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The Two of Us
(Continued from page 39)
she was missing. I could have understood it if she and Tom didn't love each other, trust each other, so completely. Or Mom hadn't been there to look after Michael and Peter.
No, she had accepted narrowness and now she was afraid of even peeking over her prison walls.
Johnny and I went dancing. And it was a shock, perilously sweet, to find such delight in having a man's arms around you. I hadn't realized that his nearness would bring this suffocating tide rising into my throat. I wouldn't have believed that a man's voice humming a tune, off-key, in my ear could make my heart tremble and plunge in my body.
"Johnny — Sergeant Johnny — " and to save myself I couldn't keep from lingering over his name — "how did you known white camellias would match this dress when you brought them?"
"I didn't," he said, smiling down at me. "I was really thinking of how they would look in your hair — the white flowers against your red hair." We were at the edge of the dance floor now and back in the shadows. It was the work of a second to unpin the narrow long corsage. I bent my head and felt his fingers as they fumbled in the thick wave brushed back from my forehead, sensed their tenderness and pride as he adjusted the spray to his satisfaction.
Too late I saw my danger. It was only when his fingers brushed my cheek, when I heard his low whisper "There! — little darling!" that I realized how fast and far we had been moving in the three days I had known him. And it was my fault. I had done nothing to check this growing intimacy.
We found our table and quickly, shakily, I turned the conversation to impersonal things, all the things girls and boys since time began have talked about when they're afraid to talk about themselves. Had Johnny been to the amusement park yet? What movies had he seen recently? Had he read that article in last Sunday's paper about — ? But somehow our talk drifted from things to people — and from people in general to ourselves in particular.
YOU'RE so intense, Mary Ellen," Johnny said, and his face was sober. "You sound as if you were rushing into life with your chin up and banners flying. Why do you fight so hard against fate?"
"Fate? — phooey!" I answered inelegantly. "I'm not fighting life. All I want is to find my place in it where — "
"That's easy." he interrupted. "A woman's place — "
"If you say 'A woman's place is in the home,' I'll scream, Johnny Sutton! Maybe it is. I think home-making can be a lovely profession for a woman. But that's not what men mean when they say that. They say it patronizingly as if pushing a vacuum cleaner or polishing a floor were all the poor dears were good for, and as if they were afraid women might find some interest, as well, outside those four walls."
Johnny only grinned at me and got up, seizing my hand.
"Come on — they're playing 'Home, Sweet Home,' I want one more dance with you. Next Saturday is a long way off."
I went into his arms with a feeling of