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Emily’s Lament

Emily knew she was perfect. Her dad had told her so countless times. Told her sister, too.

At 17 and a senior, her singular beauty and dazzling personality transfixed everyone. Not a princess. Not a queen. No “mirror on the wall” for her. Just a beautiful human being, so perfectly well-adjusted, so happy and so loved. Adored by one and all. No exceptions.

Emily took all of this unusual adulation in stride as in the Beatles’ lyric, “nothing to get hung about.” Girls not jealous. Boys not fighting over her.

Teachers marveled at her demeanor. Her rapport with fellow students dazzled them. A gifted student, Emily tutored many classmates during and after school, and the faculty considered her a fellow teacher. Her abilities as a tutor, simply put, stunned them. Students flocked to her! They loved her! The teachers treasured her!

And so it followed that any boy Emily boy-friended would be cut of the same fabric. Would be accepted, that is. Johnny, that lucky boy, found himself catapulted to popularity. No jealousies at all in play. By anyone. She and he – the perfect pair.

Unforseeably, this happy tale took a drastic turn one late, crisp September day when Emily and Johnny went for a ride up to Wopsy. Two young teens in a ’49 Ford – a scene pretty as a picture. Turning off Lookout Road across from the Orr Cottage, they drove along a barely passable grassy path, 50 or so yards into the woods. As dusk settled quietly upon them, they talked and kissed, two kids happily in love.

As dusk turned to darkness, they decided to leave. Turning the key, the engine refused to start. After several tries, Johnny gave up. Knowing earlier that he was very low on gas, he realized now that the tank was empty.

After apologies to Emily, he told her he’d jog out and down the road to Findley’s where for sure someone would lend him a can of gas. He hopped out telling Emily to sit tight and lock the doors. “I’ll be back before you can say Jack Flash!” he said.

Worriedly, Emily sat trying to time Johnny’s absence. Half an hour passed. Then an hour. Darkness had set in. Emily grew more and more apprehensive. A barred owl began hooting followed by the tremulous cry of a screech owl. Crickets chirped. Some sort of animal rustled through the scrub oak and rhododendron near the car, and very soon other strange night sounds began to frighten her.

Rain began to fall, pattering against the windows. And, then, an odd new sound, a scraping noise directly overhead. Emily kept repeating to herself, “Johnny will be back soon!” “Johnny will be back soon!”

But, no Johnny. A brisk wind kicked up and the scraping above her grew more pronounced. A scritching sound, a syncopated scratching! Now hysterical, Emily began crying. She feared something had gone dreadfully wrong.

Suddenly, someone pounded on the window next to her. “Open up!” commanded a man’s voice. Emily screamed. Emily screamed until her voice was gone. ‘Til her throat throbbed with pain. After some long minutes passed, she could make out a man’s face lighted by a flashlight and she heard men yelling, “State Police!” “Open the door!”

She did, and collapsed falling out of the car. A trooper grasped her by the arm pulling her up and then sweeping her away hurriedly back out toward Wopsy Road. Emily resisted his firm grip on her arm. “Come along!” said the trooper. “Don’t look back!” But she twisted free, wheeled around and saw Johnny hanging from the branch of a large black oak tree, his body swaying slightly back and forth, his shoes scratching across the top of the car!

Strangely, no one has ever solved the mystery of that tragic evening atop Wopsy Mountain. Some few believe the Lady in White sent out a stark warning to all who might consider frequenting a lover’s lane, yet most others say she has never harmed anyone, and it is not her wont to do so.

As for Emily, she persevered. She was brave, and bravely wore her sorrow as a badge of strength.

Although heart-broken, she had not tumbled off some proverbial wall into hopeless pieces.

Emily forever honored her Johnny in memory and deed. She forever loved him. Everyone felt the same about Johnny, and all who knew Emily revered her all the more. They were lifted up stronger by her example. In their eyes, Emily was not saintly. To them, she was just perfect!

This is a fictional story by John?Hunter Orr of Altoona. Illustrations by Joe Servello of Altoona.

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