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How Old Is Twenty?

SUSAN WHEELER

WHEN I looked out of my dormitory window, I could see sheets
of crumpled newspaper covering the ground, trying occasion-
ally to jump the fence when the wind blew their way. Right away I
suspected that this was the stuffing from our homecoming display;
there was nothing left to do, I thought, but clean it up as quickly as
possible. So I slipped on my coat and went downstairs,

After I had gone outdoors and started to gather up the sea of
newspapers, I was surprised to find that a circle of little cocoa brown
cowboys, equipped with dropping holster sets and wide-eyed stares,
had been slowly surrounding me. At that very moment I felt like
an intruder frozen by the strange combination of fear and wonder he
sees in the eyes of a wild animal; I knew that I was responsible for
explaining my rude arrival into their world, but I didn't want to
destroy the magic of this cowboy-land with thoughtless words. What
could I do but ask them to help me?

And with that, each curly-mopped cow-puncher galloped off on
his horse, swooped down on the newspaper tumble-weeds and trotted
back to stuff them into the tall trash-can that stood in the middle of

atheir camp, towering head or two over its attendants. It all happened

so quickly that I began to wonder what enchanted words I had
spoken ... suddenly we were caught up in a whirl of windy laughter,
those little Negro children and I! One by one the newspapers disap-
peared, but the cowboys stayed on, now whispering and giggling to
one another, now boldly venturing to speak to me.

"Where d'ya live, lady?"
"See muh new shoes? They're too small for big sister now."
"Yur a nurse, huh? He sez you ain't."
"How old's twenty?"
How could I tell them; what could I give that might lend form
to my thanks? I hadn't spent such a carefree afternoon for-well, for
too long a time. Quickly I counted noses, ran into the dormitory and
up the stairs to the candy machine. What could be a sweeter reward?
But I had something better than a Hershey bar, because my
chocolate cowboys had left behind in a special page of my memory, the
sound of "Gee, thanks, lady!"

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