The Diary of Juliet Brettsin September, 14, 1967.
Women and girls filled the hall at the University today. More than just college students, Mothers who had been denied their dreams and even teachers and high school students like me. Women from all over town all seated Indian style on the tile floor. A show of peaceful resistance to the University’s policy against women in male orientated fields. I was determined to be a part of it.
I looked everywhere but every inch of floor space was filled. Just as I was about to leave I happened to glance an empty section of tile near a supply closet just big enough to sit in.
Carefully stepping around and over my fellow students I made my way to the open location. Just as I was starting to sit the person next to me started to say something but by the time my brain had processed the sounds I had already felt the warm body underneath me. I jumped up and spun around. The blond haired girl that I had sat on looked indignantly and said, “What do you think you were doing?”
“Yea,” replied the red headed girl next to her, “Watch where you’re sitting.”
“I’m sorry,” I said carefully backing away. I remembered my grandfather’s stories about the invisible feuders. Could this girl have been a Gellervice?
I turned and started making my way back out over the compact mass of students. Their voices following me out, “Why’d you let her sit on you Alison?” my face burned with embarrassment. Why should I care about engineering classes anyway? I want to be an artist.
“I didn’t see her coming,” Alison’s voice said. “It was weird, like these stories my Grammy told me about invisible assassins who stalk our family.”
I risked a glance back over my shoulder. The spot by the closet was empty once again and the red head was animatedly speaking to thin air. I hurried out of the building and ran home.
As a little girl I had always liked the idea that I could be invisible. I used to sneak around the house and be super quiet. Now though, after today, the thought that there is someone that I can’t see and can’t see me – it scares me.
© This story and subsequent parts are my own original idea and are protected under United States copy right law.
C. O. Bonham 