Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

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THIS PAGE IS YOURS Continued from page 54 of poured from him, like a dam being opened. We all three walked over to the library to get the book. I remember that night very clearly because of the way I felt after he came and during the months that followed. And there was another reason too. When she got inside the library, Mother started to pull the ladder over to the section where Tony’s book was shelved. “Hey, Mrs. Cameron! Don’t do that,” he said. He walked right over to the shelf, reached up and got the book for her. “Sometimes being tall comes in handy,” he said, half-blushing when she thanked him. I could see how pleased Mother was. Most of the boys at the college weren’t so thoughtful. That was just one of the nice things he did. I don’t believe in love at first sight or anything silly like that, but I knew I liked Tony very much right from the beginning. That tall, thin, sweet, shy boy was my first love. And this is a story about us, but mostly about him. After that first night, I couldn’t help hoping I’d run into Tony at the drugstore, or the post office, or just on the street — or even better, that he’d call for a date. But I didn’t hear from him for a week. One day, though, I saw him riding by the house on his bicycle. As he went along, pedalling very fast, he kept his eyes straight ahead and didn’t even glance at the house. I guess I didn’t have to worry, after all, that he’d see me standing there in the window. Maybe it wasn’t just accident that Tony rode past my house. The next day, as I walked by the drugstore, he sort of tumbled out of the door and grabbed my arm “Doris! Gee! It seems like I’m always asking you or your mother for a favor. But I want to buy my mom a birthday present — her birthday’s next weekend — and I just don’t know what to pick out. I’ve been in there looking at all the candy and perfume and other stuff, but I just can’t decide. Help me?” He grinned down at me with the brownest possible brown eyes and his wide, frank smile. I wouldn’t have been able to refuse — even if I hadn’t been holding my breath for more than a week. That was the beginning. Somehow, Tony and I never had to look very far for things to talk about or do. For one thing, we both loved books and music. We talked a lot, but we did other things too. I remember one afternoon in particular. After lunch, we hiked out to the beach to fly model planes. (Another interest of Tony’s. To my surprise, it was even more fun than he said!) It was a fall day. Even though seasons don’t change in Florida, we could tell it was fall. We were both excited and happy and raced along on our bikes as free as if there weren’t homework to be done, housework waiting, or grades to be kept up so Tony could hold onto his scholarship. With Tony tearing along beside me, I was able to forget those two long years since my father died — years without much fun and with much more responsibility and loneliness than they should have held. “Hey, Dody,” (That was his pet name for me.) “I’ll race you — but you can have a headstart.” “Okay.” I laughed and started off, pedalling as fast as I could — which wasn’t very fast compared to what Tony’s long legs could do. Sure enough, he passed me before long, reaching out to give my ponytail a jerk as he whizzed by. “Remember that little tiger we saw in u the drugstore when you helped me pick G the perfume for Mom?” I certainly did. It was one of those ador 1 1 able stuffed ones, all curled up and funny ) looking with its red felt tongue hanging out of its mouth. “I’m going to get it for you,” he yelled back over his shoulder. “I’m going to get it for you just because you’re so nice and so much fun to be with and because you’re wearing a pink sweater today.” (I usually wore darker colors. But when I found out Tony preferred them, I began adding pastels slowly — very slowly because I couldn’t i afford many new clothes.) We had a wonderful time flying the model planes. (We seemed to have fun no matter what we were doing.) , And after we finished, we lay back on the sand and watched the white clouds that looked like big balls of cotton pasted up in the sky. “You know,” Tony began slowly, jj “it really won’t be long before Christmas ; comes. I love Christmas! Don’t you? [ Somehow, it’s never the same as when I was a kid though. But I just can’t get over it anyway — I still look forward to it just as much every year.” 1 Tossing his head in that funny way he j) had when his hair fell into his eyes, he said, ! “I’ll tell you what — ” But he broke off, suddenly looking very serious. “Say, you I don’t have a date for New Year’s already?” | He seemed worried, but I couldn’t really be sorry. If he was worried, it meant he liked to be with me as much as I hoped j; he did. “Of course I don’t have a date for New Year’s, Dopey!” “Well, you know. Some guys make dates tor New Year’s months and months ahead. I guess it’s because they don’t want to be alone. No one wants to be alone on New Year’s. There’s something special about it — I guess it’s because it’s the start of so many — ” Then he stopped quickly, as though what he said next was a surprise even to him. He reached out for my hand. “Dody, will you go out with me this New Year’s?” I smiled my answer. That was enough. Then there was another wonderful day, the day I got to know the real Tony, or at least one part of the real Tony he’d been too shy to show before. Imagine having your phone ring at seven o’clock in the morning! I had been sound asleep. If it had been anyone but Tony at the other end of the line, I think I would have rolled over, gone back to sleep and stuck the phone under a pillow or something. “Hey,” he began like a naughty little boy. “I’m imposing again. But — gee-well — do you have any cold milk? I’ve just got to have some, and the kitchen here’s still closed.” I don’t know whether his voice convinced me or the sight of Perkette, the little stuffed tiger Tony bought me. “All right,” I answered. “Just give me i fifteen or twenty minutes to wake up, and you can have all the cold milk you can drink.” What a crazy breakfast! Tony couldn’t , eat eggs or cereal or any of the other things i people usually have in the morning. Oh, no! He had to have some weird thing called “Potato Chip Joy”! “What?” I yelled when he began to describe it. “Dody, it’s really easy,” he assured me. “You just go over to the stove and get a big frying pan, the bigger, the better. I’ll \ hand you the stuff and tell you what to do.” I obeyed. Even this was fun since I was doing it for Tony. I stood there, stirring and stirring, and trying not to look too closely at the combination of th pan. I did think it was worth though, when he handed me ngs in the protesting, the Swiss 96