember how he would lean back on his heels and look up at the sky, his suspenders buckling a little on his shoulders. âWhen it happens,â he had said to her once, âthey wonât be airplanes, theyâll be rockets coming over from Russia. Youâll look up into the sky and theyâll be like these great huge cigars crossing from the horizon and thatâll be the end of everything!â
The air will be full of flying glass, her father told her, and everything will stop.
Her friend is speaking again, telling her that if there is going to be a war with the Russians, the thing that will make her maddest of all is that she never
did
anything.
âYou know what I mean, Peg?
With a boy?
Always afraid that somebody would think we were bad girls.â
Peggy keeps looking at the torn-up earth and wonders what kind of man builds a bomb shelter in his backyard anyway. How frightened would a man have to be? Perhaps he was in the last war and he saw something that he never wants to see again.
âDid you hear what I said, Peg? We were too young when the boys left for the war, too young to say goodbye properly. And when they came home we were
too good
to properly say hello.â
Peggy can hear her but she doesnât answer; this has been going on for some time now, the sounds of the real world failing to reach
They park a few blocks away then walk across the street, their heels clacking on the hard macadam road, reminding Peggy that she had spent too much of her first paycheck buying these heels at Stuartâs shoe store. All the girls were wearing them now, even to jitterbug in, and they make her feel tall and elegant, but she is still kicking herself for succumbing to the fashion when what she really wanted to do was put the money into her savings account so that one day she could goclacking down the busy streets of some distant city where no one would know her and where she would be free to do whatever she liked, including spending a whole day just staring out a window, barely moving, just watching people go by in their busy lives. This kind of blessed anonymity she has only felt twice in her life, both times when she went to the Allentown fair and allowed herself the rare pleasure of disappearing into the throngs of people who swept her along in their momentum.
It had been exhilarating, but if she heeds the polio warnings she will miss the fair this summer. The thought of missing it, of missing the chance to disappear from herself for a few hours and to feel the velocity of life in the people around her, is as much a threat to her as the thought of polio condemning her to a lifetime of metal braces the way it had poor Frances Snyder, whose father owned the Atlantic station on Main Street, a girl exactly Peggyâs age who, they said, would never walk again.
From the curb the two of them can see mounds of dirt in the backyard of a small one-story house.
âI bet itâs only a swimming pool,â her friend says.
Peggy wants to laugh along with her, but she canât because her grandfather has already told her that the bomb shelter would be finished off with reinforced concrete. The only way in and out will be a round hole in the top with a concrete lid that screws on.
Peggy doesnât want to make a big deal out of this but while her friend is speaking, a fear spreads through her. All Peggy can think about is the houses of her friends, and the dance hall in Pottstown and the Consolidated School and the movietheaters in Lansdale being blown to smithereens. During the war she used to stand outside with her father at night, keeping watch for enemy airplanes. Her father had a chart that showed the silhouettes of every enemy airplane. He would bring the chart with him each time. She will always remember how he would lean back on his heels and look up at the sky, his suspenders buckling a little on his shoulders. âWhen it happens,â he had said to her once, âthey wonât be airplanes, theyâll be rockets coming over from Russia. Youâll look up into the sky and theyâll be like these great huge cigars crossing from the horizon and thatâll be the end of everything!â
The air will be full of flying glass, her father told her, and everything will stop.
Her friend is speaking again, telling her that if there is going to be a war with the Russians, the thing that will make her maddest of all is that she never
did
anything.
âYou know what I mean, Peg?
With a boy?
Always afraid that somebody would think we were bad girls.â
Peggy keeps looking at the torn-up earth and wonders what kind of man builds a bomb shelter in his backyard anyway. How frightened would a man have to be? Perhaps he was in the last war and he saw something that he never wants to see again.
âDid you hear what I said, Peg? We were too young when the boys left for the war, too young to say goodbye properly. And when they came home we were
too good
to properly say hello.â
Peggy can hear her but she doesnât answer; this has been going on for some time now, the sounds of the real world failing to reach
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