TRANSIT My Father Died (Short Story) by Shirley Mills JOESE laughed hysterically. It was a low little whimper that shook with all the heartache of a hurt soul. It wasn't right! it wasn't fair! He was in this room just this morning laughing, joking, talking. He was well and alive. The last word rang through her head in sharp reality. Joese had never thought much about the difference between life and death. She hadn't had much time in her busy life of parties, dates, movies, and school thrown in on spare time; but she had always found time for her father. She worshipped him. Nothing was too good for him. She walked slowly to the dresser where she had tucked away a tie and some dark blue sox wrapped up in tissue paper. Her last three dollars had bought the gift, the three dollars that had been given to her for a new dress to wear to the Prom. But Pop had been rather unhappy the day she had gone to town, so she had bought the present to cheer him up. There wouldn't be any occasion for the gift, his birthday was months away, but Joese could hardly wait to see the light that would come into those soft hazel eyes. "Joe, you shouldn't have done it!" he would have said. Sharp biting tears fought their way to the surface, and she blinked as she read the note: "To the most wonderful pop a girl could ever have." "Gee, Pop, Pop, Pop, tell me it's not you tell me it's a dream. Oh, Pop. The last phrase broke into a whispered wail, as she fell on the bed and buried her head in a pillow. Her sobbing broke abruptly as she lifted her head. "What about Mom? Who'll tell her? Oh, Mom's not strong enough to take it. Poor Mom!" Joese told her mother. She never remembered quite how. But her mother took it like the good sport she was. "We'll get along dear. Let's not cry, your father would want it that way." The funeral was the usual one with speeches, songs, and praises. Many of the school children attended and it was hard for Joese to keep a straight chin when they told her they were sorry. "He was such a good teacher," they would say. "It's such a shame." It was raining at the cemetery, and Joese was glad they didn't lower the casket. She was cold and felt almost lifeless herself. "I couldn't stand to see my Pop put down there," she thought hopelessly. Her mother's hand was cold and clammy as she grasped it when they were returning to the car. "Gee, but I loved him, Mom," she whispered as the car pulled slowly out of the graveyard, and she looked back at the patch of flowers. She didn't realize how hard it would be to face school without him. He had taken her to school with him every morning since grade school. The halls looked long and empty, and she seemed to hear him say, "Goodbye, Joese," where the large hall separated into two small ones and where he had always left her to go to the office. She held her head high and fought hard to keep the tears from coming. One thing bothered Joese more than anything else sixth period with another teacher. She couldn't bear the thought of seeing another teacher in her father's place. When the sixth period finally came, Joese paused by the door and stared at the 120 uncertainly. She started to turn the knob but released her grasp. On Friday morning Joese was called to the dean's office. "You've been staying out of sixth period, Joese," Miss Cline told her as she came into the office. "I know it will be hard for you but you need your civics' credit to graduate, and it's too late to change now. Don't you think you can give 'it a try?" Joese didn't look at Miss Cline. She was quietly thinking. "You can change your room, Joese, but with only two more weeks of school it will be rather difficult." "I'll change!" Joese said resolutely. She left the dean's office, and ran upstairs to get her books. As she ran past the rooms, the numbers 1-2-0 seemed to poke fun at her, and she stopped for a moment to catch her breath. "This- is my new room," Joese could remember her father saying when he had brought her to the high school one afternoon to look the place over, four years ago. And he had said, "It's your room too, Joe. You can come here any time you want. And some day soon, you'll be here to share it with me!" Joese's hand slowly, shakily turned the knob. She could hear Pop saying, "You're late, Joe. What's the trouble?" "My father died," she could hear herself say. Then she looked around the room that seemed as empty as her desk! 24 MOUNT OGDEN Photo by Donn Thurman