ODYSSEY By Bonnie Clay I started on my long journey. I was going from the staff room on the top floor of Moench to my locker in Central. Loaded down with paraphernalia such as books, lipsticks, pencils, and a cookie to sustain me on my trek through the wilderness, I opened the door upon adventure. As I passed the Transit lair, I heard a voice calling me to come in. It was there that I found my first bit of wild life. Irene wanted to read her latest story to me. It was about a girl who took a ride on a train and she was scared. I thought it was quite clever and true to life. Irene laughed at this. It seems that the ordinary normally extroverted individual is never dismayed by the thought that she must travel alone for the first time, making several transfers and tipping strange negro porters. The story, Irene explained, was about a strange timid girl and if I were that way, I was very odd myself. So we traced down my "phobia'" to the time I SHOULD MAKE AN EXCELLENT DIPLOMAT, I IMAGINE, AFTER MY EXTENSIVE TRAINING IN THE ENGLISH OFFICE. I was ten years old and missed my last bus home from Ogden. I must have got my complex then. I left the room shaking my head over the queer notions that people have. And to think that it was I who was screwy all the time! I started down the stairs. On the landing I met Jean Anne hurrying along. As she passed me, she loosed a machine-gun fire of words in my direction. From it all I gathered that: (a) Mr. West wanted me to come see him and Ed better hurry. (b) I must renew a library book for her and I'd better hurry. (c) If I was going to leave to go to my locker, I'd better hurry back. (d) If I saw Dee Anderson I should tell him to come to the staff room and he'd better hurry. Strangely cheered by this last thought, that someone beside myself had to hurry, I hurried along to do my tasks. First I went to see Mr. West. He just wanted to correct some mistaken ideas that appeared in an article about the play in one of the newspapers. He was very gentle about the whole thing and I knew that he was trying to humor me. So I decided that I would humor him and let him think that it was my fault that the Standard doesn't have a competent editorial staff. While I was in the English office, Mr. Nilsson reminded me that English classes were still being held and that he would appreciate my presence there at any time. I smiled sweetly at him and promised fabulous amounts of themes and notebooks to make up for lost time. It was best to humor him too, I thought. And then of course there was Mr. Monsen with his usual reams of cards to be typed and vocabulary papers to be corrected. By this time butter wouldn't melt in my mouth. I should make an excellent diplomat, I imagine, after my extensive training in the English Office. I went across the hall to the library to fix up Jean Anne's book. Of course Wealthy was there and I poured out all my troubles to her. She was sympathetic, so I remained there talking for half an hour, 38 even though I realized that if I would ever do anything when I am supposed to, I would not be so rushed all at once. Back in the hall I noticed that there were some new book covers on the library bulletin board. I lingered longingly for a few moments, glancing at the enticing titles, but finally my conscience got the best of me and I resolutely turned my back and walked away. I fished the cookie out of my pocket and with fresh water from the fountain, I felt quite refreshed. It was while I was standing there, that Betty Nelson came to remind me that I should attend intramurals that afternoon. It was there too that Barbara found me and we discussed when we should buy our Easter outfits and whether or not we should apply for that job we'd heard about. It's funny, but many persons passing made some little remark about the cute signs that our campaign managers had made for us and nearly everyone said hello. Barbara and I decided that it might be fun to be famous after all. A strange custom of Weberites attracted my attention as I left Barbara and walked down the hall. Whenever I say "hi," the other person always says "hello" making me seem too carefree and noisy. But if I say "hello," he invariably says "hi" making me seem stodgy and sedate. So I always alternate my hello's and hi's and once in a while it works out O.K. The blossoms in the breeze made my heart feel young and gay after the stink of the chemistry lab inside the Moench building. Some day I'm going to get away from it all and go to a land where I can, like Ferdinand, smell flowers all day, I thought. But then I remembered my hay fever and besides, it isn't any fun to loaf unless you have something terribly important that you should be doing. Of course I met June Lefgren as I was passing the gym and we decided that we'd better get something to eat as I was hungry again. The C. I. wasn't very crowded and I was sad about even the quick service one gets since our reserves have gone. I saw Dee and we had a short discussion on the difficulties encountered by the reporter of a college paper. We were deadlocked on the respective merits of shooting and poisoning those shy, modest people who are too backward to allow any information of interest to slip into an interview. It's a great life, we decided, and he left to heed his master's call. To heck with such trifles as budgets and figures, I told June, so we splurged on chocolate-marsh-mallow sundaes. I love to watch the mirror in the C. I. as I shovel the goo into my mouth. There was Dan Bailey with his lower lip troubling his chin as he lamented the sad fate of a college that has no students. There was Mrs. Hall galloping about with the dispatch of an Eleanor Roosevelt as she executed the duties of registrar, adviser for La Dianaeda, and friend and confessor to all. Pat Jurgens was behind the counter acting her role of a pert barmaid. The usual C. I. cowboys were clustered about the fountain talking to the glamour girls that preside there. Life can be wonderful, I reflected remorsefully. But time and Jean Anne wait for no man. Bidding June adieu, I resumed my journeying. Oh, goody, there was a red star beside my name on the bond and stamp chart. Maybe that dime I donated to Chanodo's war effort helped after all. I was flushed with pleasure. Just like when Mom used to give me a penny for every A I got on my report card in first grade. Come, Bonnie, don't get sarcastic, get going. "Hm off we go, into the wild blue yonder " I just wish I really was flying. Hello, Melva; hi, Betty Lou; hello, Lorraine; hi, Doris; hello, Roy; hi, Wayne; hello, hi, hello, hi, and I was at my locker. Oh, oh, I forgot my locker key. I must go back to the staff room and get it. (To be continued in my next assignment. Characters appearing in this theme will appear again in my short story under fictitious names. I don't want to get into any more trouble.) HE WAS VERY GENTLE ABOUT THE WHOLE THING, AND I KNEW HE WAS TRYING TO HUMOR ME. 39