Not Just Another Ordinary Friday

While searching through the pile of Vogue magazines in my dormitory room I hear a disturbance in the hallway. It reminds me of life on the Cape, it sounds like a sea of whales moaning in agony intertwined with the whimpering of a young dolphin who has lost her mother. What's going on? it is Friday afternoon and I'm biding time until my roomie gets here so we can head out for dinner. I guess I'll just have to check and see what is going on. There usually is some commotion at this point of the afternoon, but the sounds give me an eerie sensation.

I slip my slippers on and peek out my door. Down the hall Ellie, Mary Francis and Sally are all huddled close together and I can see that they are crying.

"Stella. It's the president. He's been shot. In Dallas," whimpers Mary Francis.
I don't believe my ears. Did I just hear that? It's 1963, presidents don't get shot at. Not Jack Kennedy. I mumble, "where did you hear it?"
Sally looks over at me and says, "we were in Cooking with Wine and the prof was interrupted by the Dean of Textiles coming in and telling her what he had heard on the radio. She canceled class immediately."
Ellie says, “everyone is walking around in a daze. Stella, I cannot believe that Jackie is going to be a widow. She's only 34 and she has such young children,"she stops to wipe her tears.
I am so frozen I don't know how I get the words out, but I ask, "Do we know if he's gone? This is maddening. Let's go to the common room and turn on the television and see what's happening.
When we arrive at the common room there is barely standing room. It seems that the world has come to a stop. All eyes are glued to the television. Usually at this time, a few of the girls are down here watching their stories, As the World Turns is a favorite here in our dormitory, but the usual Friday merriment is replaced by a silence that I've never heard before.
I have been in Ithaca just four short months studying women's fashion. I dream to be an editor, but my mom has bigger dreams. She wants me to find a law student here at Cornell and put my dream to rest and become a housewife. My mother and I aren’t from the same generation.  I feel that the world is changing, and women have the potential to be  so much more than a hostess or a baby making machine. I want to work for Vogue or Glamour, or even Woman's Day would be okay. Being a part of the world of fashion would be enough for me.

I look up and see images of Jackie with her husband's blood all over her pink Chanel boucle wool suit. She is standing on Air Force One while Lyndon Johnson is taking the oath. Mr. Cronkite just reported that the President died and Lyndon Johnson took the oath of the presidency with Mrs. Kennedy standing on one side while his wife, Lady Bird stands on the other. I'm trying to let the words sink in, but it just is so unreal. 

I stand up, wishing that I had my cardigan sweater to wrap around my sadness.  I scan the room with my eyes, noticing that there is a quietness that I've never seen since arriving at Cornell.   We had so much hope.  Just this morning my biggest worry was about the argument that I had with my mother about my studies.  She doesn't want me to go on the trip to New York City this Spring for Fashion week. She believes that a nineteen year old "young lady" has no business frolicking around that city.  I know that I just need to talk to Daddy.  He'll make her see that I can do this.  But now, who knows what is going on in the world?  Is this about the Cuban Missile crisis of last year?  Did Castro seek revenge with the help from the Soviets? How can I be thinking about fashion and the death of our president in the same breath? 

I  walk over to Ellie, take her hand and we walk back in silence to our room.  The pink and purple flowers we decorated our door with seem completely inappropriate now.  I want to tear them down, but resist the urge to do so.  

"Stel, what are we going to do?" Ellie whispered.
"Honey, I don't think there is anything I we can do but wait."  I solemnly replied. I walked over to our table that has the record player on it and put Gypsy on the the turn table, hoping that the carefree musical would temper my mood a bit.  
Just then our phone rings.  Ellie picks it up.  "Mom, mom, slow down.  I know. I heard.  It's terrible. Yes, yes, Stel is with me.  We saw in the common room.  It is so upsetting. How's daddy?"  There is a long pause where Ellie's mom must be telling her more.  
I walk over to my bed,  kick my slippers off, and let the salty tears hide deep into my pillow.