HOLD BACK TOMORROW
By Kris Neville
It was so good to be young, Margy knew. She
never wanted to be an adult—grow old and die
in five centuries. That must not happen....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
September 1951
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Hello, Margy," he said bashfully when he came upon her standing besidethe low, white stone wall which surrounded the schoolyard, isolating itfrom the carefully landscaped forest and lakes beyond.
"Hello, Clyde."
"How are you today, Margy?"
"I'm fine, Clyde. How are you?"
"I'm fine, Margy.... Mind if I sit down here?"
Feeling a little flutter of unnamed fear, she cried, "Go ahead. I don'town the wall."
Clyde put his hands behind him, found the top of the wall, and drewhimself up until he could sit on the stones. He looked down at her, hischin level with her brown curls; he looked as if he had half expectedher to turn and walk away, and when she did not, he smiled uncertainly.The fear gone, now, she tilted her head and looked at him out of thecorner of her eyes, once again the conscious master of the situation.
Clyde looked very boyish, peering down at her. "Don't you want to sitdown up here, too?" he said, waving his hand awkwardly.
"Maybe."
"Here," he said, offering her his hand. "I'll help you up."
She wanted to take the hand, but instead, she said, "Thank you, but Ican help myself." Gracefully she swung her lithe body up beside him.
Clyde glanced across at her, and she stared down at her swinging legs,telling herself to be very careful, and above all, not to look into hiseyes when the mature confidence shone through.
Clyde cleared his throat nervously and made conversation by saying,"I ... uh ... feel sorry for Teach, don't you?"
Margy twisted and puckered her mouth, remembering Teach that morning;she had looked very bad, and the eye wrinkles were very noticeable,more noticeable than ever before. "Teach is wearing out," Margy said,trying to keep the horror out of her voice.
"I ... uh ... thought you'd notice; I don't think the rest of the kidsdid."
"She must be over four hundred," Margy said, feeling the cold place inher stomach become even colder.
"She'll be dead in another fifty years."
Margy shuddered as the coldness exploded through her whole body andtingled down to her finger tips, making her want to cry. "I hate tothink of anyone dying," she said, wishing he would talk about theweather, or about anything but dying, wishing he were less serious,more embarrassed, and more like his old self.
"I just wondered if you'd noticed Teach. I thought you would.You—you know—you ... uh ... seem to understand things, Margy."
That seemed to expose all her nerve endings, and leave them raw andtingling. Biting her lip in anger, she said, "I do not! I don'tunderstand things at all." If he didn't quit being serious, she wouldget down and walk away.
"Better than most kids, I meant. Better than I do."
She wanted to laugh hysterically, and she could feel her fingers curlin toward the palms. "You just think I do," she said.
"No. I'm serious, Margy. I mean it, really. You're more grown up thanwe are."
Her heart raced with terror, and her face was drained. She looked awayso he would not notice. "Don't say things like that, Clyde. Clyde,if you say any more about that I'll—I'll just not ever speak to youagain!"
"Aw, Margy. I don't want to get you sore. I'm sorry."
"It's all right," she said, her heart quieting