In the Unlikely Event by Judy Blume
To George,
My Henry Ammerman
Even now she can’t decide. She thinks about flipping a coin. Heads she goes, tails she stays. But isn’t indecisiveness an early sign of mental illness? Didn’t she cover a story about that a few years ago? Or is it that she’s conflicted? Conflicted is better than indecisive. Why is she thinking this way? A voice inside her head says, You know damn well why.
She steps up to the bank of phones inside the departure lounge and dials her fifteen-year-old daughter, Eliza, at school, but gets her machine. She supposes it’s good news that Eliza has gone to her early morning class. She’ll try her again later when she gets there, if she goes. Otherwise she’ll call from home.
She’s still weighing the pros and cons an hour later when the flight to Newark is announced and the first-class passengers are invited to board. She feels the panic rising—the dry mouth, the pounding heart, the urge to run. The moment of truth. Once she gets on the plane there will be no turning back. A hot flash washes over her body. For god’s sake, not now, she tells herself, wriggling out of her coat, as sweat pools between her breasts. She takes a deep breath, grabs her carry-on bag and heads for the gate. She’s going to do this. She’s not backing down.
Once she’s seated with her seat belt fastened, she thinks about taking a Valium to help her sleep on the long flight. But when has she ever slept on a plane? The guy next to her, in the window seat, is already loosening his tie, slipping a sleep mask over his eyes. No chitchat for him, which is fine with her. She’s about to pull out the book she’s reading, The Prince of Tides, but instead grabs the classy leather-covered journal her friend Christina gave her for her birthday. Each of them has been asked to share something tomorrow, a few personal words, a poem, a memory. This is her only entry.
After enough time it fades and you’re grateful.
Not that it’s ever completely gone.
It’s still there, buried deep, a part of you.
The stench is gone from your nostrils now Unless someone leaves the kettle on to boil and forgets about it.
The nightmares have tapered out.
There are more pressing things to dream about, to worry over, to keep you awake at night.
Aging parents, adolescent children, work, money, the state of the world.
Life goes on, as our parents promised that winter.
Life goes on if you’re one of the lucky ones.
But we’re still part of a secret club, One we’d never willingly join,
With members who have nothing in common except a time and a place.
We’ll always be connected by that winter.
Anyone who tells you different is lying.
Elizabeth Daily Post
CHRISTMAS TREE DAZZLES
DEC. 11 (UPI)—The 82-foot Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center dazzled last evening as its 7,500 red, white and green lights were flipped on in the traditional ceremony to inaugurate the season. An onlooking crowd of 2,000 holiday shoppers and homeward-bound office workers wrapped in winter coats for the chilly weather “oohed” and “aahed” as the lights blazed on. The voices of the Rockefeller Center Choristers filled the air with Christmas carols, and skaters twirled on the ice below.
A nationwide audience shared the ceremony, which was televised for the first time on NBC’s Kate Smith show. Miss Smith highlighted the event with a rendition of Irving Berlin’s “White Christmas.” The tree will be lighted every day from twilight to midnight until Jan. 2.
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Miri